Back to StoriesThe Mother We Shared: Reflections on the Life of Bear 399
October 30, 2024
The Mother We Shared: Reflections on the Life of Bear 399An author weighs the impact 399 had on her enamored followers, and examines how we can bridge the gap for bears as we walk forward without the Queen of the Tetons.
EDITOR'S NOTE: This article has been updated to reflect that the author learned of Grizzly 399's death on October 23 not October 25.
by Kevin Grange
It was the kind of tragic event that
we’ll all remember exactly where we were when we heard the news. I learned of
Bear 399’s passing on the morning of October 23 when I was about to give nearly
two dozen second and third graders a tour of a fire engine. October is Fire
Prevention Month and, as a firefighter paramedic with Jackson Hole Fire/EMS, my
task that morning was to teach the students from Kelly Elementary—which borders
Grand Teton National Park—about smoke detectors, the importance of having a
family meeting spot outside their house in the event of a home fire, and give
them a tour of the engine.
As the children filed out in a
colorful line of winter coats and chatter, my cell phone began buzzing in my
pocket like a large, annoying insect. It was a text from my friend Tyler
Brasington, a Bear Management Ranger at Grand Teton National Park: “399 is dead,”
it read. “A vehicle hit her south of town last night.”
A tribute to Grizzly 399 that fans laid under the Antler Arch in Jackson, Wyoming. Her Facebook page has nearly 100,000 followers. Photo by Kevin Grange
I immediately felt sick and my eyes
blurred with tears. Such behavior wasn’t like me. As a first responder, I was an
expert at compartmentalization: show up on-scene of a medical emergency, see
terrible things then put my own feelings and emotions aside so I can run the
call with the steely precision of a fighter pilot or Navy SEAL. But 399’s passing
hit differently. As the kids arrived at the engine, I threw on sunglasses to hide the tears and struggled
to collect myself.
“Hello everyone,” I began, my voice
cracking with emotion. “Today we’re going to learn about this fire engine which
holds a lot of hose, 740-gallons of water, and other tools to save lives…”
Unlike many people, I had not spent
hours in the field—or by the roadside as part of the ursine paparazzi—watching
399 and her cubs over the years. Despite this, I owe most everything I’ve
learned about bears and the natural world to 399. When she took her cubs on a
walkabout near my home in Jackson Hole in 2021, I realized that along with
loving grizzly bears, I was also terrified by them and felt conflicted about
having them on the landscape. However, being a firefighter and journalist, I’ve
been trained to go into those places that scare me—that the best way out is
through—so I decided to venture into the wild with biologists, naturalists and
guides to write a book and meet the North American grizzly bear face-to-face.
My goal: learn everything I could about grizzlies, see if I could understand
them, and answer the important question: How can we coexist?
My travels took me to magical places like
Kodiak Island, Katmai National Park, and McNeil River State Game Sanctuary in
Alaska, along with the Grizzly and Wolf Discovery Center in West Yellowstone, the
Bear Center at Washington State University, and to the home of famed bear
whisperers and conservationists, Doug and Lynne Seus. For years, the Seuses
have trained bears for Hollywood films and they established the Vital Ground
Foundation which conserves land for grizzlies (and other wildlife) and attempts
to connect ecosystems such as the Greater Yellowstone and the Northern
Continental Divide around Glacier National Park. Alongside venturing to incredible
locales and meeting a wonderful array of people who genuinely care about our
planet and are working hard to protect it, I also discovered most of what I
thought I knew about grizzly bears was wrong.
