Today, a memory from two years ago popped up on Facebook, a memory that still makes me pause. I was out on a really tough pole walking session, one of those sessions where you push your body, get your heart rate up, and really work your way through the terrain. I had no phone with me, so if anything had happened, there would have been no way to call for help. It was just me, my poles, and my heart rate monitor. The forest was dense and still around me, and I was completely alone.
Image 1 illustrates what happened in my body; my heart rate soared to the peak. Image 2 shows how I reacted; the red dot is the bear's location. When the line is yellow, it indicates a normal pole-walking pace. Blue means moving slowly, and you can see a bit of orange and then red. It was when I sped up and started to feel safe that, once I was out of sight of the bear, I ran. That's when the line turns red.
Suddenly, I heard a strange sound. It sounded almost like water being sucked down a whirlpool, so I looked down into the ditch beside me — but there was no water at all. The sound came again, and I turned to the side to see what it was. At first, I just saw movement in the undergrowth. My first thought was that it might be wild boars, but they usually don't frequent that particular spot.
Then I saw the silhouette. Not of a pig — but of a bear.
Naturvårdverket (Swedish Environmental Protection Agency)
It was on all fours, with that typical broad hindquarters. And before I even had time to react, it stood up on its hind legs. I was about two meters away from it. Two meters. The bear stood there sniffing, its nose high up, its head moving slowly as if trying to locate what was in front of it.
That's when the bear fear struck. My body reacted with pure terror, but somewhere a calm took over. I raised my poles, stretched out my hands to make myself larger, and slowly, slowly began to back away. When the embankment ended, I continued sideways, always keeping my eyes fixed on the bear. I moved as slowly as I could, without turning my back.
When the bear finally disappeared from sight… that's when I ran. As fast as I could, all the way home.
Länsstyrlelsen/björn (County Administrative Board/bear)
It's an encounter I'll never forget. A moment where nature showed itself exactly as it is — powerful, present, and full of life. And a moment that taught me that even when the body screams in fear, you can find a calm to act from.
During our Husky-Hiking tours, we have never encountered a bear. The dogs always make a little noise at the start; they are eager to get going, and that's enough for both bears and other animals to move away long before we arrive. Sometimes we see the dogs sniff a bit extra, and sometimes we find droppings that show animals have been there earlier. But actual encounters are avoided precisely because the dogs make themselves heard, and nature reacts in good time.
That's one of the great things about walking in the forest with dogs: you're never alone, and nature always has time to respond.
Annika and Pär