Ticket to ride

Wednesday, September 19, 2007

By Grace Hammond

Jackson Hole, Wyo.-I could hear the bear shifting back and forth in the trailer behind the truck. I buckled up.

“That guy, he’s the winner of a one-way ticket to Togwotee Pass,” said Brian DeBolt, a bear management officer usually based in Lander, as he fiddled with the vents. “Let me know if it gets too cold in here. Ready?”

DeBolt is a certified peace officer with 10 years of bear management experience. He wore Wranglers with his uniform and carried a .40-caliber handgun at his hip. He has a master’s degree in zoology and physiology from the University of Wyoming and is based in Lander, but came down today to help Zach Turnbull out.

DeBolt had spent the morning checking bear traps and coordinating beehive fencing. Now, he was ready to relocate a six-year-old black bear.

DeBolt caught the bear, #1164, the previous night. It was by the Alta school, plucking apples from a tree. DeBolt caught him in a culvert trap baited with apples and mule deer. When the door banged down behind him, the bear hissed and swatted at the grate. It took two attempts to tranquilize him. The first dart was on the mark, but it failed to engage when it hit. He jumped and charged, antagonized and alert. DeBolt then used a jabstick to administer the drug. A few minutes later, the bear was down for the count. Neighborhood kids gathered around the cage in the dusk.

The bear weighed just over half what he should have – 100 to 120 pounds, when bears his age should be around 200 this time of year. He spent the night in captivity and was wide awake when I encountered him the next morning, sitting on his haunches in a big, green cage hitched to the back of a Ford F250. He popped his jaws and swayed his head back and forth, making low, almost inaudible moans when I got close.

A bear like this one has a good shot with relocation, DeBolt said. “It’s a pre-emptive move,” he said, because the bear had been only been conducting “natural foraging in an unnatural place.” He was getting too comfortable with people, but he hadn’t experienced human food rewards yet. It was a plum time to intervene.

A relocated bear will often head straight back toward where they found him once Game and Fish drives away. The hope is that he will become distracted along the way by a niche, a spot that’s just right for him, between here and there.

DeBolt apologized “for the mess” in the pickup right off the bat. It wasn’t that bad, and, hey, if it were spotless and freshly waxed I would have questioned his priorities. A tangle of cords formed a big black mass on the dashboard. A tube of pink Chapstick sat in the cup holder, and empty bottles of Gatorade and bottled water – the fun, flavored kind – littered the floor. There was a 12-guage shotgun above my head. Sunflower seeds were scattered around DeBolt’s feet, with a bare, shoe-shaped space in the middle.

“I’m trying to quit Copenhagen,” DeBolt said, kicking at the seeds so they spread further out around his feet. “But, see, here’s an unopened bag of sunflower seeds, and there’s a half-full tin of Copenhagen, so –” He threw up his hands.

We drove toward the Togwotee Pass. The back side of the bear trailer was covered with a red square of material to keep the bear calmer, DeBolt said, and to prevent tailgating.
We almost found our spot about an hour later near the Holmes Cave turnoff, deep in the woods. We couldn’t push the truck any farther, as it bounced and lurched over dried mud carved with deep, deep tread. But we saw three cars too many, and we turned back.
“If it was just that one horse trailer, I’d do it, but –” DeBolt said.

We kept going until the turnoff for Lost Lake. We stopped to check on the bear before we took the truck down the trail. He hung his head low, almost to his stomach. He refused all eye contact, shaking his head back and forth very slowly. Showing subordination is common at this point, DeBolt said. “It’s his first time without four feet on the ground.”

DeBolt brought his dog, Jake, in a crate. He collared Jake to let him out at Lost Lake. It was a shock collar, he said, but it was set on vibrate. He’d only shocked Jake once, and before he did, he shocked himself below the neck. I’m not sure if he was testing it or just trying to be fair.

We got back in the truck and kept going, bumping and lurching and brushing against trees. A gadget on the dash rang like a phone.

“Jackson, GR81,” DeBolt said into the handset. Static. “This radio hasn’t been workin’ worth a damn.”

We stopped to examine tracks in the mud. Moose, elk and grizzly, next to the remnants of a camp. DeBolt wanted to let the bear out where other bears lived. He picked up a pile of chewed-up pinecones – old bear poop. It fell through his fingers, dusty and dry.
We found our spot. DeBolt tried to settle the truck so the trailer was on flat ground. We shot forward. Then back. Rolled over a pile of mud. I felt like the truck could drive straight up a wall if he gave it enough gas.

“That’s about it.”

DeBolt gave me a look. It was time. We jumped out of the truck.

DeBolt put Jake back in the kennel, then grabbed a long, twisty rope and leapt on top of the cage to attach one end of it to the door, which would slide straight up when the rope was pulled. The bear was curled on his side at the mouth of the cage. “That’s where we want him,” DeBolt said.

We climbed back into the truck. I slammed my door. Windows up? Yes. DeBolt slammed his door around the loose end of the rope.

“We’re going for it.”

He straightened the car out and the cage door groaned open. We watched. We waited for over a minute. Nothing. The bear was waiting too. Then a cloud of dust exploded into the air as the bear hit the ground. When he moved, light rippled across his fur. He walked at a clip, intent but not panicked. He didn’t hurry, just moved in what seemed like a smooth motion, a liquid one.

DeBolt unrolled his window. “Go on, git!” he hollered. The bear was unfazed. He continued up the hill at the same pace and disappeared into the trees.
“Let’s see where on Earth we’re at,” DeBolt said, pulling a gadget from the mess of wires on the dash. I got out of the truck to have a look in the pickup bed. I found a sack of apples and a deer leg wrapped in a tarp. What’s another word for a deer leg if you work for G&F? “A bait-sized piece,” I learned.

I looked at the darts – they smelled like gunpowder – and we headed out, leaving a cloud of dust and a bear behind. DeBolt told me it was good to have someone along for the ride.

“We’re an open book in this department. We want the public to be involved in what we’re doing. We just do our best to meet in the middle somewhere, and make that mesh of people and wildlife work.”

Photo Courtesy of Wyoming Game & Fish
Relocated bears often return to where they were found, especially if they have experienced human food rewards.

PERMALINK:
Ticket to ride | Planet JH News Article: General Environment

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