What It's Really Like to Face Off with a Grizzly — and Live to Tell the Tale

Yahoo

10-05-2025

The grizzly swung with its massive right paw. In a desperate attempt to protect his head, Jon Bentzel raised his left arm above him like a karate block and ducked, bracing for the impact of the enormous, fur-lined paw. The bear clubbed him, rattled his dome, hit his wristwatch, and then straddled him. Bentzel thought he was going to die and hoped it would be quick. The force shook him to his core.
Bentzel had on his backpack and was lying in the fetal position, screaming bloody murder at the top of his lungs — petrified, hoping to scare it away. 'The bear's claws were as long as my fingers, like looking at a catcher's mitt with claws,' Bentzel recalls. 'Just this big meat hook.'
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Micah Nelson thought his friend was dying. 'I'd never heard a person scream in terror like that,' he says. 'I thought that was what your last scream sounded like.'
Grizzly bears have recently been in the news as the Trump administration takes steps to dismantle the Endangered Species Act and remove the bears' habitat protections. Some politicians argue that the bear populations have recovered significantly over the past 50 years in Republican-led states like Idaho, Montana, and Wyoming, where grizzlies live. Bears numbers have risen in the last 50 years from 800 to more than 2,000 but haven't recovered to historical numbers of 50,000.
As more and more people move West, more bear habitat is fragmented and lost due to humans developing on wildlands, especially outside of Glacier National Park. The Flathead County, where much of Glacier National Park is located, was one of the fastest growing counties in Montana with around 11,000 people moving here between 2020 and 2023. Tim Manley, former grizzly bear management specialist for Montana Fish, Wildlife and Parks, says human-bear encounters have also increased as populations expand and move closer to human settlements. Bears often search for sustenance in people's yards in early spring and late fall by rummaging through garbage, chicken coops, and bird feeders.This is happening more as new residents leave out attractants because they haven't received proper education about living near bears. The expansion of human populations into the wildland-urban interface further fragments bear habitats, displacing the animals and forcing them into closer contact with humans.
Manley goes on to say that all of this has led to a concerning increase in close encounters with grizzly bears, leading to increased bear deaths due to human actions. Hunters and anglers are increasingly opting to carry sidearms instead of bear spray, which has resulted in some bears being mistakenly shot, either because they were thought to be black bears or due to perceived threats during charging incidents. Manley thinks this is due to tradition and people trusting their guns over bear mace. 'Bear spray is very effective,' he says. 'We're trying to put a message to people to carry bear spray, learn how to use it, and carry it where it is accessible.'
Still, data indicates bear attacks remain relatively rare in North America. Despite the increase in encounters, fatal attacks occur on average only two or three times a year. When Bentzel and Nelson faced off with that bear a decade ago, they were ready for it.
THE DAY THEY ENCOUNTERED the grizzly, Bentzel and Nelson were on the second day of a four- to five-day peak-bagging trip in Glacier National Park. They aimed to complete the 45-mile-long Traverse, which follows the north-central Continental Divide, over 25 miles involving off-trail navigation through some of the highest grizzly bear densities in the contiguous United States.
Bentzel had lived in Montana for over 10 years, although he grew up in York, Pennsylvania. Nelson was born in Kalispell, Montana, near Glacier National Park. Both men enjoyed weekend climbing trips. They were familiar with the outdoors, each having more than a decade of experience working on trail crews in grizzly country, where they built and maintained hiking trails for the public. Bentzel, who was 39, had summited many of the park's named peaks and had invited Nelson, then 30, to join him on the expedition that July of 2015. They packed lightly, bringing sleeping bags, small tents, and food.
During the two previous days, they had noticed occasional bear digs and piles of bear scat, but weren't alarmed — after all, they were in northwestern Montana.
Their goal that day was to head toward a notch between two mountains. Their first threshold was crossing a steep, snow-filled gully with a creek flowing through it. Bentzel crossed easily using his ski poles, but Nelson hesitated, struggling with his old, slick, treadless shoes. The weather turned for the worse; temperatures dropped, and winds increased. Low-hanging clouds obscured their view of the peaks they intended to climb, so they decided it wasn't ideal to get up high, though they still wanted to make progress.
Next, they had to traverse a steep, snow-covered goat trail along Guardhouse Mountain's east face. One misstep could send them sliding into a waterfall, and they were uncertain about what lay on the other side. Without ice axes, they carefully kicked steps into the snow. They were relieved knowing they wouldn't have to return the same way they came.
Dropping below the snowline, they marched through a rocky scree field an hour later into a copse of stunted conifer trees. Suddenly, two little fur balls — grizzly cubs born six months earlier — blasted out of the bush in a blur only feet away, passing them and then disappearing into the forest. 'I could've reached down and touched them,' Nelson tells me.
Bentzel and Nelson looked at each other. 'Damn! Did you see that? Ah, man, where's Mom?' Bentzel asked. Sows will charge humans or other animals if they approach their cubs too closely.
The men heard rustling in the bushes uphill to their right. Terrified, they both yelled, 'Hey, bear, hey bear.'
