How I Survived Coming Nose to Nose With a Grizzly Bear

August in the Canadian Rockies. Two grizzlies. And the shadow of a grizzly bear paw on my tent. 

I've spent years recreating in grizzly country. I know the rules. I carry the spray. Living in Wyoming, I've seen grizzlies in the wild more times than I can count. 

But I also now know what it feels like to stare into the eyes of a grizzly bear. And to have over 12 million people around the world see the video. 

This is that story.

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It was the early morning hours of August 22nd, 2025. The left door of my backpacking tent was already unzipped. Inside, I gathered the essentials for my mid-morning routine: toilet paper, gloves, bear spray, and half a peanut butter sandwich I had already retrieved from my bear bag earlier that morning. Josh, my husband, had left at sunrise to solo the nearby Assiniboine Peak, one of Canada’s most notorious mountains. Our plan for the day was simple. I would pack up camp and trek the 5 miles back to the trailhead early, where our cats had been lying cozied up in our camper since the evening before. Josh would meet me there later that afternoon after he was finished with his climb. 

It was an unusually blustery summer morning, delaying my departure from camp back to the trailhead. The cold made my motivation to pack up camp dwindle. After my first attempt to get out and pack up, the crisp air drove me back to my sleeping bag, where I huddled in the tent under the covers for an extra hour. 

This quick overnight camping trip stemmed solely from my stubbornness. We had been living in our truck camper with our three cats since May. As the end of August neared, I realized I hadn’t spent a single night in the backcountry all summer, a contrast to our usual season in Wyoming, where we spend weeks living out of tents & backpacks in some of the most remote and rugged terrain in the country. 

The original plan was for Josh to leave directly from the camper in the early morning hours of August 22nd. I would stay behind at the trailhead with the cats and work via our remote Starlink setup. But Josh mentioned that there was a scenic lake with backcountry campsites roughly 4 miles in. Immediately, I wanted to make it work. A quick overnight in a tent seemed like exactly what my soul needed to end our summer adventures. 

I was anxious about leaving the cats overnight in the camper, even though I’d be gone for less than 15 hours. They had everything they needed and more to stay comfortable. My worry had us reconsider going multiple times.  

Already on edge about leaving the cats, my anxiety spiked again shortly after we started on the trail, with a fat and fresh bear scat pile sitting directly in the middle of the path. We had been in Canada for weeks without seeing so much as a print. We had even joked about how few signs of bears, both black and grizzly, we had seen since arriving. 

It was nothing we hadn’t dealt with in the past. Living in Cody, Wyoming, we had long respected and coexisted with grizzly bears in the wilderness. You can climb mountains in the Absaroka Range near our home and see dozens of grizzlies in the high alpine in late summer. Starting in late July, these bears make their way above treeline for a moth migration, where they’d spend their days eating tens of thousands of moths that accumulate under rocks until early September. We've seen as many as 24 on a single hike. 

Recreating in grizzly bear country was nothing out of the norm, but the bear scat put me more on edge than normal. 

But we hiked on, crossing rivers and gaining elevation. It was already late evening. We cooked dinner at the car and didn’t set off for the lake until after 5:00 pm. We had no cooking supplies, no stove, not even coffee. Our small supply of food consisted of a few sandwiches, protein bars, and energy chews. We’d get to camp around sunset, and I’d be back to the cats & the truck by mid-morning. 

After a couple of hours, we arrived at the edge of Assiniboine Lake. We approached via the southern shore, where there was a single obvious campsite tucked in the woods. We opted to head to the north side of the lake so Josh would be closer to his peak, and we could look for a better campsite in the open, where we could spot bears more easily. 

By the time we traversed the shoreline to the far side of the lake, our hope for a better prospective campsite dwindled. Nothing in the area looked great, although you could tell they had been used as campsites in the past. By this time, daylight was dwindling. We discussed heading back to the obvious campsite on the south side, but didn’t love the idea of backtracking or setting up our camp there in the dark. Not having a good handle on the surroundings of a campsite in grizzly country was not ideal, so we opted to make something work. 

