I was hiking from Tuolumne Meadows to Mammoth two years ago and came across a bear mid-trail maybe twenty feet ahead. We'd clearly, each of us, caught the other out. I looked at the bear. The bear looked at me.
This, I knew, was the time to act.
I reached into my pocket and drew forth the gleaming steel of my weapon of choice. Bringing it up, I uttered a silent prayer that this hunk of American-made metal, this apparatus of iron and wood, might just save my life.
With that thought, I began to blow 'Camptown Races' on my harmonica as off-key as I could muster. The bear, doubtless thinking me some kind of magic sound wizard, fled instantly.
