Grizzly 399: The Monarch of Conservation

The night of Tuesday, October 22, 2024 was the vehicle collision heard around the world. Famed and beloved Grizzly Bear 399 was dead.

An outpouring of shock, grief and love for the 28-year-old sow flooded social media outlets in every corner. Major news networks reported on the incident. Stories, photos and memories dominated the day for all who had followed the bruin in any capacity. The reaction to her loss was no less than that of a beloved human celebrity. She inspired countless books, artwork and a dedicated documentary. She even has her own social media accounts. Unwittingly, she was at the helm of grizzly conservation.

Grizzly bears are an enduring icon of the American West. At their peak, they numbered more than 50,000 in a contiguous range, roaming from the Pacific Coast to the Mississippi River and stretching from Alaska down to Central Mexico. Fears for human safety and livestock during European settlement impeded westward expansion, prompting extermination efforts by the government in the 1800s. Reduced to numbers estimated around 700-800, the grizzly bear occupied only 2 percent of its historic range in the Lower 48 by the time it was listed as a threatened species by the Endangered Species Act in 1975. Today, the sight of a grizzly on our public lands is thanks to persistent conservation efforts successfully recovering the population, although still only within 6 percent of its historic range in the contiguous U.S.

During this critical recovery period, in 1996, Grizzly 399 was born. Frank van Manen, leader of the Interagency Grizzly Bear Study Team, says that the grizzly’s recruitment rate—the percentage of cubs surviving into independence—is around 30 percent. While that number may have differed slightly at the time of her birth, 399 beat the odds and continued to thrive, producing 18 cubs of her own throughout her lifetime and becoming arguably the most famous wild grizzly bear in history.

“The Matriarch of the Tetons,” as 399 is known, was not the first wild animal to be adored by the public, and she won’t be the last. The impact, however, that she had on the local community and nature enthusiasts around the world was unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. I’ve witnessed elephants and rhinos steal the hearts of people in South Africa and dolphins in Ireland become renowned worldwide. But the reach 399 had beyond the park, even beyond the region, is astonishing.

As a wildlife guide in Grand Teton and Yellowstone national parks since 2017, I had my fair share of encounters with 399. Some were quiet, intimate moments without fuss or fanfare, but most others were the classic “bear jam” scene: roadsides densely lined with exhilarated people armed with phone cameras, spotting scopes and enormous professional lenses. These crowds get bigger every year.

In the quieter moments with her, I get to see her be herself: a bear. The only thing that set her apart from other grizzlies in the ecosystem are her small, black ear tags. There is nothing remarkable, other than the fact that she is, of course, a grizzly bear. During the bear jams, it was a different story. The scene is charged with a unique energy. People are running frantically to capture any sort of a photograph they can, and cars are moments from fender benders as they roll slowly past, drivers craning necks out windows to catch a glimpse. Just about everybody who gets in my vehicle wants to see a grizzly. Rounding the corner to a chaotic bear jam became a relief; I was always very grateful when she was in view and quick to find. She made my job easier, and she frequently gave me happy clients who could say they saw one on their visit. I took satisfaction that I could give them the special experience of witnessing a grizzly in the wild.

As time went by, though, it wasn’t just about seeing a grizzly bear, it was about seeing her. People from all over would ask me about 399 before we even entered the park. Some booked the tour with the primary goal of seeing her. Some would be disappointed that the grizzly we did get to see was not 399. This often led to a discussion about how she is special because she is a grizzly, not because she is 399, and seeing any grizzly is an incredible privilege. Talks like these were a reminder to myself, also, to try to remain impartial and scientific.

This topic frequently sparks conversations in the guiding community about the dangers of naming individual animals and idolizing them, instead seeing them for what they are to avoid anthropomorphizing; knowing the difference between science and feelings, and the danger of operating within the conservation world led by your emotions. But clearly, things are not so black and white.

During these bear jams, viewers often expressed concern for her, worrying that she might be stressed or overwhelmed by the gathering crowds. Our wild residents are, if anything, adaptable survivors. 399 inhabited a vast territory and moved through it swiftly with ease, even with several cubs in tow. She was not only experienced with roads and crowds, but used them to her advantage. Sows with cubs are known to spend time closer to roadsides to keep male bears at bay who are not as tolerant to human presence. This is a strategy to keep their cubs safe, since male bears commonly kill cubs they cross paths with.

It became somewhat of a symbiotic relationship of mutualism between bear and human as 399 provided enjoyment to onlookers in exchange for a degree of protection. Thanks to Grand Teton’s bear management team, which tirelessly monitors onlookers by ensuring they keep a safe distance and don’t obstruct her movements, this likely imposed minimal stress on her as she chose to frequent these areas.

As she aged, the public held its collective breath each spring, waiting for the first sighting to confirm her survival through the winter. In the spring of 2020, just as fears were beginning to rise, she emerged with a staggering litter of four cubs, a rarity among the species. This set the 399 frenzy into overdrive, giving people something to celebrate in a particularly dark and uncertain time as the world faced the Covid-19 pandemic. This litter of cubs, or “The Quads” as they were affectionately known, provided a much-needed wave of hope and cheer, cementing 399 in her role to us as a figure of endurance and vitality.

In a tragic twist last week, her habituated comfort along roadsides ultimately led to the end of her story on Highway 26/89 in the Snake River Canyon, orphaning her last, single cub that she birthed in spring of 2023. Officials say they are confident the yearling cub will have a good chance of survival, though we face the bitter reality that 399’s method of utilizing human roads, something that we all benefited from throughout the years, resulted in her death.

399’s long-lived journey as a grizzly in the Tetons is at once simple and complex. She is both “just a bear,” and a beloved icon all at once. The thoughts and feelings we project onto her can be a direct reflection of who we are as people and how we view our natural world. Perhaps the biggest role that 399 played for us was permitting us to reflect on the personal relationships we each have with nature, acting as a mirror for our own individual values in wildlife and conservation, and even in our own lives.

As a wildlife guide, one walks a fine line of creating an opportunity for clients to connect to wildlife in a personal, emotional way, while also remaining objective about animals’ lives in a scientific manner. You explain to them the research behind why wild animals do what they do, while at the same time feeling moved as you watch tears of joy roll down their cheeks when they witness it in person. As prominent as 399 was for so many years, it was difficult, if not impossible, to avoid becoming emotionally attached. After all, we are only human.

To deny our personal and collective affection for a particular animal for the goal of objective science is in the same breath to deny the human condition. Both things can be true, but without the passion that 399 ignited in a generation, we would not have the same communal dedication for local wildlife conservation that we have today.

Regardless of your feelings on the matter, the bear that is just a bear will forever be a legend.