“High on a mountain, what did I see? Bear tracks, bear tracks lookin’ back at me.”

~ Porter Wagoner: Old Slew Foot. 

The rain was just begining to taper off when I pulled into the Brandon Gearheart parking lot in the middle of the Ken Caryl Valley neighborhood. Right as I pulled into a spot, I watched as a mule deer doe, her spring coat short, red, and dripping with rain, bounded across the road from the foothills to browse on my side of it. Immediately, I readied my camera and stepped out of my Xterra. The doe didn’t even aim an ear at me as I carefully approached her from the side. 

She was no further than ten yards from me when I knelt down on the sidewalk and began to shoot up-close pictures of her, all while she simply stood in the lawn alongside the road and used her nose and hooves to dig up roots of some sort. For five minutes, I just sat taking pictures of her as she browsed for things more nutritious than lawn grass when suddenly, her ears perked up and she looked over her shoulder, but not at me. Instead, she was looking towards the cottonwoods nearby. She then headed the way she was looking, down a grassy draw into the shade of those cottonwoods. But, just as she reached the bottom of the draw, her mood suddenly changed. First, she stopped, her ears high and aimed at something ahead of her. Then, she stomped her left front leg once and took off for the field across the road. 

“Huh.” I mumbled aloud to myself. 

But, I quickly shrugged it off. After all, deer are… well… deer. And they do weird things, especially in the late spring and summer when the fawns are still dependent on their mothers. Perhaps, she heard her fawn bleat, and went to make sure it was okay. 

Meanwhile, I continued on my quest to get pictures of the summertime valley while it was cool and sunny. 

I felt safe where I was hiking. The skies to the west were clear, and no storms were showing up on my radar. There were people in their backyards, as well as a handful of cyclists on the paved trails, so it wasn’t completely silent and empty. In fact, there were houses all around me. I was in the least remote part of the valley, aside from my own neighborhood on the plains. That, and it was the middle of the afternoon. I still had several solid hours of sunlight left. I had no reason to be even slightly nervous. 

As I approached a bridge that crossed over a drainage ditch by the giant red rocks, I was approached by one of the rangers. 

“I’m assuming you’re a resident?” he asked as I reached for my ID. 

“Yessir!” I smiled as I handed it to him. 

“I figured.” the ranger nodded as he handed my ID back to me, “Say, just a heads up, we’ve been getting a lot of reports of a black bear mama with three cubs. She’s more active in the mornings and evenings, but it’s good to keep an extra eye out just in case.”

“Oh…” I muttered as a little wave of anxiety shot through me, “I’ll keep that in mind, today.”

“Again.” the ranger interrupted me when he noticed my demeanor change, “It’s nothing to be very concerned about. Just be bear aware as they say, and keep your distance from the wildlife, as I’m sure you know how to do.”

Before I could say anything else aside from a quick “thank you.”, the ranger walked away.

For a moment, I stood still and thought about my next move. Where I was, there were no big trees for bears to hide in. Plus, there were lots of redwing blackbirds in the cattails, chirping up a storm. Surely, if there was any sort of danger, they’d fall silent. So, I took in a breath and did my best to shake off my fear, so I could immerse myself in the wilderness as I usually did. 

But, I never fully relaxed. Instead, for the hour or so I was out there, I got increasingly nervous. Especially as the wind began to pick up, moving the foliage around me and making noise. I jumped at every odd movement in the grass, even though I knew it was just the wind and not anything coming after me. However, I dreaded the walk back to my Xterra, as I’d have to walk underneath the branches of many century-old cottonwoods, whose leaves were thicker than usual thanks to the record-breaking rain.

Eventually, I decided to stop stalling (and catastrophizing), and just get back to the Xterra. After all, I was hungry, and I’d drank all my water. So, it was time to head home. 

As I trudged towards my Xterra, I noticed that the birdsong had died down significantly. Those noisy blackbirds who’d been chirping and screeching among the cattails were nowhere to be found. I did my best to rationalize their absence as them moving on to calmer fields (as the wind was tossing the cattails around quite a bit). However, I paused just as I reached the cottonwoods, and stood for a long time staring up into the branches, looking for danger. 

I saw none, but kept my eyes and ears aimed at the sky as I quickly rushed the last hundred yards or so to my Xterra. Still, I kept my eyes on what was ahead of me, so I didn’t trip over my own feet. And, that’s when I noticed it. Or rather… them. 

On the sidewalk starting from the creek, were huge, fresh prints made of slate mud that I swear were not there when I started on my hike. They were as big, if not bigger than my boots, and I could make out every detail; from the paw pads, to the fur outlining the paw pads, and even points where wet claws had scraped the ground as the bear sauntered across the sidewalk towards the thickest part of the cottonwood grove. 

I stuck around just long enough to take a few pictures so I could either confirm (or hopefully deny) what I thought were bear tracks. Of course, right as I was doing this, I got the nauseating sense that I was being watched. 

Whatever you do, don’t run. I thought to myself, right as I took off sprinting the last hundred yards for my Xterra. Who knew I could run so fast in muddy cowboy boots!

