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On July fourth, twenty twenty-five, the morning began quietly on the western flank of the Summit Lake Fire in the remote forest west of Fort Nelson, British Columbia. It had already burned through more than two hundred thousand acres of spruce and pine by early July, and would be part of a catastrophic wildfire season that saw over one and a half million acres scorched in northeastern British Columbia and more than ten million acres consumed across Canada, three times the area that normally burns in a typical year.
The fire was first detected in late May and raged for weeks before crews managed to contain much of its perimeter. On this particular day, the fire was classified as being held, but crews still patrolled and reinforced its control lines under heavy smoke and heat. The remote zone was so rugged that personnel had to be flown in by helicopter and worked in terrain largely untouched by human activity.
The firefighter, a seasoned crew leader with the BC Wildfire Service whom we’ll call Bernie, advanced ahead of his crew along a narrow corridor between burnt trees and glowing stumps. His boots crunched on blackened needles, and the heat from the fire behind him still radiated through the forest floor. In his right hand, he carried his Pulaski, its edge nicked and scarred from days of cutting firebreaks.
Bernie knew this job came with risks. The fire was dangerous enough, but he knew the untamed terrain, full of life, was not just trees and birds.
When it happened, it happened fast. A low growl stopped him cold. Ahead, just beyond a half-fallen spruce, stood a grizzly sow, her massive head swinging up from where she’d been nosing the ground. Two cubs huddled close to her hindquarters. Her fur bristled, her eyes fixed on him, and before he could even register her fully, she charged.
Bernie raised his Pulaski instinctively. The sow’s roar filled the forest, drowning out everything else. When she closed the distance, he swung the tool hard, striking her shoulder. She staggered but came on anyway. Her weight hit him like a freight train, knocking him into the ashy soil. He managed another swing before her teeth found his arm and her claws raked across his chest.
Something about a firefighter's grip must be mentioned here. Bernie not only held on to his pulaski after slamming it into the bear's shoulder, but he also clung to it after being knocked to the ground. Pushing the hickory handle between himself and the angry grizzly, a hollering Bernie managed to wedge it crosswise in the sow's mouth as she tried to bite onto his neck or head area. Using the handle like a bit in a horse's mouth, Bernie guided her head away from him each time she tried to bite down.
Behind him, his crew heard the commotion. They came running, shouting, and firing up their chainsaws to full throttle, the engines screaming against the silence. From above, a helicopter swooped in, dumping water nearby. The sow paused as noise and chaos filled the air, then finally turned and disappeared into the trees, her cubs trotting close behind.
Bernie lay on the ground, panting, his hands still gripping the Pulaski, its blade now streaked with fur and earth. Blood seeped through the sleeve of his jacket, but as his crew surrounded him, he felt something almost like relief. The bear was gone.
They patched him up with what supplies they had and radioed for a medevac. Within the hour, he was lifted out of the forest and flown to a hospital in Fort Nelson. The doctors cleaned and dressed his wounds, which they described as minor, and released him later that day.
The BC Conservation Officer Service later confirmed what everyone on the crew already knew. The attack was defensive. The sow had simply been protecting her cubs, reacting on instinct after being surprised. There would be no hunt, no bullets. The bear and her cubs would live to roam that wilderness another day. Speaking of cubs, our cub tier membership on Patreon, linked below, will give you ad-free early access to our episodes, and the $3 per month goes a long way in helping me continue to produce educational and entertaining content like this.
The province of British Columbia hosts up to 18,000 grizzly bears over its 364,764 square miles, tallying a bear density of one bear per 20 square miles. Keep in mind that grizzlies flock to where the food is, so that means the best habitats have the most bears.
One thing is for certain: when Bernie finally returns to the line on another fire, he will find himself glancing into the shadows more often than before, his Pulaski gripped a little tighter, his senses sharper.
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