About Those Bears
Do black bears abound in Minnesota's woods? And, if so, are Minnesotans bound for trouble with bears?
By Gustave Axelson
Dave Garshelis estimates that last winter 25,000 black bears were slumbering in Minnesota's north woods.
Some dug a den. Some sought a rocky crevice. Some holed up inside a hollow tree.
On a bright and brisk mid-March day, tromping through knee-deep snow in a remote Koochiching State Forest cedar bog, Garshelis is taking me to visit one of those bears.
Garshelis, lead bear biologist with the Department of Natural Resources, is guided by his telemetry unit, which ticks when pointed toward a bear with a DNR radio collar. It's a rickety-looking device, resembling an old cassette recorder hooked up to a TV antenna. But it's functional. Garshelis points the antenna at a tight bunch of cedar trees, and the unit ticks like a clock. He turns the device off, and we hear a high-pitched, raspy, diminutive yowl.
"Cubs," Garshelis whispers. He instructs his crew of two DNR interns and me to sit and wait, while he prepares three tranquilizer darts and heads off into the cedars to put the mother bear into a deeper sleep.
He knows what he's doing. Since 1983 Garshelis has conducted den surveys on hundreds of radio-collared bears in northern Minnesota to monitor their hibernation behavior and reproduction. During that time, he's noticed that the key indices of reproduction-age when collared sows deliver their first litter, length of interval between litters, and number of cubs per litter-have remained constant.
That doesn't conform to media reports that the number of bears in Minnesota has "mushroomed" and "continues to grow rapidly." Such reports have led many Minnesotans to believe the bear population is expanding dangerously. The latest DNR research tells a different story. It depicts a bear population that is relatively stable.
When Garshelis beckons us to join him, we find a bear that got lazy the previous fall.
"I guess it was too much effort to dig a den," he laughs. "Looks like she got sleepy, lay down, and started hibernating on the spot. I mean, she didn't even make an effort to conceal herself."
He's standing by what looks like a black hole in the snow. A closer look reveals a mound of midnight fur, curled up like a cat in an easy chair. By hibernating in this position, bears minimize exposed surface area and thus reduce heat loss. Bears are also insulated from winter cold by a thick layer of fat. This bear is plenty warm, even though she's nestled among sparse tree cover.
Garshelis kneels next to her and plucks cubs from her fur. One, two, three . . . he hands the bawling 8-week-old babies-legs outstretched, tiny claws splayed-to the interns. They look like 5-pound teddy bears, with perfectly round ears and bright blue eyes. A few moments under the warmth of an intern's fleece vest, and the bawls melt into soft chuckles.
Garshelis turns back to the mother to gather blood samples, take body measurements, and replace her blaze-orange radio collar. The bright collar is a sign to hunters, who are encouraged to let the DNR study bears live for the sake of science. Still, almost every fall, Garshelis receives a few empty collars, sometimes with a sheepish apology.
Hunters are integral to bear management, however. Annual bear harvests have mostly been in the 3,000 to 4,000 range since 1992. The two years that bear harvests fell under 2,000—in 1996 and 2002—were preceded by years in which the harvest was nearly 5,000. The annual culling of about 3,500 bears appears, Garshelis says, to balance bear reproduction in Minnesota.
He says one of the most convincing pieces of evidence comes not from scientific research, but from hunters and wildlife managers. They say they aren't seeing more bears in the woods.
"I don't think there's more bears than there used to be. If anything, there's less," says Ely bear hunter Joe Edlund. "I've got fewer bears coming to my baits every fall."
The DNR has made three direct estimates of bear numbers in the state. The first, in 1991, placed the number between 14,000 and 17,000. The next, in 1997, yielded a higher but wider population range: 19,000 to 30,000. While DNR wildlife researchers interpreted these results as highly indicative of a population increase, the actual amount of increase was uncertain. Some computer modeling projections, though, suggested the population might well exceed 30,000 by the year 2000.
