When you go down to the woods today...

The Carpathian forest creaks and rustles around me as the trees shift their weight in the late afternoon breeze. We pick our way along the semblance of a path, where the leaf litter is not so dense. Occasionally a twig cracks under foot, like a tiny cannon burst reverberating in the sighing forest.
We have come to see European brown bears. We are lead by our Romanian guide, Lucian, who in turn follows closely behind a local ranger. The ranger carries a battered, pre-war era rifle and has been paid with beer. I’m dubious about his credentials.
The shadows are lengthening but I’m assured we’ll make it to our bear-hide with a few hours of daylight left; I’m keen to avoid hiking out in the dark through bear infested forest.
Despite human-animal conflict and hunting, there are still good populations of bears here. From 1965 until 1989 Romanians suffered under the reign of Nicolae Ceausescu. During those years hunting bears was forbidden. This was not out of the conservationist goodness of Ceausescu’s heart, but rather so that for a few days a year Ceausescu could hunt as many bears as he liked unchallenged. Ironically, this served for the most part to protect the bears. Their numbers only started to dwindle after Ceausescu’s reign was brought to a shuddering halt, via his live-telecast execution. Well, if there’s one good thing to be said about a lethal Communist dictatorship…
We finally reach the bear-hide: a small log cabin on stilts, overlooking a clearing. The ranger stops beside the ladder that leads inside to point out areas of the structure that have been gnawed away by the bears themselves. Great chunks are missing from the corners of the hut and the ladder is riddled with deep gashes. I find myself, once again, reconsidering the wisdom of this outing.
As the ranger examines the damage there is movement behind him. Slowly, as in a horror film, a dark mass rises from the bushes and manifests into a large, brown bear. We are temporarily stunned into immobility. The very forest holds its breath.
The bear lazily sniffs in our direction and eyes the ranger who, completely unaware of its presence, continues inspecting the hut. We begin frantically pointing over his shoulder, like five year olds at a magic show; ‘It’s behind you!’ we mouth, as the bear calmly watches. The ranger ponders our gestures before turning to discover the source of our alarm. The bear, standing on its hind legs, its fore limbs pulled in close to its chest like a furry T-Rex, is unmoved. The ranger composes himself and signals us to climb the ladder. We eagerly oblige.
As we begin our ascent the bear drops on all fours. For a moment we are terrified, but the bear simply turns and nonchalantly lumbers away.
Once inside the hut the nervous tension snaps and we break into muffled peals of laughter. The forest exhales, sighing once again into cool serenity.
Inside the bear-hide we wait.