Tennessee’s Tourism Department may wish to send a clarification…
To Bear or Not to Bear
A couple years ago, my family and I vacationed in Tennessee. We spent most of our time hiking in the Great Smokies, where fairy-tale brooks and majestic waterfalls look so picturesque they could be AI-generated. There is also plenty of wildlife including elk, deer, and bears. On the day we encountered the Brits, our hiking group included my daughter, then 15, and her friend, whose mother is German. (This detail will be important later.) The trail was not busy that morning, with a few other hikers 100 yards or so ahead of us.
First, an important distinction: There are bears in the area, but only black bears. Black bears are much less likely than grizzlies to attack. In fact, both bears prefer to avoid humans altogether. If they could talk human, bears would probably avoid our phone calls.
Halfway down the trail, we heard twigs snapping and branches falling. We followed the sound to a lone black bear sitting at the bottom of a tree in a patch of berry bushes. I suspect that he was a little tipsy from fermented berries and fell out of said tree, but I wouldn’t want to cast aspersions, so I’ll just say he resembled me stumbling out of bed in the morning.
Following standard don’t-get-eaten protocol, we remained quiet and on-trail as we watched the bear continue to forage and lumber around the base of the tree, which was about 50 yards downwind. I took pictures as other hikers continued to pass by, some stopping to snap their own photos. One young couple approached with a baby. When I motioned and whispered to them that there was a bear, the guy just pointed to his kid and said “baby” and then he and his wife walked hurriedly ahead…as if I didn’t know what a baby was…or that there is apparently literature warning of the dangers of babies playing with bears.
When I motioned and whispered to them that there was a bear, the guy just pointed to his kid and said “baby” and then he and his wife walked hurriedly ahead…as if I didn’t know what a baby was…or that there is apparently literature warning of the dangers of babies playing with bears.
We continued to observe until Mr. Bear finally lumbered off, disappearing into the dense foliage.
The British Invasion
The following paragraphs hold a part of this story that does not show British tourists in the best light, but I hope that you, like me, will not judge an entire populace by a few citizens. I love the United Kingdom! I mean–I have PBS Passport AND Britbox. Besides, how could I think badly of the people who have given us Shakespeare, shepherd’s pie, and Mischief Theater?! Can I have a visa?
Shortly after we resumed our hike, we were joined by a family of Britons with what I have since been informed was probably a Midlands accent. We had tried to let them go ahead of us, but the Brits did the hiking equivalent of camping out in the passing lane: they wouldn’t speed up enough to pass the front of our group or slow down enough to let the rest of us rejoin them. We became intermingled, resulting in the Britons separating my teen and her friend from the rest of our group.
Suddenly, there was another loud crash of branches and sticks. A black bear, likely our friend from earlier, cartoonishly tumbled out of the woods and onto the trail, landing between the teens and the Brits. Dazed at first, Mr. Bear quickly got up and growled.
My daughter and her friend knew not to panic. However, the Brits were now semi-panicking very loudly.
The bear had no clear escape, with humans in front and behind and steep embankments on either side.
I locked eyes with my daughter. We both understood that I couldn’t reach her without forcefully pushing my way through the British tourists, which would’ve likely resulted in ursus dismemberus.
She and her friend began shushing everyone to be quiet, while slowly backing up and off to the side of the trail to allow the bear to pass. The bear continued to huff and snort, stomping his feet.
Maddeningly, the Britons seemed to take the girls’ calmness as a sign that there was no imminent danger at all. One of their children, maybe six years-old, started walking toward the bear, and none of the adults stopped him. Did these people not read the brochure?
My daughter and her friend raised their hands, motioning everyone to please, stop offering your young up as a snack. The bear growled again and turned away from the loud British tourists and towards the teens. For a brief moment, my soul left my body, but thankfully Mr. Bear passed them by without incident, looking back once as if he was thinking Yogi and Paddington are never going to believe this.
Misinformation
A short time later, we reached our destination–a lovely waterfall–with no additional bear encounters. The British tourists were now sharing their experience with Black Bear: The Ride with all the other hikers at the waterfall.
“I didn’t know black bears hissed!” one of the British tourists exclaimed.
“They do?” asked another hiker.
“Yes! We just saw one and he was hissing at us,” another Brit added.
Our group looked at each other, puzzled because none of us heard the bear hissing.
It wasn’t until later that day that it occurred to me that my daughter’s friend uses the German version of “shhh,” which is “psssht.”
During the bear meet-up, my daughter had been shhh-ing.
Her friend had been psssht-ing…which does sound a little like hissing…
The Brits mistook human-hissing for bear-hissing.
These Britons now believe that black bears hiss. Because of us.
I realize these particular Brits are unlikely to be employed by the BBC or possess a platform capable of mass dissemination of inaccurate wildlife facts. But one can never be sure.
If you ever hear a Brit insisting that black bears hiss, please don’t show them this blog.
Reflection
The Bear Affair taught me that what your audience thinks you’re saying matters just as much as what you’re actually saying.
Whatever auditory processing did or didn’t happen that day, the Brits’ newfound belief that bears hiss was ultimately a failure of communication. Even in English, shhh is a vague instruction without context. Throw in an unexpected German translation, and apparently the bear becomes the one doing the shushing.
If only we’d had one of those aluminum signs they use at amusement parks: “We understand a bear is blocking your path. Please remain quiet and do not approach. A ride operator will be dispatched to remove the obstruction shortly. We apologize for the inconvenience.”