When the media heard about the 1997 estimate and computer projections, they focused on the 30,000 value. Newspaper and radio reports depicted a bear population fast growing out of control. "What the media didn't report, even though I said it to every reporter, is that we had a great degree of uncertainty in our population modeling results," Garshelis says. "Our on-the-ground reports said that 30,000 number was likely too high. But I guess 'DNR Kind of Uncertain About Bear Population' doesn't make a very good headline."
The most recent study, in 2002, produced an estimate of 20,000 to 30,000 bears. While Garshelis thinks the actual number of bears is in the lower to middle part of that range, he says the most important finding is that the high and low ends are nearly identical to the 1997 study. That shows a bear population that's probably holding steady, he says.
"We think the bear population has probably about tripled since the DNR reclassified bears as a big-game animal in 1971. Before that, they were considered varmints, and could be shot on sight without a permit," says Garshelis. "But that was 30 years ago. The media make it sound like the bear population is still tripling. More recently, we think the growth is much flatter, more of a plateau."
Perhaps the most important measure of the bear population has more to do with people than bears. The number of nuisance bear complaints has dropped dramatically, from more than 2,800 in 1997, to about 500 in 2003. That's the best indicator that there's no bear problem in Minnesota, Garshelis says.
"There are two factors to consider, the biological carrying capacity and the social carrying capacity," says Lynn Rogers, an independent wildlife researcher in Ely. "Bears in Minnesota rarely starve or cannibalize each other. There's plenty of room in Minnesota's woods for more bears to eat and be healthy.
"There's also a much higher tolerance for bears among people," he says. "Attitudes have changed. People used to phone in a nuisance complaint because they saw a bear. Most now consider it a joy."
Even though nuisance complaints are down, human-bear encounters are more likely as more people pitch tents and build cabins in bear country. The only three recorded incidents of bears attacking humans in Minnesota have happened within the past 17 years. The first occurred in 1987 in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness, the second in 2002 on a researcher studying woodcock near Milaca, and the third in 2003 on a Grand Marais woman who surprised a bear in her garage. None was fatal.
Garshelis attributes those incidents to rare circumstances. He says that people today are much smarter about avoiding unwelcome encounters with bears.
"The DNR has put a lot into a public-information effort to get campers to clean up their campsites, and homeowners to take in the bird feeders and be responsible with their garbage," says Garshelis. "It's been very effective. I think that's a big reason why nuisance complaints are down. When people aren't creating the situations that create nuisance bears, it's safer for both the people and the bears."
The cubs are quiet and content inside the fleece vests of the DNR interns, but they can't stay there. One by one, Garshelis again plucks them from warmth and security. They yap at the cold air. They howl when they?re fitted with fresh, blue DNR ear tags. When Garshelis sets them back beside their mother, they're eager to nurse.
Bear cubs have one of the best survival rates of any animal in Minnesota. More than 80 percent live beyond their first year. These cubs will den with their mother again next year. Then as yearlings, they'll be chased off by the sow in the spring as she prepares to mate again.
Half of female bears die before they reach age 5. Half of male bears die by age 3. Humans are almost always the cause of death. Records for 2003 showed hunters killed 3,600 bears, auto collisions killed 25, and 20 bears were killed because they were deemed a nuisance.
While bear reproduction and mortality appear to be near equilibrium, the social climate for managing bears is tenuous, says Garshelis.
"All it takes is a bad crop of hazelnuts, and we'll have lots of nuisance complaints about hungry bears. Then we'll be hearing calls about how we need to kill more bears," he says.
"Then again, there was a federal bill last year that failed, but if passed, would have ended bear baiting in national forests. You do that, and you pretty much end hunting in Minnesota's prime bear territory in the Superior and Chippewa national forests."
As he zips up his backpack of field instruments, and turns for the long hike through the cedar bog back to the truck, Garshelis seems fairly certain of one thing. Looking back at the bear—outfitted with a fresh radio collar and curled up with her cubs, just like we found her—he whispers, "See you next year."
Gustave Axelson is a freelance writer from Minneapolis.