I lived in Alaska more than ten years before I saw a bear. Evidence was everywhere. Paw prints and scat on the trails in Chugach State Park continually reminded us of our proximity to one of the wilderness’ most iconic creatures. Bears also made plenty of appearances closer to home. The whole neighborhood was abuzz one afternoon when a large brown bear meandered down First Street, stopping for a moment to peer into our open garage. I always seemed to arrive ten minutes too late. Photo albums from our first years in Alaska are stuffed with pictures of moose in the yard, but no bears. Not even in the wild. Finally, on a late evening drive near the Eagle River Nature Center, I watched a black bear sow lope across Eagle River Road with her two cubs. What a treat to see their black fur shimmering in the sunlight. At long last I’d caught a glimpse of an Alaska bear.

            Since then, there have been plenty of bears to marvel at. Several summers ago, we visited the McNeil River bear sanctuary. For 8-10 hours each day, we watched bears in their natural habitat do what bears do – fish, play, fight, and sleep. Sows suckled their cubs. Teenage bears goofed off and fumbled at their attempts to catch salmon. Youngsters wrestled with their dinner – the sow would bring a flopping salmon to shore, peel off a bit of skin, and then let the cubs finish the job.

            While nothing may ever compare to the magic of those McNeil River bears, this summer marks a record year for random encounters. The first was in Bicentennial Park, in Anchorage. Riding with Bill and Diane on horseback, we came upon a black bear whose big rump was the most we saw as it crested the hill and disappeared. Less than a week later, on a trail near the Knik River, we encountered a black bear grazing on a grassy hillside. We watched it for some time before it saw us; Diane even had time to snap a few photos before it loped back into the shadowed forest.

            Later in the summer, I drove up the Dalton Highway with my friend, Jane, and my niece, Natalie. The foothills of the Brooks Range blazed purple with fireweed. The late evening sun illuminated jagged fists of rock rising from the horizon. Along a remote 250 mile stretch of road, Jane needed to make a quick pit stop. As she entered the woods near the back of the truck, a cinnamon-colored brown bear stepped out in front of the truck. It ran across the deserted road looking over its humped shoulder with an expression of horror. Natalie and I hollered at Jane but by the time she stepped back onto the road the bear had disappeared. We laughed wondering whose face most aptly reflected our surprise encounter – Jane’s or the bear’s?

            A few days later, in the Brooks Range, we saw a brown bear sow and her two cubs. The mother bear woofed at her youngsters, who scrambled up the hill behind her. The twins stood on their hind legs and peered at us with curiosity. Mother was not amused however, and there was an edgy moment between our group and the bear. We shouted at her to leave, but it wasn’t until we moved our horses forward that she decided not to tangle with us.

            Since then, I’ve happened upon a black bear munching berries near Yosemite Road just past the Hiland exit to Eagle River. Several cars pulled over to watch. The bear looked up, sauntered to the road and then ambled across -- entirely unconcerned with traffic or people. I had a sinking sense that this bear was becoming too much like a Yellowstone bear, one dangerously habituated to civilization.

            And then yesterday, my friend Katie’s horse alerted us to a black bear peering at us on its hind legs less than 50 yards from the trail. We kept a respectful distance and grinned at our good fortune to see yet another one of these fascinating and colorful envoys of Alaska’s wilderness.

            With September comes a change in seasons. While we rake our yards and harvest the last carrots and cabbages from our gardens, the bears will be fattening up on late-run silvers and seeking dens to spend the winter. This seven-bear summer will be one to remember – both for lasting friendships and for the bears. A summer to remember with gratitude.