Our options were limited, offering only a small, flat field sandwiched between two towering ridgelines on the edge of the lake. To the west was a thick patch of steep pine woods that rose thousands of feet until it turned to alpine. To the north & east were barren, rugged rock faces, jutting up from the valley in jagged formations with large talus fields near the base. To the south was the lake, with rivers and marshland leading up to the only dry area. 

The eastern & western sides of Assiniboine Peak couldn’t be more different. To the east, you have a reservation-run campground and lodge, where people fight for permits annually. You can hike in, or pay $500 to access the lodge via helicopter. It has gorgeous direct views of the mountain, but it isn’t remote or backcountry. The west is the complete opposite: a roundabout way for people to go after the summit of Assiniboine. You don’t get many good views of the peaks, and most people hike from the trailhead to the Hind Hut for the night, which is two miles and roughly 2,000 feet above the lake. 

We were alone at the lake, which is typically how we preferred it. I lazily stashed my bear bag behind a log a few hundred feet from camp. The night was calm and quiet, the only noise coming from a river a few hundred feet away. I slept wonderfully. 

Josh was up at sunrise. As he packed, I had a pit in my stomach. I worried about him and his climb. It was dangerous and exposed, and he was solo. It was nothing he wasn’t used to, but I still worried all the time. I worried every time he went on a climb. Even though it was his happiest element, and I trusted him completely, I didn’t trust the elements outside of his control. 

Right before he left, I realized I wasn’t sure where my bear spray was. I typically sleep with it right next to my head. I don’t know what made me think of it in that moment, but I felt around until I found it at my feet, and placed it next to my head to have at close proximity once Josh was gone. 

Being alone in bear country wasn’t anything out of the norm for us. Sure, it’s not the most recommended activity. But we had spent years in similar situations. I remember when I first moved to Wyoming, I thought I would never feel comfortable hiking again, let alone hiking alone. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned living in bear country is that most bears are peaceful creatures. I have a lesser chance of getting mauled by a grizzly than getting in a fatal car accident in any major city where millions of people commute nearly every day. 

Back home in the States, we also owned a 10mm bear gun. A 9mm won’t kill a grizzly. You need bigger bullets. And living in the most densely populated area of grizzlies outside of Alaska, it was one of those things we had as a safeguard. It was the only gun we owned. But it is also highly illegal to shoot and kill a grizzly bear in Yellowstone National Park, or any National Park in Canada. And of course, we didn’t bring it across international borders. 

We also have a set of rules that we try to follow when we split up in grizzly country. It almost always includes that same scenario: Josh is setting off for a peak, and we will be apart until he returns in the afternoon or evening. These rules are as follows: 

1. If possible, camp in the alpine. This is the ecosystem in the high mountains where trees and other shrubs cannot grow. Visibility is typically favorable in almost all directions. Josh will remain above treeline for his climb, and I have 360 degrees of camp while he’s gone. 
2. Never leave before daylight. For obvious reasons. 
3. Be smart & alert. 

The rules aren’t perfect. There will always be an inherited risk when alone in grizzly country. But the odds of being attacked by a grizzly are 1 in 2.1 million. The odds of dying in a car crash? 1 in 105.

You are almost twice as likely to be struck by lightning. 

Once Josh left, I settled back into my sleeping bag and fell back asleep for another half hour. The plan was to have the camp dismantled and packed by 8:00 am, then make the 2.5-hour trek back to the trailhead, arriving around 10:30 am. 

The first time I emerged from the tent, it was below freezing. Ice crystals had formed from the condensation on the outside of the rainfly. I looked south toward the lake and noticed the sun was maybe an hour from hitting the far shoreline. I was struggling to get motivated. 

I also thought about the bear scat we saw on the trail. Anyone who lives around wildlife knows that they are most active around sunrise. All I wanted was to snuggle back into my sleeping bag, and I made an excuse to do so. The bears are most active during this time, and I don’t want to be hiking through the woods alone right now. 

