In The Haunting Grip Of The Ghost Bear

Glen Brunke, December 13, 2023

Under the vast canopy of tall pines and leafless oak trees, I stood at the trailhead, the weight of my backpack pressing into my hips and shoulders. The scent of pine hung in the crisp January air as I took the first steps into the heart of the Ozarks. With each footfall, the world around me transformed into a realm of solitude and wild beauty. Alone but undaunted, I ventured deeper into the embrace of the rugged wilderness, a lone backpacker chasing the unknown in the heart of nature's untamed sanctuary.

I wasn't even sure if I could complete the trip. It was my first time backpacking, and without a reference point for distances, I selected a trail that was 16 miles to cover in two days of hiking with a single night spent camping. Camping was familiar to me, but it was usually done by driving to my campsite with a car load of gear to access. Did I have everything that I needed? It felt like I had plenty of gear, my pack weighing nearly 50 pounds, probably two times more than it needed to be if I knew what I was doing.

I tried to think of everything I might need: a tent, sleeping bag, food, water, a light, very predictable essentials. To the essentials, I added things like extra food (in case I got stuck for days), several changes of clothes (because who knows), and of course, a giant knife to protect me from bears. I was going to be in bear country; black bears are somewhat common in the Ozarks, so I needed to be prepared for what felt like a likely attack. I wasn't sure how exactly I was going to defend myself by knife-fighting a bear, but it felt comforting at least.

I made my way up and over a large ridgeline and descended into a remote valley bisected by a clearwater stream. The trail traced the stream for several miles, and eventually, I found myself running out of daylight and in need of a place to make camp. I selected a cleared area that had been used by backpackers before, as evidenced by a stone fire ring and "sitting rocks."

Everything was going great; my tent was ready for bedtime, the promised good weather was holding out, and my dehydrated meal tasted even better than anticipated, no doubt aided by the many calories expended getting over the steep inclines. Finished for the day, I decided to try and get some sleep. I checked the time... 6:15 PM. So early. And then it hit me, I have 13 hours of darkness to look forward to thanks to the short winter days. What am I going to do for 13 hours?

I had brought along a book to read by the light of my headlamp; as the pages turned, my eyelids gained weight until I was sleeping soundly at last. I awoke, eyes closed yet. I heard something. Something was moving around outside my tent. The leaves rustled noisily, then stopped, rustled some more, then stopped again. I had my knife, sheathed, next to me. I touched the handle to ensure it was still there, ready to mount my defense. But, that would have to wait; the noise moved away, and eventually, I was able to settle back into sleep.

Suddenly, something had me. It was on my back, wrapped around my body. I couldn't move; my mind searched for options but could think of no way to free myself. I struggled in its grip, but it was no use. A huge bear had me and was about to devour me as his midnight snack, and there was nothing I could do about it.



I gasped and opened my eyes into the pitch black void. I was on my side, my sleeping bag weirdly twisted around my body, the tent partially collapsed over me as I rolled into the side wall. I wasn't being attacked; I was caught in the tent. The reality slowly came to me as the fog of sleep lifted. It was only a dream. I listened intently, not willing to fully believe it was all an invention of my sleeping mind, but it was. I was safe. I touched the knife again; still there, but nothing was coming to get me.

Morning came...eventually, and I continued on my way. Back over the ridgeline, back to the safety of my car, and back home. The "bear attack" still clawed the back of my mind, the last remaining evidence at the scene of the crime.