I love bears. I mean like a lot. All sizes, colors, habitats, don’t care, I just dig ‘em. Their big old heads, the funny way they walk, and that they are both cuddly and utterly terrifying. This has been true since I was a kid and I have some great memories. There was a cinnamon bear at the LA Zoo named Chester who would come out when the tour trams went by and catch cookies from the drivers. He would stand on his hind legs and was usually quite adept, but I can still see him – I was like seven – overextending for a high toss, getting overbalanced and flopping backwards into his pool like a reverse belly flop. Going to Yosemite and being thrilled at the prospect of seeing one in the wild only to be mildly deterred by the Ranger giving us the rundown of how to identify what kind of bear it was:
“Climb a tree. If its a brown bear it will go away. If it is a black bear it will follow you up the tree and eat you. If it is a grizzly bear he will know the tree down and then eat you.”
Funny for sure but a bit disquieting for a youngster, even one who loves bears. I did get my live encounter with a a bear, a young black bear, on a backpacking trip in the Sierras. We did all the right things, banging pots, being big, etc. and since it had no interest in causing problems (one of less experienced companions had not secured their food properly) wandered off without incident. But I will never forget the sight and sound of heavy duty Gore-tex being shredded like tissue. Or despite the mild terror of being in proximity to a dangerous animal, it was far outweighed by my exhilaration. It was a bear! I could watch the polar bear tank – it was (is?) a great big window that looked in to the pool from below the enclosure, so cool – for hours and in fact annoyed anyone with whom I visited that wonderful zoo, because if they were swimming I was difficult to drag away. I was obsessed with film stars Bozo and Bart and avidly follow and vote in Fat Bear Week every year (congratulations to this year’s champion Chunk 32, all 1200+ pounds (!) of him, seen above). I was even given the name Bear by my Outward Bound patrol and was pleased as punch. Get it? I. Love. Bears.
I tell you all this because I just found out another great reason to love bears. It turns out they are evolutionary outlaws, breaking away from a tried and true blueprint of how mammals are supposed to evolve. For the most part, mammal dentition – nature’s “black box” of identifying the evolution of mammals and their diet, who knew? – is very predictable as teeth and jaws changed and adapted to environment and available food in very consistent and predictable ways. Biome changes, a different diet is needed, how you need to eat changes and, depending on classification (carnivore, herbivore or omnivore), you evolve. Ha, ha, not bears. When faced with the same evolutionary challenges of other species, bears said nope, we’re hacking the system, and changed both what they were eating and how well they could eat it by breaking the rules. And they did this not once, but twice! Those crazy ursine rebels. If this really random and obscure piece of bear coolness is interesting to you, this is where I found it. I’m telling you, bears rock. Thanks for reading.