15. A Horrible Experience

Camping adventures usually bring people great fun and pleasure. But the two Australian young men's camping trip in Canada turned out to be a horrible nightmare. This is the story of their experience.

It was to be a holiday we would never forget. Instead, it turned out to be a nightmare we will not escape for many years. Owen and I have been friends since high school. We were on separate overseas trips and had agreed to meet in Canada to spend several weeks hiking. We're both lovers of the outdoors and national parks were high on our agenda. That's why, on the night of September 24, we arrived at Lake Louise, a beautiful spot in the province of Alberta.

We'd intended to stay in the national park's hotel, but it was full, so we decided to put up our tent in the nearby camping area.

We had spent the afternoon before in the library at Banff reading about grizzly bears and how people using the parks had to be careful. After that, we joked about how we might be attacked and what we might do.

A park warden allocated us a spot to camp, near lockers where campers have to place their food each night so no bears in the vicinity can get at it.

She did mention that there was a grizzly and a cub in the area, but did not tell us—as we found out later—that the bear had attacked an empty tent two nights earlier.

She gave us a pamphlet on what to do if we were attacked. It suggested standing stock-still, which might confuse the bear because its first charge is often a bluff. It warned that bears can run as fast as a horse over short distances, and that you should not climb a tree because a bear can do that better than a human. The pamphlet explained that a bear would only attack if you were between it and its cub or its food.

It was 3 a.m. (we later learned) when the bear attacked. There was a growling, grunting sound and then the tent collapsed on top of us. It was being pushed down by a giant, suffocating weight. We were both terrified.

I started yelling, "It's a bear! It's a bear!" Owen just lay there, almost too paralysed to move or speak.

I rolled onto one side, bringing my left arm up to protect my face. It was then that I felt the most awful, searing pain as the bear's teeth sank into the flesh of my shoulder. The pain tore through me like a knife. I was crying out and rolling around in my sleeping bag as the bear ripped at me with its claws and tore at me with its mouth.

I was screaming for help. I could feel my arm wet with blood as I tried to pull the sleeping bag up higher for protection. But I couldn't escape the tearing claws and teeth which seemed to be all over me.

Owen was yelling, too, and he started kicking wildly at the bear ... any thing to get it off us. But nothing had any effect.

Then I remembered what I had read in the pamphlet about playing dead. I lay stock-still, but the bear was not to be put off. It continued to attack me, shaking me like a puppy, biting and ripping at my body.

Then I recalled that the pamphlet also had said that, if all else fails, you should try talking to an attacking bear in a calm voice. So I did, just staying perfectly still and saying quietly over and over, "Good bear, good bear, go away and find some food."

I know it sounds ridiculous but, when you are staring death in the face, you'll grab at anything.

For a few moments it worked. The bear, as if puzzled, stopped attacking and stood back snorting. Then it attacked again, seized my arm and began biting it. I hope I will never experience pain or terror like that ever again. I could feel its huge teeth crushing through my flesh to the bone.

In an instant, the terror I had been feeling vanished and I became strangely calm. With one arm in the bear's mouth, I reached for its face with my other hand and felt around until I found one of its eyes. Then I began forcing the eye out with all my might.

As I was doing this, Owen, who had not yet been attacked, began punching upwards at the bear's face and arms, striking as hard as he could.

Then, after shaking me violently once, the attack on me stopped and the bear turned on Owen. He thought he was done for. As he looked up through the huge rip in the tent, all he could see was a great shaggy head blotting out the stars. He started, screaming, "It's biting me, it's biting me."

I was screaming, too, yelling for someone to help us. No-one came, yet I knew there was a tent only 10 metres away. Later we were to learn that the British couple in that tent had fled when the bear attacked.

As Owen was trying to fight off the bear, I began pushing back on my elbows, working my body out of the wreckage of the tent.

Then, in what we both say was a miracle, I suddenly felt my back strike a rock. It was the same one I had used to knock in the tent pegs that evening. It was probably twice the size of a cricket ball, and I grabbed it.

I could see Owen thrashing about, with the bear standing over him. He was kicking and punching, and screaming in pain and terror.

Suddenly the bear dropped him and again turned towards me. I knew instantly that, if I didn't do something, I was finished. The bear's face was only centimetres from mine and I'll never forget the awful, sickening smell of its breath.

The rock was my only hope. Holding it in my right hand, I struck as hard as I could at the bear's face, hitting it on the nose. To this day I do not know how I did it because later, in hospital, they found that my right arm—the one I had used—was broken at the elbow.

The bear reeled back from the blow, staggered and sat back on its haunches looking at us, growling and shaking its head from side to side before dropping down on all fours.

We saw our chance, screamed "run" to each other, and dashed for a picnic table, putting it between us and the bear. All the time we were shouting "Anyone ... help. Please help!"

There were other tents in the nearby area, but no-one came. Then, as the bear began to stalk us, we saw car headlights approaching.

It turned out to be a mini-van with three teachers and a group of school children. They had been camping 200 metres away and heard our yells.

The van almost missed us as it went down a nearby trail but then, thank God, it stopped. They heard us as we yelled again and drove towards us.

The children became hysterical when they saw us covered in blood, but the teachers bound our wounds as best they could, drove us to the town of Lake Louise and rang an ambulance.

I was in surgery for four hours and in hospital for more than a week. Apart from my elbow, which had been broken by one bite from the bear, I was covered in deep cuts, small wounds and huge scratches. I had more than 80 stitches and many of the wounds had to be stapled.

Owen was not quite as badly off, although he had 40 stitches and many staples, and stayed in hospital for six days.

Every waking moment I relive the attack and, for a while, I had to have sleeping tablets. It is the same for Owen. He still can't sleep and, like me, jumps at every strange sound.

A huge, black beast descending out of the night is a fear which will haunt us for years to come.

From The Australian Womens Weekly,

December 1995.