As they turned to investigate the noise, a large, wet, haggard grizzly, dark brown with cinnamon streaks, charged toward them from 50 feet away. Its ears were erect and pointed forward as it closed the distance in just two or three bounds, reaching speeds of approximately 35 miles per hour.
They had seconds to react and zero time to think.
The bear was inches away when Nelson fell backward, uphill. He could smell the musky, wet dog smell. The bear blew right past him in a straight line toward Bentzel.
Meanwhile, Bentzel fumbled with his bear mace canister, which contains a carrier agent and a propellant that enables it to shoot 20 to 40 feet. He kept his eyes on the animal as he struggled to undo the holster attached to his pack. He was about to pull it out, but the bear came right at him when he dodged backward into a scrubby little fir, the closest thing around.
The bear blew past him half a stride, dug its front claws in the dirt, then spun a quick 180 and lunged at Bentzel.
After swatting him, the bear roared into his left ear and rolled him back and forth with its paws. The bruin straddled him with all four legs and thrashed Bentzel's head repeatedly before trying to roll him. Bentzel stared at his stomach and protected his organs.
During a grizzly attack, experts like Manley suggest lying in the fetal position, covering your stomach, being quiet, and playing dead. Manley thinks it's all about knowing bear behavior and if the bear is defending something.'If the bear was surprised, protecting cubs and guarding food then the bear is just trying to neutralize you and move on,' Manley says. If the bear is acting predatory, he recommends trying to act aggressive. This is what the bear did with Bentzel and Nelson, otherwise they wouldn't be here to share their story.
Nelson wondered how they would get a Medevac flight out of there if Bentzel were in too bad shape to walk out. The cloud level was so low, with strong gusts of snow and rain, that a chopper couldn't land and a ground rescue might take days.
Nelson climbed to his feet, pulled out his bear spray, and sprinted toward the bear. Distracted, the bear leapt off Bentzel and charged Nelson, getting within a foot as he sprayed it directly in the face. The audible release of the pressurized gas, followed by the burning, blinding, and gasping sensation. The bear veered off and disappeared into the greenery. But not for long.
Nelson approached Bentzel as he staggered up, grabbed him by the shoulders, and looked square into his eyes. Trees still surrounded them. They needed to get into a clearing. They were both amazed he was alive.
Their heads swiveled as they fretted that the momma could still be around as they left the forest and backtracked 50 yards into the scree field. With the rain pouring down, it seemed like Bentzel's hand was losing blood by the liter. He patted down his body to see if anything else was hurt, broken, or bleeding — all clear. His pack was surprisingly unscathed. They planned to bandage his hand.
But suddenly, the bear charged back out of the trees 100 feet above. The same momma bear dropped down, darting down the hill like she would steamroll them, but she slammed the brakes and skidded in the scree within 20 feet. Then, the roughly 400-pound mother stood seven feet tall, bluff-charging by standing up and dropping down repeatedly. The bear growled, huffed and clacked her teeth — making sure her message of getting away from her cubs got across.
They stood there holding their bear spray at the ready. Finally, after a few seconds, she gave them one last glare and bolted off.
Bentzel now felt comfortable inspecting his hand. His brand-new red raincoat had a perfect slice in the sleeve by his wrist. His glove was soaked with blood. His adrenaline was pumping so hard he couldn't feel anything. He peeled it off and saw the bear had slashed a few-inch gash in the lower, meaty part of his hand above his wrist. Skin was peeled back, but he could still move it. No tendons or muscle damage. There were claw marks across his watch. Nelson applied gauze from his first-aid kit to stop the bleeding.
'Well, what do we do now?' asked Nelson. 'We're halfway through this trip.'
'I want to get the hell out of here,' Bentzel answered.
They decided to backtrack — it was the shortest way, and they worried Bentzel might need stitches. Nervously, they kept looking over their shoulders, hoping they weren't being tracked by other bears as they returned to the ridge silently, trying to comprehend what had just happened.
Hours later, they reached the unnamed lake where they had stayed the night before. That evening, they illegally made a fire to get warm, dry their gear, and gorged themselves on food.
That night was sleepless. They freaked out about attracting other predators that would be attracted to the smell of blood. Bentzel had a bloody bandage on his wrist and hand, and all night, they stirred at the slightest sounds.
The next day was a beautiful, clear day. They were bummed they weren't still bagging peaks but relieved to be alive. They arrived home late Saturday night, and Bentzel drove to North Valley Hospital in Whitefish Monday morning. A week later, he returned to work in the backcountry.
Ten years later, Bentzel believes, 'Once, the mother knew her cubs were safe…She wouldn't shred me, but she told me, Hey, stay away from my kids.' Bentzel also believes that the weather saved him. Since leaving camp the morning before, he'd placed a Gore-Tex pack cover over his pack and had worn his climbing helmet because of falling rocks, which he kept on all day. His hood over his helmet also helped shed rain. Normally, he would attach his helmet to his pack, but he couldn't stretch his pack cover over it, so he wore it. The helmet prevented the bear from splitting his head open like a melon or tearing his face off.
Bentzel feels fortunate it wasn't any worse and it hasn't deterred him from seeking adventure. 'Mom was only doing what comes naturally by protecting her young. I hold no ill feelings towards bears. Being a dad now makes me realize that your child's safety is paramount to anything else.'
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