Any one of these single events is remarkable; the combination of these events is impressive and highlights [399's] unique and extraordinary life history.” – Tyler Brasington, Bear Management Ranger, Grand Teton National Park
Grizzlies were not primarily carnivores
but rather “opportunistic omnivores” that eat a variety of food. They are highly
intelligent and complex, with big, charismatic personalities. A bear standing
on two legs was not preparing to attack, but rather wanted to get a better
look—or sniff—of a person or animal it encountered in the woods. I learned that
predators regulate the density and distribution of prey and are as important to
an ecosystem as photosynthesis. Turns out, grizzlies are not true hibernators
like the Arctic ground squirrel, whose temperature drops to 27 F, but rather
spend the winter months in a state of torpor, a series of sleep-wake cycles, during
which their temperature only drops of few degrees and the bruins can arouse
almost instantly if they perceive a threat.
I also discovered grizzlies have
superpowers: they can turn their insulin sensitivity on and off like a light switch
and without succumbing to diabetes; they pack on the pounds each fall but don’t
get heart disease; and they can slow their heartbeat to 8-10 beats per minute without
their blood clotting, reducing their risk of a life-threatening stroke. After
399 and her cubs got into a chicken coop in Jackson—and were fed grain and molasses
by a well-intentioned but terribly misinformed Teton County resident—I discovered
the best way to keep bears wild and prevent grizzly mortality is by securing attractants
like food, garbage, compost, beehives, chicken coops, and bird feeders.
Thanks to myths and movies, I’d
always assumed grizzlies were blood-thirsty beasts, but I came to realize that was
more fiction than fact. Grizzly bears usually only made the news when they did
something bad, and the chance of a human dying in a place like Yellowstone
National Park was around 0.04 percent per 1 million visits. Despite their size
and strength, grizzlies are still surprisingly vulnerable. They, too have a kryptonite:
humans—fellow predators, bipeds and omnivores who compete for the same land and
resources and hold the fate of the grizzlies’ survival in their hands.
Famed Grizzly 399 with her four yearlings lead the parade in Grand Teton National Park just south of Pilgrim Creek and north of Grand View. Photo by Peter Mangolds
Over the course of my travels, I eventually
came to see the value of brown bears. They are ecosystem engineers that till
soil with their claws, disperse seeds through scat, and discard salmon
carcasses that feed nitrogen and phosphorous to the forest. Grizzlies also have
a cultural value: many Native Americans believe grizzlies connect them to their
past. And the bears have an economic value that brought millions of tourist
dollars to places like Grand Teton and Brooks Falls at Katmai National Park. Grizzlies
are an indicator of ecosystem health. “Where the grizzly can walk, the earth is
healthy and whole,” Lynne Seus told me.
Bear 399 was also instrumental in my
wife Meaghan and I bear-proofing our home. When the Matriarch of the Tetons
went on her walkabout in 2021, the house we shared in Jackson’s South Park
neighborhood had unsecured garbage, compost, a birdfeeder and dog bowls
outside. However, in the years since, we have become bear-smart and secured all
of our attractants, including changing out our bird feeder for a bird bath. Instead
of being a pain, Meaghan and I have discovered that coexistence with grizzlies
is not only worthwhile, but it is also quite easy and the discipline it
requires brings a joy that can only come from living for something outside and
larger than oneself.
“Perhaps 399's death can be used to catalyze greater efforts to reduce the number of animals killed by automobiles.” – Mike Fitz, Naturalist, explore.org
In the days following 399’s death,
there was a palpable sense of loss and grief around Teton County. 399’s life
and death were the topic of most every conversation around town and a memorial with
flowers, photos and a teddy bear was placed below the famed antler arch at Jackson
Hole’s town square. “RIP 399,” read one sympathy card. “Your legacy lives on in
our hearts.”
Seeking solace and something positive
to take away from 399’s death, I reached out to Tyler Brasington, who had texted
me the news. Despite being inundated with interview requests, he still took the
time to answer my questions.
Brasington’s relationship with
Grizzly 399 had been primarily centered around managing the human-wildlife
interface in Grand Teton National Park. This had mainly involved facilitating
safe bear-viewing opportunities and educating visitors about grizzly bear
biology and conservation. Working with 399 over the years, he witnessed the joy
and excitement she brought to thousands of park visitors. She inspired people
to recognize the value of grizzly bears on the landscape and the prevailing
importance of grizzly bear conservation.
