“A few hours of filming won’t hurt,” I concede. “But we pack up and move by noon. I want to make good progress today.”
We spend the morning exploring the lower basin. I show them the few plants I recognize with certainty—some edible greens my grandmother taught me to identify, a birch tree whose bark tastes like wintergreen, a few berries that are safe to eat when ripe.
“I’m no expert,” I admit when Carlos asks abouta flower I don’t recognize. “My grandmother knew hundreds of plants, but I only remember the ones we used regularly.”
Elliott watches with growing satisfaction. “This is gold,” he whispers to Carlos. “Straight from the source with camera-ready delivery. We couldn’t have scripted it better.”
“That’s because it’s not scripted,” I remind him, overhearing. “I remember these things.”
“And they said you couldn’t act and be smart,” Elliott jokes, then looks contrite. “Sorry. Old Hollywood habits.”
“At least you recognize it,” I concede, touched by his self-awareness.
By midday, we’ve packed camp and begun our journey toward Painted Peaks. The valley narrows as we ascend, the spring we camped beside growing into a proper stream fed by mountain runoff. The terrain grows rockier, but the path remains clear—a natural route carved by water and wildlife.
We’ve been hiking for perhaps two hours when I notice a change in the bird sounds around us. The cheerful chatter falls silent, replaced by warning calls. I stop, raising my hand to halt the group.
“What is it?” Elliott asks, coming alongside me.
“Something’s spooked the birds.” I sweep my eyes over the slopes on either side of us. “We should be cautious.”
Carlos lowers his voice. “Bear?”
“Possibly.” I keep my tone calm, though my heart races. “Let’s make noise as we walk. Talk, call out. Let any wildlife know we’re coming.”
We continue along the path, making conversation to alert any wildlife to our presence.
Elliott perks up. “So, we should sing? I know all the words to ‘Oklahoma’—”
“Perhaps something less theatrical,” I suggest. “Simple conversation is fine.”
The cameramen walk closer together, watching therocky slopes above us. The warning in my gut sharpens as we round a bend in the valley. A musky scent drifts on the breeze—distinctive and unmistakable. I stop again, this time with more urgency. “Everyone stay still.”
Ahead, perhaps fifty yards up the trail, a massive golden bear stands on its hind legs, front paws dangling as it tests the air. Even this far off, I could see his coat, a magnificent honey-gold in the sun.
“Holy shit,” Elliott breathes. “Is that?—”
“Grizzletoe,” Carlos whispers in awe. “The legendary Golden Bear of Port Promise. Locals claim he’s been ranging these mountains for twenty years.”
The bear drops to all fours, turning his massive head in our direction. My heart hammers, but I force my breathing to remain steady. “Don’t run,” I whisper to the others. “Whatever happens, do not run.”
“Should we play dead?” Elliott’s voice quavers.
“Not yet. Right now, we need to look big and back away slowly.” I raise my arms above my head, trying to make myself appear larger than the terror currently shrinking me from the inside out. “Hey, bear!” I call, amazed my voice comes out firm, channeling Gram’s calm authority. “We are aware of you! We’re passing through!”
The bear observes us, curiosity in its posture. I continue talking, my voice loud but not threatening, as I slowly step backward. The others follow my lead, arms raised, faces pale with fear.
Grizzletoe lumbers a few steps closer, nose twitching as he tests the air. My mouth goes dry, but I keep talking, voice shaky but steady enough. “Easy, big guy. We’re a couple of humans passing through. No trouble. We know this is your place.”
For a heart-stopping moment, the bear continues toward us. Then, with imperial indifference, it turns aside,ambling down to the stream where it begins to overturn rocks, searching for food beneath them.
“Keep backing up,” I instruct. “Around the bend, out of sight.”
We retreat until the curve of the valley conceals us from the bear. Only then do I lower my arms, my shoulders aching with released tension.
“That,” Elliott says shakily, “was the most terrifying moment of my life.”
One of the cameramen raises his hand. “I got it all on film.”
