That Time I had to Use my Bear Spray

Quick Vanlife Update

In my last post, I wrote about losing my sense of community on the road and trying to build it back. Since then, I’ve been staying in places longer and forcing myself out of my shell to interact with people. It’s actually working. I have some non-van travel planned for September, but when I get back to the road at the end of the month, that's going to be my game plan. Honestly, I don't feel like sharing all of these details, so I’ll just leave you with a couple pictures.

Jeep tour outside of Ouray.

A tour of Breckenridge Distillery where everyone else on the tour was a group of dudes who met in college and reunite every year.

Instead, I want to dig into the story archive and take you back to 2022.

Winning the Chalet Lottery

Glacier National Park has two backcountry chalets you can hike into. To score a reservation, you have to enter a lottery in January. Back in January 2022, instead of requesting a specific date on my application, I just wrote: “I will make any date work.”

It worked. Not only did I score a room at the Granite Park Chalet, but I landed it for the week of my birthday.

I took my time getting up to Glacier, stopping for a weekend in Salmon, Idaho, to go whitewater rafting and hike to a mountainous hot spring (stories for another day). Once in the park, I spent a few days doing hikes I’d missed on previous trips. On my way out of the park the day before my big chalet hike, a black bear strolled across the road in front of me.

White water rafting on the Salmon River.

My text thread went like this:

Me: I hope that’s the last bear I see on this trip. Friend: I hope it isn’t! But since you mostly drink whisky and bears don’t eat rye, I think you’ll be fine. Me: No, I mostly drink gin. Friend: Gin is made from juniper. Juniper comes from bushes. Bears eat bushes. I think you’re screwed.

This is what we in the biz call foreshadowing.

Logistics and Vertigo

Getting to the trailhead was a masterclass in overcomplicating a plan. My plan: drive to Many Glacier, park the car, talk the concierge into letting me take the employee shuttle to the St. Mary Visitor Center, hop another shuttle to Logan Pass, and then hike 7.5 miles along the Highline Trail to the chalet. Crazily enough, it worked.

(Note: Unless you’re staying in Many Glacier, this isn't possible anymore—though thankfully there's a proper public shuttle now if you want to do the same hikes I did).

Now, the Highline Trail is my least favorite style of hiking: total ridgeline the whole way. There’s even a section with a chain bolted into the cliff face to hold onto because the ledge is so narrow. Heights don't just scare me; they give me vertigo. My brain copes by making terrible choices, like hugging the inner wall over uneven terrain instead of walking smoothly closer to the edge.

A view of the highline trail from an earlier part of the highline trail.

To make matters worse, 40+ mph wind gusts were trying to blow me off the mountain. Luckily, early on I met an older gentleman from Georgia who summered nearby. We talked the entire way, which kept my brain completely distracted from the sheer drop-offs. 

Granite Park & Bear Warnings

That night at the chalet was magical. Everyone gathered in the common kitchen and dining area to drink hot chocolate, play games, and unwind.

On the porch of the Granite Park Chalet

Later, the park rangers gave a talk on local history and bear safety, mentioning that a grizzly had been spotted in the area over the last few days. The main takeaway I drilled into my head that night: keep your bear spray within reach, not stashed in your pack.

Beautiful alpenglow from the sunset that night.

The Highline to Swiftcurrent Pass

My plan for the morning was to take Swiftcurrent Pass back down to Many Glacier where my car was parked. It was a 9-mile trek, but after the first mile almost entirely downhill.

Most people leave the chalet via a much easier 4-mile trail back toward Logan Pass. But I wanted the scenery. Everything I’d read promised that Swiftcurrent was breathtaking, while the short route was mediocre.

Swiftcurrent Pass

Up to this point, my solo hiking experience was limited to heavily populated trails where help was always nearby. Moving solo over Swiftcurrent meant I wouldn't see another soul until miles in when hikers started coming up from the other side.

Once I hit the descent, it instantly became one of the most stunning hikes of my life. You can touch glaciers, and switchbacks open up to new waterfalls. It was so gorgeous I completely forgot about the ridgelines. I was literally shouting out loud at the views.

The last picture I took of Swiftcurrent Pass

Shouting is actually great practice in bear country. They want to see us as little as we want to see them. Making noise is key—which is why I was belt-singing "Ain’t No Mountain High Enough" as I rounded a switchback about two and a half miles in.

And that’s when, roughly ten feet in front of me, I stumbled upon a grizzly bear eating—you guessed it—a bush.

I was approximately 290 feet too close to the bear.

"Are you effing kidding me?" I said out loud (only I didn't say effing).

The Encounter

The bear hadn't noticed me yet. I dropped my trekking poles, unholstered my bear spray, and fogged the ground between us as I backed up. I was stuck on a narrow ridgeline with nowhere to run, and I wasn't about to turn my back on it. So I stood my ground while the bear kept munching away.

Remembering the rangers' advice to make loud noises to scare bears off, I took a breath and started yelling, "Hey bear! HEY BEAR!"

Pro tip: I don't recommend this.

Instead of scaring him off, I just got his attention. The grizzly looked up, curious rather than aggressive, and started ambling toward me. Keeping in mind there were only ten feet between us to begin with, I let him take maybe two steps before laying down the hot sauce.

I fogged the entire side of the mountain.

The bear bolted up the ridge. The second he disappeared from view, I ran down the trail. (Also not recommended, but this time, it worked.)

The Aftermath

About three-quarters of a mile down the trail, I hit my first human: a solo hiker with an old-school external frame pack.

I warned him about the grizzly and told him what happened. His response? "I don't think you needed to use the bear spray." My response: "I don't think you were there." And I kept moving.

Half a mile later, I ran into two more hikers. They made me tell the story, tell it again, and then full-on reenact it with one of them playing the bear.

The next six miles flew by. My pace jumped from a casual 20-minute mile to a 15-minute skedaddle. When I finally reached my car, I downed a shot of whisky—and immediately noticed my face was burning.

That’s the hidden hazard of bear spray: spraying yourself. It had been a calm day, and my glasses saved my eyes, but in my haste to escape, I’d walked right through my own cloud of pepper spray. The adrenaline had been masking the burn the whole time.

You’d think an experience like that would turn me off from hiking, especially solo. But it actually did the opposite. It proved to me that I can think on my feet and that my survival instincts are solid. The very next day, I drove down to the Tetons and hiked every single day. And in 2024, I actually went back and did the exact same Glacier hike again with my friend Darian.

On Swiftcurrent Pass in 2024

It's a great story, sure, but more than that, it was proof of how I try to live my life: Never let fear stop you from doing what you love.