“Grizzly 399 is an ambassador for her
species and exemplifies successful grizzly bear conservation in the Greater
Yellowstone Ecosystem,” Brasington told me. “It is a natural human desire to
seek connection with the natural world and wildlife, which is why 399 resonated
with so many people. As a highly visible and predictable bear in the national
park, she allowed a glimpse into the life of a grizzly bear. Many people drew
parallels between her experiences and their own lives, recognizing the
struggles of raising children and being able to provide security and
nourishment. People were also drawn to the wisdom she imparted about
adaptability, resiliency, flexibility and loyalty.”
I asked about Brasington about his
relationship with the bear.
“For me, 399 was not just one bear;
she was an important link that allowed me to share my passion for grizzly bear
research, biology and conservation with the public. Grizzly 399 played a
crucial role in many of the outreach and education initiatives in the park
focused on conservation, grizzly bear management, and safely living and
recreating in bear country.”
“Why do you think her story resonated
with so many people?”
“People traveled from all over the
country and the world for the chance to see 399,” Brasington said. “Her
resilience in the face of adversity and numerous unique reproductive life
history events increased her following and popularity. In 2011, she participated
in a natural cub adoption event with her daughter, Grizzly 610. In 2020, she
gave birth to four cubs, becoming the 14th quadruplet litter documented since
1959. Lastly, in 2023, she became the oldest grizzly bear on record in the
Greater Yellowstone Ecosystem to have a cub at 27 years old. Any one of these
single events is remarkable; the combination of these events is impressive and
highlights her unique and extraordinary life history.”
The chance of a human dying in a place like Yellowstone National Park was around 0.04 percent per 1 million visits.
When I asked Brasington how
399 changed Teton County, he told me that after her conflicts in 2021, she inspired
and rallied the community to help mitigate human-bear conflicts utilizing
bear-resistant infrastructure and increasing community outreach and education
initiatives.
“So what can we take away from her
death?”
“Ultimately, no one wanted 399 to
leave this world the way she did. It is tragic whenever wildlife dies at the
hands of humans,” Brasington said. “However, her passing and death demonstrate
the significant amount of work that still exists for successful grizzly bear
conservation. Her death highlights the necessity for effective measures to reduce
wildlife-vehicle collisions while also improving strategies to promote
coexistence in this part of the Greater Yellowstone Ecosystem.”
"The best way to honor 399's extraordinary life is by building more wildlife crossings in Wyoming, Montana, and beyond, so that future generations of grizzlies can safely navigate the landscape.” – Ben Goldfarb, journalist, author, "Crossings: How Road Ecology is Shaping the Future of our Planet"
Mike Fitz, a naturalist with explore.org and one of the founders of the annual
Fat Bear Week contest that takes place at Brooks Falls in Alaska’s Katmai
National Park and Preserve, spoke to me about the concept of a gateway bear.
“When an anonymous bear dies, its death matters. Yet that story usually doesn't
resonate with people as strongly as the death of a bear like 399,” Fitz said. “My
fellow interpreters on the bear cams at Katmai this summer discussed the
concept of a ‘gateway bear,’ which is the bear that a webcam viewer either
first learns to identify on their own or the bear whose story resonates
strongly with a person. These bears open the opportunity to for people to
connect emotionally with individual wild animals. Through them, we learn more
about the lives of bears through stories of survival, resilience and
adaptability. Through them, we begin to express greater awareness of bears and
can begin to work to better protect bears. Famous bears like Otis at Katmai and
399 were gateway bears for millions of people.”
Along with 399 being a gateway bear
for people to enter the ursine world, her death offers us a gateway to
having new discussions about how to conserve bears in the future.
