"When they opened the door, a black bear was going through their stuff! In a parking lot! Can you believe it!" Linda says, regaling me with a story she had heard that morning from one of the attendees at the art show. I had just dropped her off at the exhibit, making a second trip back to the truck to bring all the inventory back to the tent. I planned to drop Linda off and drive to another trailhead this morning, a little higher in elevation, a little more secluded from the crowded trail I hiked yesterday. I hadn't even thought about bears.

I'm not too fond of bears. I'm bigger than most predators in the backcountry paths I wander; I don't even think about mountain lions much when I hike as they are relatively cautious, and I walk where wildlife is plentiful. It would take a starving lion even to attempt an attack on another predator my size. And I carry a gun. I'm a solo hiker in mountain lion country; I'm not stupid.

But a bear is a different story altogether. My worst fear when hiking in bear country is to stumble onto a meadow between mother and cubs. I don't carry that big of a gun. "Well, have fun!" Linda says, and I mumble, "Good luck" as I turn and walk away.

It's Labor Day weekend, and when I scouted the trailhead yesterday, dozens of cars were along the road—strength in numbers, I think, as I drive toward the Elk Dance Loop trailhead. I can't outrun any other hiker; however, if many hikers have already passed through, perhaps they have scared off any bears, or the bears are already full. These are unpleasant thoughts I only have when I'm in bear country. Bears are precisely why I hike Zion's desert landscapes—miles and miles of open terrain. "Get a grip," I tell myself as I pull into the trailhead lot. There are only two cars.

Elk Dance Loop Trail. Photo by author. copyright BrickBarnBlog2023.

Elk Dance trail is a double loop trail that follows an old mining or lumber road up the hillside. The road is steep but well-traveled by mountain bikes and hikers alike. A stream rumbles along the side of the road, and it doesn't take long before I start to relax. It is a beautiful day; the air is crisp, with just a touch of color among the Aspen trees and scrub oak on the hillside.

Truthfully, I've never seen a predator in the backcountry. I've seen tracks, but not the animal itself. Of course, that white-tip shark was in Fiji, but that's a story for a different time. The road continues, and the junction I've been looking for branches to the right, following the mountain horizontally across the hillside. Stunning views exist along the path; a couple passes me when I stop to enjoy the view. With someone ahead of me, I finally stopped thinking about bears and started to enjoy the hike.

Another couple and, finally, two older women with dogs move in the opposite direction. The trail intersects again, and I follow the short connector trail to "Heaven's Gate." Heaven's Gate is a small log cabin with skis hanging above the door. Nobody's home, and I sit on the edge of the ramp, trying to decide which way to go. The second loop is longer, and I'm less energetic than I had hoped because of the altitude and exertion. I turn and begin to follow the road back toward the trailhead.

I pass a few more people and listen to some whooping and hollering from mountain bikers as they cross the trail before me. When I arrive back at the trailhead, more than a few cars are now in the lot. Hopefully, I scared any bears away from the people on the trail. Thankfully, I wasn't a meal either.

Written October 21, 2023 (hike occurred September 4, 2023)