We had high hopes of giving the many fans of our bears a wonderful video of Bramble and Ramble getting their annual King salmon gift. Every year at the height of their pre-winter feeding frenzy, we have a budget line for bear salmon—about $250 per bear. Our staff excitedly prepared for the event, identifying just where we would place the fish to ensure the best view of the bear and the background and getting our video cameras ready. Celeste came out of the bear kitchen with the large silver fish carried across her outstretched arms as if a waiter presenting it on a silver platter. (We didn’t go quite that far, but it was tempting). We placed the first salmon for Ramble just outside the door to the big garden, hoping for a fine view of bear, salmon, and Tetons in the background.
He smelled it.
He wanted it.
He absolutely refused to go through the gate to get it—a gate he goes through daily. He apparently had different ideas of where to enjoy his feast. (The phrase “don’t look a gift horse in the mouth” came to mind. Ungrateful!)
He offered us a bear tantrum, tearing up the ground in front of the open door but refusing to go through. Celeste tried to tempt him by throwing marshmallows through the fence where the fish was, but no go. He only got more annoyed, in effect saying, “I am NOT going through there and you can’t make me!” As we continued our efforts to get him to go through, he looked over at us, grabbed the gate handle and slammed the gate shut. A rather clear statement. A direct bear-to-human communication
Heather had positioned herself on the concrete passageway, all ready to film. Bramble, smelling the incredible salmon treat being offered to his rival brother, got decidedly impatient, so we closed the sliding door for Ramble and went through the same exercise with Bramble, carefully placing the salmon just so for photos, then letting him out into the yard.
He had no hesitation. He entered the garden and circled the fish as if unable to believe something so gorgeous existed. We all waited expectantly. Heather, who had been sitting on the concrete for some time now—eye to camera, ready at a moment’s notice to start filming—shifted position for a split second. In that split second, Bramble made a grab for the fish tail, picked it up and raced back into his inner enclosure, large fish swinging from his jaws. We may have filmed a bit of bear butt and swinging fish.
“The best laid plans of mice and men go oft awry…” (Robert Burns)
We do have pictures of a rapidly disappearing salmon being consumed on a concrete floor. Not what we had envisioned.
We went back to Ramble and placed his fish in his night yard, a large space adjacent to the inner enclosures with a door to the big yard. We tried to make the best of an unanticipated situation, and again carefully placed it for the best view for filming. Ever hopeful, we were innocently excited again. Ramble approached the salmon. We held our breath, ready to film. He made a lightning grab for it, swung around, and raced back to his den with his treasure. Film footage of big brown furry bear bottom #2 with large swinging fish. He, too, took the salmon back to the safety of his inner enclosure, where he finally felt free to indulge.
We returned later to discover a few fish scales on the floor, but not much else besides two comatose, replete bears with distended bellies lying on their backs in their hammocks.
Sorry, bear fans! It’s a good thing we hadn’t promised a viewing party. Also it’s a good thing we love them. Our immediate reaction, frankly, was to laugh—ruefully, but to laugh. They never do meet our human expectations. Apparently the treasure was so great they needed to eat it in secret and safety. Take their time to examine it from head to tail, plan the angle of attack, savor each bite unrushed.
A few days later they got their cherry pies with whipped cream (always the real thing).
We didn’t manage to get that on film either.