Grizzly 399 and her four cubs 399 in May 2020 on Dump Road in Grand Teton National Park. Photo by Peter Mangolds
“Bears are killed by cars frequently, but we, collectively, usually don't
even blink at the tragedy,” Fitz added. “Perhaps 399's death can be used to
catalyze greater efforts to reduce the number of animals killed by automobiles.”
Ben Goldfarb, author of Crossings:
How Road Ecology Is Shaping the Future of Our Planet, echoed a similar
thought. “The cruel irony of 399's fate is that many of the same traits that
made her so beloved—in particular, her comfort with traffic and humans—ultimately
led to her death,” he wrote in an email. “Few forces are more dangerous to wild
animals than roads: More than a million vertebrate animals are killed by cars
in the U.S. every day, and collisions pose one of the leading
threats to rare species such as the Florida panther, the ocelot—and the grizzly
bear. But we also know that solutions exist. Wildlife overpasses and
underpasses, in combination with fences that keep animals off highways and
guide them to safe passages, typically reduce wildlife-vehicle collisions by
more than 90 percent, and allow bears and other critters to reach the habitats
they need to thrive. The best way to honor 399's extraordinary life is by
building more wildlife crossings in Wyoming, Montana, and beyond, so that
future generations of grizzlies can safely navigate the landscape.”
Elsewhere, social media sites like Grand
Teton National Park’s Instagram page asked followers to post their favorite 399
memory. “Saw her once with her cubs back in 2014,” wrote one follower. “Going
to miss her so much.”
“Saw her for the 1st and
last time at Moran turnout this past Summer with her cub Spirit (Rowdy). Didn’t
know it till after but it oddly made it all the more meaningful,” wrote another
follower. “Fly high Queen of the Tetons. Thank you for the lessons you’ve
taught in beating the odds, year after year. May your death not be in vain but
a lesson to all.”
Knowing she was out on the landscape, working hard to raise her cubs, awakened my sense of awe; it ensured I always followed the best practices of “leave no trace” recreation and reminded me that we live on a beautiful and fragile planet.
Days later, as I drove around Jackson
Hole, delivering bear-resistant trash cans for Jackson Hole Bear Solutions with
the goal of improving human-bear coexistence, I realized I would miss the possibility
of seeing bear 399 as much as the actually spotting the bruin. Since moving to
Jackson Hole in 2015, I had thought of 399 on every hike, trail run, mountain
bike ride, or float down the Snake River. Knowing she was out on the landscape,
working hard to raise her cubs, awakened my sense of awe; it ensured I always
followed the best practices of “leave no trace” recreation and reminded me that
we live on a beautiful and fragile planet.
Ultimately, after three years of
spending time with grizzlies and experts in the field, along with researching
and writing my book, I decided I was a “bear person.” But that didn’t just mean
I believe in securing attractants, it also meant I supported intact ecosystems,
connected habitats, clean water, abundant salmon streams and supporting all the
flora and fauna that falls beneath the grizzly bear. And when I think of the
magnificent creature who set me on this journey, I think of one bear who helped
me reconnect with the wildness in me; I think of one devoted mother who filled
me with a joyous awe at the beauty and mystery of our planet; I think of the
Matriarch of the Tetons. I think of 399.
399 with her four cubs in June 2020 near Signal Mountain Lodge, Grand Teton National Park. Photo by Steven P. DeVries
Related Stories
July 9, 2024
The Lost Lesson of Stewardship
In the face of a warming climate and accelerating human impact
in Greater Yellowstone, former 16-year Montana State Representative Dorothy
Bradley writes that...
November 22, 2023
The Arrival of Harriman’s Iconic Trumpeter Swans
By the early 1900’s trumpeter swans were nearly extinct, but concerted efforts have reinvigorated their numbers. Land around Harriman Ranch State...
December 13, 2023
Ecocentrism and Anthropocentrism: Where do we Stand in Greater Yellowstone?
In this guest essay, Clint Nagel examines two world views of humanity’s role on planet Earth. And says the time to...