I'm not sure how to describe the experience, but for some reason the word holy comes to mind. I began to walk in the marked trail, stepping into the firm, deep-worn places where bears had walked for centuries. That's how they learn to cross this place." The cubs follow their elders, putting their feet exactly where the older bears walk. For as long as the bears have been on this island, they've taken this path. A path created by the footprints of the bears.
Our guide led us to a trail of what seemed to be massive footprints, with a stride of about two feet between them, pressed down into the bog and making a path through it. The meadow was actually more of a bog, a low-lying jungle of brushy groundcover about two feet high, barely supported underneath by another foot of soaked moss and peat. "They're sleeping now, through the afternoon.
Being midday, and hot, there were no bears to be seen. After a twenty minute walk through a spruce forest, we came into what appeared to be a broad, open meadow about four hundred yards across. Our guide asked us if we wanted to go for a hike into the interior of the island, to a clearing where grizzlies were known to feed. My family and I were sea kayaking with humpback whales in the Icy Strait, and we stopped on the shore of Chichagof Island for lunch. One of the most haunting experiences I have ever had as a man took place on an early summer day in Alaska.
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