So I went back to the tent for another half hour, without a lot of motivation to do anything but stay warm. Eventually, I started moving again, mostly because the need to use the bathroom was growing more urgent. I had the left side of the tent already unzipped, and I was organizing a few things in my pack, getting ready to pack up. 

That’s when I heard it. 

It was quiet and subtle. There was no large roar or growl. It was something so faint you could almost miss it, yet it instantly made my heart stop. 

The step of a grizzly bear outside my tent. 

I’ve heard animals outside our tent before. Moose, elk, deer, etc. But something about the way this foot sounded, I instantly knew it was a grizzly. It didn’t crack a stick; it was just a loud, gentle “thump” near the foot of the tent. 

I immediately paused, reaching to my right to grab my bear spray. I removed the safety and sat in silence, staring at my feet. I knew it was there, but I hoped it would simply walk by. 

That if I sat in silence, it wouldn’t even know I existed. 

Seconds later, any hope I had of that was squashed. I watched the shadow of a grizzly bear paw appear at the foot of my tent. It wasn’t tearing at the nylon yet; it was more like a curious bear poke. It could’ve easily torn it apart right then, but the first touch didn’t make a rip. The claw disappeared, and I knew it was now or never. 

Strange as it was in that moment, my mind was crystal clear. There was no life flashing before my eyes. I didn’t struggle to breathe. I didn’t scream. 

Every thought was methodical and matter-of-fact. I had seconds to think. I knew what I had to do, and I had to do it fast. 

My finger was on the trigger of the spray next to my face, and I peeked out of the already unzipped tent. 

There he was. I was staring into the eyes of a grizzly bear. Actually, there were two. I could see the silhouette of a second large figure moving in the corner of my eye. 

I think we were both taken off-guard. I had expected a bear at the foot of my tent, not nearly peeking inside. And I don’t think he expected something to be inside the tent. 

“I’m fucked” 

He was so close I could’ve reached out my hand and touched the fur of his face. I could see the blackness of his pupils. That image was forever ingrained in my mind. 

He could’ve ended me right there with a single swoop of his paw. 

For a split second, it felt as if the entire world froze. I didn’t scream. He didn’t attack. A single millisecond of silence between myself and one of the world’s largest predators. 

Again, there was no panic. No life-altering moment. If anything, it was eerily calm. 

Then, without being able to fully think, I pulled the trigger of the bear spray. 

At such a close range, the pepper-like bear spray covered both of us, but it was a point-blank hit into his eyes, and he retreated about 40 feet away from the tent. This gap gave me enough time to run out of the tent in the opposite direction. 

Once outside and standing up, I turned around to see what was happening. I knew not to run. I knew not to turn my back too long. I knew this was it; whatever this bear decides to do next is going to determine if I will survive the next 5 minutes or not. 

A bear spray canister only holds about eight seconds of spray, and I already used half of it. I had four seconds of spray left, if I was lucky. My only lifeline. And there were two bears in front of me. Worse yet, the bear I sprayed was already turning back to me. Life in this moment was planned in 20-second increments. How do I stay alive for the next 20 seconds?

I walked back slowly, in silence. I know they say to make noise, but I didn’t make a peep. I don’t know why. He wasn’t charging me. I just backed away, looking directly in his eyes again. 

At one point, I started recording on my phone. I figured if something were to happen, I’d want evidence.

The second bear seemed to care less about my existence, which gave me some comfort. For whatever reason, facing one grizzly seemed a hell of a lot less daunting than two. I was still standing about 100 feet from the first grizzly, who seemed unfazed now by the bear spray. I kept backing up until he stood on his hind legs, where my slow reverse turned into a frantic shuffle and crossing of an ice-cold stream in my socks. 

