It used to be that people appreciated a bear sighting. It was a thrill to spot one of natures most awe-inspiring creatures in its natural habitat. A bear sighting was a rare treat, and a reminder that we humans aren’t necessarily the rulers of our domain. In year’s past, visitors have actually asked me where they might have the best chance of seeing a bear. “You just never know,” I would say. This year, a more accurate answer might be, “in your living room.”

I remember my first bear sighting. It was a small cub, no larger than a Labrador pup, but I was captivated. I followed it up the side of the mountain before it dawned on me that where there is a cub there is usually a protective, and much larger mommy bear.

This summer the bear sightings have become all too common. Nightly, bears are seen on nearly every block, climbing trees, meandering across busy streets, knocking on people’s front doors. The bears sense the approaching weather, the cold temperatures, the snow. They sense that their feeding season is coming to a close, but their bellies aren’t yet full, therefore, they are becoming more aggressive.

I recently saw a large bear standing on the steps above City Market’s parking lot. This bear casually watched as people walked past, oblivious that less than fifty feet away was a bear pondering his next meal. I pulled my car between the bear and the people and honked until the bear moved along, disappearing into darkness.

A bear was shot and killed by the wildlife rangers after ripping down the door of the school that my daughter will be attending next year. This happened just before my wife and I visited the campus. Seeing a panel of plywood where a door once stood was unnerving, but I was assured the school provides a safe environment for the children. I suppose the teachers have a cache of weapons stashed behind the toy box.

A friend who lives on Ute Avenue arrived home the other night to find a bear sitting in his kitchen, feasting on a pile of trash. My friend yelled, screamed, jumped up and down. “Get out of here, bear! Go on! Get out!” Despite the fact that the bear’s head was “as big as a stop sign” and could have swatted my friend aside like a box of pasta, he ran into the bedroom and jumped through a glass window, frightened, or possibly just annoyed, by my friends spastic ranting.

Another bear strolled through the open doors of a local hotel, stood on his hind legs and rested his paws on the front desk, as if he had a reservation and was there to check in. The Front Desk Manager desperately searched for an escape route, thinking the bear would jump over the desk and pin him in the corner, but after a quick look around, the bear simply turned and walked out, unimpressed, possibly, at the hotel lobby’s mediocre décor.

The very next night, the same Front Desk Manager received a call from a panicked guest. “There is a bear in our condo,” the guest said. “We’ve locked ourselves in the bedroom, but we’re afraid the bear will push the door down and get us.” This brave Manager ran to the condo and yelled at the bear until it decided to exit through the front door. The guests later admitted to cooking fish and leaving remnants in a trash can near an open window. Stupid? Yes. But if you are not from bear country how are you to know?

In all of the bear talk, I learned of an interesting solution to the bear problem. The City of Vancouver created a natural bear feeding habitat far from city limits. The land, planted with berry trees and other natural food sources, draws the bear population deeper into the wild and away from populated areas. Apparently, Vancouver and the surrounding suburbs do not have a bear problem.

I do not know if the Pitkin County Wildlife Commission has a similar plan in the works, but after so many close encounters, I do hope they are at least toying with the idea.