Question: Which bear is best?
Is that a ridiculous question? Are there basically two schools of thought? If that’s your answer:
- Let’s be friends. I always need people to finish my quotes from The Office, otherwise things get kind of awkward.
- False. The best bear, at least when backpacking, is the one that doesn’t come into your camp and eat your food, and/or you.
With this in mind, and in preparation for a future PCT thru-hike and a more imminent trip to Glacier, I set out last week to buy a bear canister.
- Bear Canister. n. An often bulky container designed to keep bears out and your delicious snacks in.
Okay, I don’t work for Merriam-Webster. But you get the idea.
Bear canisters are important for several reasons:
- No one wants to get two days into a four-day hike and have all their food disappear down Bongo’s gullet.
- Bears who get used to eating people-food can become so aggressive that the parks service has to kill them in order to keep people safe.
- They’re required in Glacier National Park and several areas on the Pacific Crest Trail.
As Linus said in A Charlie Brown Christmas, “Those are good reasons.”
Because I am mildly indecisive and never make a gear decision without consulting a trillion online sources, I compared four different models and eventually settled on one that
looked coolest was lightweight and came highly recommended.
That is how I settled on the Bearvault.
Feel free to click that link. Look at that Bearvault. It’s beautiful. The clear blue plastic evokes visions of icicles and intergalactic travel at the same time. It has a black lid that practically screams, “Turn this for Nutella.” It has ridges that help the Bearvault stay secure on your pack. At least, that’s what the super helpful REI saleswoman from my previous blog entry said.
She also said I could take it out of the box and test it out.
But really, what sort of person needs to test out a container for food? It’s not like it could be, say, mildly confusing to open! It’s not like anyone could be so weak that even when they figured out how to open it, they couldn’t push the tabs in far enough to actually accomplish the task!
Or maybe both those things could happen.
To my surprise, I discovered the directions are really important on things like this. After five minutes of frustration at not being able to get that stupid black lid off that beautiful blue cylinder, I pulled out the instruction pamphlet that I had thrown across the room earlier. Turns out my fingers were about a centimeter above where they needed to be. Two seconds later, my two-year-old nephew, who had been trying to help but was now crying from frustration (or maybe because auntie kept taking this really cool looking thing away from him), started clapping as the lid spun off easily.
I felt so accomplished at being able to unscrew that lid, I tried it a few more times with nary a hitch. Two main takeaways from this experience:
- Since I did manage to open the container, I must not be a bear.
- If I see a bear with reading glasses on the trail, I must hide the Bearvault directions. The state of my snacking depends in it.