By the time I got to the other side of the creek, I had a sigh of relief. I was still alive, and neither bear appeared to be charging me. The second bear was in his own world, rolling in some grass and disappearing behind the large brush. The first bear had shifted his sights on my tent. I was crossing some more marsh when the first tent impact took place, so I didn’t see it, but I already knew what was happening by the sound of tent poles snapping. 

By this time, my goal was to create as much distance as possible between us. I looked around to plan my next move. I was at the base of one of the talus slopes, filled with broken, sharp rock that had slowly eroded from the cliffs above. I decided to climb the talus as high as possible, giving myself an elevated and open view of the surroundings. I would be able to track the grizzlies from above, knowing their next move as quickly as possible. If they started heading in my direction, I would continue up the slopes to a cliffband where I had scouted a possible scramble route that would be sketchy, but doable if my life depended on it. 

The talus was incredibly sharp, cutting and tearing up the bottoms of my socks. A couple of hundred feet up, I took a break and found a large rock to sit on and provide my feet with relief. I sat and watched the bear, who had started throwing our tent around like a rag doll. I was lucky to have a lot of adrenaline pumping through my veins, keeping me from thinking about my feet that were bleeding and numb. 

I still had yet to make a peep. All I felt was adrenaline and calm chaos. 

Every so often, I would move further up the slope to a new, big rock. I took videos of the bears and watched a mother and baby moose run along the lake shoreline as the early morning sunbeams took over the valley. 

I started recording and talking on my phone. I needed an outlet and distraction, some sort of confirmation that what had just happened was real. But even as I spoke, the magnitude of the situation felt like a foggy dream. Like coming out of anesthesia and piecing it all together. 

The bear eventually lost interest in the tent. And the more I observed them, the more I understood. The bears seemed like young siblings, maybe three. They definitely weren’t as big as some monster grizzlies we’ve seen elsewhere. The way the first bear interacted with the tent, it almost seemed more like a curious puppy than a vicious, blood-seeking monster. 

Eventually, I knew that I was not their interest, and that they didn’t seem to want to attack or eat a human. For that, I was thankful. Most grizzly attacks happen because a mother is protecting her cubs, or a surprise encounter takes place. Most bears are good, and this encounter proved it. These two bears could easily killed me without much thought, especially after I sprayed one. That was more than enough to piss them off. But they didn’t. They don’t want to kill us; they only want to protect themselves and their young. 

I sat among the talus for over an hour. In the peace and quiet of the morning, my mind finally came to and was running a million miles an hour.

“I really hope I can find my shoes.” 

“How am I going to tell Josh?” 

“Do I stay here all day and wait for Josh to come back? That will be hours from now. What if the bears come back while I’m waiting? I should hike back. But hiking through grizzly country alone right now sounds like that last thing I would ever want to do. I should run back. But running increases the chance for a surprise encounter. What time is it? The first climbers should arrive at the lake around 11 or 12. Should I wait for them? But what if there are no hikers today?” 

I knew I didn’t want Josh to know what happened right away. He was in the middle of a technical solo climb on the side of a mountain. I needed him to focus. He had a Garmin GPS, but I didn’t. But I knew he was going to be worrying about me. I was supposed to be back at the camper by mid-morning, where I would turn on our Starlink and spend the rest of the day working. He would get service on higher up near the summit, and he would be able to text me updates throughout his climb. 

However, I was far behind schedule, and I knew I wouldn’t be getting to the trailhead anytime before noon. If Josh was keeping a good pace, he might be out of service by the time I get back. I didn’t know how much he would be worrying, or if he thought I might decide to stay out longer than expected. But I knew I could at least text him via Garmin once I arrived back. 

I stayed up on the slope for over an hour, watching every movement of the two bears below. For a while, they disappeared into the woods, and I could still hear branches cracking every so often to give me an idea where they were. The woods were still too close for comfort for me to go back to the tent, so I continued to wait. Eventually, I didn’t see or hear anything for a while, and I finally spotted two dark dots high on the slope across the valley next to the woods. I knew it was go-time. 

