By Michele Cacano
Drea leaned out of the tree, 35mm camera in hand. She’d been perched twenty feet up, waiting all morning for the bear cubs to emerge from the den. If she got a good shot, that photography prize was as good as hers.
The cold wind of early spring swept down from Mt. Rainier’s glacial ice. Black bears have lived in these conditions for centuries, and, in that moment, Drea wished she had a pelt as warm as theirs. Dawn had just broken, simply increasing the cold in her bones.
She heard a low rumble. She held her breath, then remembered to let it out easy while remaining still.
Another rumble. Was this Mama Bear? It was beneath and behind her, returning to the den. Drea’s camera was poised, watching the space below. The yawns and snorts of a newly awoken predator approached closer.
Behind Mama Bear, another howl rumbled through the trees. Drea’s heartbeat quickened. Was she about to witness an encounter? Bear fight? Mating ritual?
She quietly clicked the camera at Mama Bear as she came into frame below Drea’s perch. Mama Bear yelped, calling to her cubs. Two smaller heads emerged from the den. Drea snapped away. Mama growled and ducked into her den, pushing the cubs to safety.
The approaching bear stopped a few feet from Drea’s tree. Only, it wasn’t a bear. It stood on two legs, furry body head-to-toe, sniffed the air, and turned. Drea froze, eye to eye with a Sasquatch.
Click.