As are, comparatively, black bears themselves. The largest run about six feet long; the heftiest weigh in at 400 to 500 pounds. And they’re not even all black. Regionally, you can find black bears that are brown, golden, tan, chocolate, grey, burnt umber, and, of course, black.
And, unlike the larger notorious killer-bear species, these teddies seldom bother humans. (It’s estimated that there have been fewer than 60 human deaths by black bears in the past century.) Nevertheless, there is an essential difference between black bears and, say, polar bears. The really big brutes disdain us wee folk and lash out only when provoked (albeit the definition of “provocation” is all theirs). If you’re set upon by a lack bear, on the other hand, it’s because he/she is really hungry. (Note to self: going limp doesn’t help.)
Moreover, these guys are smart. It’s a criminal intelligence perhaps, but the black bear’s adaptive learning curve is truly shallow. Campers used to protect their food from pilfering bears by hanging it in trees. Bears have learned to mess with the ropes until the provisions fall to the ground. Campers used to protect their food by suspending it high above water between stream banks. Black bears learned to work in teams — one swinging the rope, the other grabbing the pendulous grub.
Some campers lock their food in their car. No good. Black bears are incredibly strong. To them, the trunk of a Honda is just another flimsy trash-can lid between them and dinner. Canned food? A black bear can chomp a can of Spam in half as easily as you bite into a pear. Outdoor-gear makers have developed what are called “bear canisters,” small round barrels with no paw-accessible seams, and so far the bears are flummoxed by them, although the things do roll pretty easily, and it’s only a matter of time before the bears learn how far you have to drop one to pop it open.
Thunder storms
The term thunder storm doesn’t really say enough. Thunder doesn’t hurt. It’s actually kind of fun, for that reason. But thunder is just a byproduct of lightning, which is high-voltage electricity shot from the sky. Lightning is bad news. It does so strike repeatedly in the same place, and it’s not the kind of thing you survive easily if you happen to be in that place.
One “average” storm, we’re told delivers the wallop of a 20-kiloton nuclear bomb. And that’s average — meaning some storms trend much higher. Hot? Lightning is “hotter than the surface of the sun,” and it makes the trip from cloud to ground at 100,000 miles per hour.
There’s no room of comfort here. Granted, one’s chances of being lightning struck are slim — some estimate one in 600,000; kinder estimates put it at 10 million to one (but that’s for being struck dead). Either way, one Web site maintains, you’re more likely to win the lottery.
Whatever, your chances go up or down depending on where you are. Lightning storms are the result of a very specific combination of weather conditions, which, logically, are more prevalent in some states than in others. Here, New Englanders luck out. We rank at the bottom of the list; where as nearby Pennsylvania, with its more drastic topography (and more numerous golf courses), and far-off Texas, with its open spaces and intense surface heat rank among the most lightning-death prone spots in the US.