I rushed down the talus and across the creek to the field where our tent lay in strewn pieces. I went through everything as quickly as I could. Both my shoes were wet, but still inside the tent and able to be worn. My bear bag, a few hundred feet away, was still untouched, as was the sandwich I was about to eat inside the tent. I stuffed both sleeping bags into their sacks and packed up the various tent pieces. Everything except the tattered rainfly fit in my Hyperlite backpack, which survived with only a few claw punctures I figured dragging a rainfly would only help on the trail to make additional noise, so that’s exactly what I did. 

I started off as fast as I could. I made it to the far side of the lake, where suddenly the adrenaline turned to hunger. There was a small memorial bench nearby where I decided to take a few minutes to eat and gather my thoughts. I pulled out my sandwich that survived the attack and ate it overlooking the lake. I was still contemplating my next move. On one end, I was terrified to enter the woods alone. Just the thought of going through them solo with half a canister of bear spray makes my stomach churn. But sitting on this bench for the next five hours waiting for Josh also didn’t seem like a relaxing idea. 

My decision ultimately came down to the cats. The more I thought about it, the more I convinced myself that something terrible had also happened to them. I needed to get back to them, and as quickly as possible. 

I was disheveled, with bent and broken tent poles sticking out in every direction from my backpack. I was dragging a ripped and tattered rainfly behind me. ‘Cruel Summer’ by Taylor Swift was blasting on repeat, and I was singing along at the top of my lungs. It took about 45 minutes before I came across a couple on their way to the lake. We stopped and chatted for a minute before they finally said, “Are you okay?”

I wanted to laugh, because I’m sure I was quite a sight in my frantic state. 

“I had a bear rip apart my tent this morning. Be careful! There are two grizzlies at the lake.” 

I was still on an incredible adrenaline high. I ran into a handful of others on the trail, going through the same story with each, warning them about the grizzlies at the lake that seemed very curious about humans. I asked a couple if they had noticed the camper and if anything looked off. They said the camper was there and appeared untouched, which gave me an immense feeling of relief. 

When I finally made it back to the trailhead, I ran to the camper and opened it, finding all three cats lazily napping, looking at me like I was an inconvenience, and pissed when I wouldn’t let them come outside for a walk. I grabbed the Starlink and booted it up as fast as I could. Once it finally connected, I had a handful of messages from Josh, each getting increasingly worried. 

The last text was sent just five minutes before I got connected, and read:

“Okay, I’m through the hard part and back on the saddle heading down about to lose service. Hope everything is ok. Love you.” 

I immediately replied, hoping that maybe he had taken a break and it would still get to him. But I got no reply. I then sent a text to his Garmin: 

“Hi babe. All OK. Had a bear incident. Back at trailhead now. I am fine but a lot of our gear is fucked” 

Unfortunately, he never saw that message. But eventually, he started running into the same groups that I had earlier in the day on the trail. He asked them about me, to which they replied something along the lines of 

“She was attacked by a bear in your tent this morning, but she is back at the trailhead now.” 

He was at the same lake by the time he received this information and ran the 4 miles back from there. 

I worried immensely about Josh while waiting for him back in the camper. He had to cross the same terrain and the same path of the bears on his way back. He hadn’t answered my Garmin message. I stared at my computer, answering emails to try and distract myself, but I couldn’t focus. 

I didn’t want to be alone anymore. I didn’t want him to be alone anymore. We were still thirty miles down a dirt road from and nearly fifty miles away from the closest town. 

Heart pounding in my chest, I let out the my first true sigh of relief when I heard his footsteps approach the camper.

I walked away from two grizzlies unscathed. We talked for hours after on why and how this incident occured. 

What was the reason for such an encounter? It’s hard to tell, and something we’ll never know the answer to. 

Looking back, I realize that the last time we used that tent was in the Cloud Peak Wilderness of Wyoming, where our cat came backpacking with us. It had been 11 months since we used that specific tent, but I’m sure that scent of cat was still all over it, which could easily provoke a curious juvenile grizzly bear. 

