Bears and Me

BEHIND THE STORIES · AUTHOR INTERVIEW

A Bear Named Blueberry, a Photograph Worth Waiting For, and the Respect Wildlife Deserves

An interview with Lloyd W. Alexander

What drew you to photographing bears?

Growing up in Portland, I didn't see bears. They were fascinating, but they were also a little frightening.
Early on, I'd only caught glimpses.
One especially alert bear became a puzzle I wanted to solve—not because I wanted to conquer him, but because I could see a beautiful photograph in my mind and couldn't get close enough to make it.

What made that bear such a challenge?

Every time I saw him near a large field, he'd disappear as soon as he noticed me.
I tried stopping farther away, hiding the car behind a berm, even taking the keys out so the door wouldn't chime.
He always knew.
Eventually, I studied aerial views and planned a long route through the woods, approaching from the opposite side of the road.
I moved slowly, kept my breathing calm, and waited behind the berm.
I didn't peek over with my face. I raised my camera and used the screen on the back to see beyond it.
There he was.
Then he stood on his hind legs, turned, and sniffed the air with a frond sticking out of his mouth.
I took the photograph.
He heard the shutter and was gone.
It still makes me smile.
I'd finally figured out how to get the shot.
People see a picture, but they don't necessarily see all the work, patience, and thinking behind it.

But Bears and Me is especially about one bear you called Blueberry. How did you meet her?

Naomi called me from New Hampshire and said there was a bear in Pinkham Notch, with people gathered to watch.
I was roughly an hour away.
I had a feeling the bear would still be there, so I drove up—and she was.
The crowd had formed a semicircle.
The bear had a route down a slope toward a waterway and woods, but I wasn't sure that was the direction she wanted to go.
I made eye contact with her.
She seemed nervous to me.
I said aloud that it was okay to leave if she needed to feel safe.
Within about fifteen seconds, she turned and ran off.
Later, I encountered her in a blueberry patch beside the road.
That's how she got her name: Blueberry.

What developed between you and Blueberry?

Over the years, from spring through fall, I'd see her in Pinkham Notch.
Sometimes I'd simply sit and watch.
I wasn't always there to take pictures.
In the beginning, I picked a place at a distance, and she decided whether to come closer.
That was important to me: I wasn't going to make the choice for her.
I watched how quickly she seemed to assess people approaching from cars. Sometimes she left before they had taken more than a step or two.
Other people pushed boundaries without seeming to appreciate the danger.
Over time, I became more aware of how much an animal's ability to choose matters.
Our familiarity changed over the years, even after she had cubs.
It's difficult to explain fully, and those experiences are at the heart of the book.
I want readers to discover them there.

Were you ever frightened by a bear?

Absolutely.
One time, after seeing a bear cross a road, I got out of my car and heard rustling in brush across from me.
The hair on my neck stood up.
I couldn't see what was there, and I knew that made the situation different.
Then I caught a glimpse through the brush.
A mother bear was staring at me with eyes I'll never forget.
I knew immediately that I was in a potentially dangerous situation.
There were no photographs taken.
My attention was on managing the encounter and getting through it safely.
I tell the full story in the book, but I can say this: it was the most frightened I've ever been around a bear.

What do you hope readers take away from these contrasting experiences?

Respect.
Even someone who has spent a great deal of time observing wildlife can find themselves in danger.
A bear beside the road may look peaceful, but it's still a wild animal.
I would not advise anyone to repeat what I did with Blueberry.
Bears and Me is not a how-to book or a set of instructions for approaching bears.
It's the story of experiences that mattered deeply to me, including the moments of wonder and the moments of fear.
There's a reason they're called wild.