Thankfully, nothing chased me to my Xterra. But I was goddamned spooked!

Bears were (and still are) on the top of my list of “wilderness fears”. Perhaps, I’ve listened to too many horror stories about bears on Steven Rinella’s and Joe Rogan’s podcasts, and I (probably) overreacted to the fresh bear tracks on the sidewalk. However, in that moment, I was completely alone. And I felt deep, primal fear of what was lurking in those cottonwoods, regardless of if the bear was interested in me or not. And, I instinctually took off for the safety of my Xterra. 

As I fought stop myself from shaking so I could actually stick my keys in the ignition, I managed to send some photos of the tracks to my great uncle Courtney for confirmation. 

“Those are bear tracks alright!” he texted back, “Oughtta  get yourself some bear spray if you haven’t already. Sows with cubs are no joke.”

With that, he sent me an Amazon link to his favorite brand of bear spray. It was pricey but worth every cent according to my uncle. Needless to say, I won’t be going to the valley till I get that bear spray. 

Hell, I may be too chickenshit to go to the valley alone for awhile, even with my bear spray. Because… well… I’m a huge wuss, to put it bluntly. 

Now, why do I admit to being such a wuss? Well… very long story short, I just am. I get panicky really easily. I am always catastrophizing, jumping, ready and waiting for shit to go down, no matter where I am or what I’m up to. Worse, my fear is paralyzing in nearly every way. Not just fresh bear tracks scare me. Damn near everything scares me, and no, I’m sadly not exaggerating. 

This fear is exhausting, to say the least. It’s embarrassing too. After all, I’m twenty-two years old, damnit! I’m healthier than I’ve ever been before (physically, at least). I’m getting more and more confident and independent every day. And yet… I can’t even ride in a elevator by myself, or spend five minutes in downtown Denver without freaking the fuck out. 

What the hell is wrong with me?!

Good news is, I know the answer (or rather, answers) to that question. The bad news is… well… I know the answer(s) to that question. 

While with lots and lots of therapy, hard work, self-care, good habits and routines, support from family and friends, etc, I can (and am, and will) learn how to cope with my anxieties well enough to get on with life despite them. My crippling fear will probably never go away. I will just have to pick and choose which fears to conquer, and which fears to leave be, depending on what I do and don’t do with my life. 

Right now, I can afford avoiding elevators. But, I’m not so sure I can afford fearing bears or their tracks like I do anymore, considering that I have access to thousands of acres of private open space, in one of Colorado’s most unique landscapes, and crawling with wildlife. Do I really want to throw that away because of my (mainly) irrational fear of getting mauled by a hangry bear? 

Well… no. Of course not!

So, the next question becomes: how do I lose my irrational fear of bears (and my irrational fear of nature in general)? Keyword: irrational. 

It’s one thing to have a healthy respect for nature and wildlife. But, what I’ve got going on goes well beyond having a healthy respect for God’s creation. It’s not healthy. It’s not helpful. It’s one thing to be aware of one’s surroundings when out in nature (or anywhere really). It’s something completely else to freak the hell out over a bee buzzing by. 

I’ve known that my anxiety surrounding the wilderness has been beyond excessive for years and years. My great uncle Courtney used to (and still often does) tell me that I made his easily-spooked horses look bombproof when I was around. When I was working on getting my hunter’s safety license, he flat-out told me that everything about hunting would be a piece of cake compared to the anxiety I’d have to temper in order to be a successful hunter; to be successful in the world in general. 

Unfortunately, while I’ve proven to be a successful hunter, and I’m more-or-less getting along in the world just fine, I am still a very anxious creature. My anxiety still gets in the way of every little thing that I do. And, more often than I’d like to admit, my anxiety overwhelms me, preventing me from doing things I want to (and ought to) be doing (such as taking more than two college classes at a time). 

The question now becomes: what do I do to alleviate my crippling anxiety?

First off, I’ve learned to confront it head-on in many instances, without suppressing or minimalizing the fear. What do I mean by that? 

Well… for instance, I’m still very scared of driving in the city and on the highways. After all, driving is objectively dangerous, and I know, from first-hand experience, what something as minor as a fender-bender at a stoplight can do to a person and their car (let alone a collision at highway speeds). However, considering that I live in the city, fear public transportation even more than driving myself, and I have shit to do every day that is well beyond walking distance, I’ve had to learn how to drive in town despite my fear. 

Yes, driving is scary. It is dangerous. My fear is valid. But, I still need to drive. 

So, aside from talk therapy, journaling, exposure therapy, medication, etc, I purposefully drive a big vehicle with side airbags to better protect myself. Sure, my Xterra gets shitty gas mileage, and parallel parking that thing in Denver is harder than solving a Rubik’s dodecahedron most days. But, I still do it. I still drive to and through Denver on 285 and Santa Fe quite often, and parallel park on narrow, crowded streets not built for Xterras, all without hitting the panic button. I can be very afraid without going into a full-fledged freakout. 

The same thing goes for everything And damn… is it exhausting!