Part of me also believes that if Josh had left from the trailhead on his own he would’ve had his own bear encounter, with a much different ending. He likely would’ve been walking around the same area at the same time if he left from the truck, as we originally planned. 

Or, would that not have happened, we would’ve driven out of the trailhead only to get in a car accident? 

We will never know, but for whatever reason, I fully believe the grizzlies saved us from something. And for that, I am forever grateful. They are a grandeur addition to the wild, and one that I will always respect and love. 

Full video:

@shaleewanders

Full story of how I walked away after ending up nose to nose with a grizzly bear - On August 21st we headed out to Assiniboine Lake for a short trip. I was anxious about leaving the cats in the camper overnight but wanted to get out in a quick 14-hour backpacking trip. Josh’s objective was Mount Assiniboine in Mount Assiniboine Provincial Park, so we agreed that he would leave for the climb at sunrise and I would head back to the trailhead, a short 4.8 miles away from the lake where we camped. Living around Yellowstone, spending the night in thick grizzly country was nothing new to us. We’ve spent the equivalent to months in the backcountry sharing territory with them. I have a profound respect for the wilds of the mountains, and I still would rather take my chances alone in the wilderness than alone as a woman in a city. Josh left around sunrise and my plan was to leave by 8. I decided to hang around a little longer than planned. It was a beautiful morning, and the sun was just about to hit the lake. I knew bears were more active in the dawn hours. The cats would be fine and it was probably smarter for me to wait the extra hour before heading into the woods. I was hoping the sunshine would dry out the condensation collected on the tent overnight before packing up and heading out. I heard nothing all morning besides the trickles of a nearby stream. Sitting in the tent getting ready to go outside for a bathroom break, I suddenly heard a large step outside. Instantly, I knew. I quickly took the safety off the bear spray and sat in silence for a few seconds, hoping I was wrong. But then, in the most horror movie way, the shadow of a grizzly claw appeared on the side of the tent. Finger on the trigger of the spray i peeked outside the already unzipped tent and there it was, closer than I expected. Actually, there were two. One right there and another about 25 feet behind. Nose to nose with it I pulled the trigger before i really had time to think. It was enough to scare him back and for me to exit the tent. It didn’t deter him much, though, and he was already walking back in my direction. At that point, i had noticed that he seemed more interested in the tent than me (woo!). I looked around to see where I thought they were least likely to go, and a giant talus field above the lake caught my eye. Shoeless in the freezing temps i made my way across the marsh and up the sharp talus field where i sat on a larger rock roughly 100m up and watched him tear apart the tent. I watched them for roughly an hour, until they were high enough on a nearby slope for me to feel comfortable heading back to the remains of camp. The only thing outside my bear bag was the chocolate peanut butter sandwich i was getting ready to eat for breakfast, still in its bag, which went untouched and I ate later. The two bears were big but not full grown, and i truly believe they were young adult siblings that were curious and being rowdy teens. Only the one had any interest in me or the tent. My @Hyperlite Mountain Gear backpack survived with only one claw puncture, so i quickly shoved the shredded pieces of camp into it. My shoes were wet but fine, which is what i was most worried about because my feet were freezing and painful after climbing the sharp rock field in socks. The rainfly wouldn’t fit in my hurried packing, so it was dragged the 5 miles back to the trailhead. I decided to go back instead of wait for Josh’s return (he was hours away at this point on a very technical climb). I decided I would rather risk the hike back than be a sitting duck in a territory i was just nearly attacked in. So i boogied back to the trailhead as fast possible blasting Cruel Summer by T.S. for both sound and hype. No ill will toward the bear. I am well aware that I was the outlier in his home, the unfamiliar weed in his garden. Bear vs man debate? Still bear, every time. Although i would like to *never* see one even remotely close again. #backpacking #britishcolumbia

♬ original sound - Shalee | Cats & Travel