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 When
I strung my longbow and set out on the trail that crisp
September morning in 1992, I never guessed that in a few hours
my life would be not only threatened, but forever changed.
Then a 39-year-old general contractor, and my 49-year-old
hunting partner, Dr. Fred Bahnson, from Bozeman, Montana.
A
skiff of snow had fallen overnight, and the hunting conditions
northwest of Yellowstone National Park were close to perfect.
At first are optimism seemed justified. By mid-morning we had
downed a four-point mulie. We said a brief Prayer of thanks
for the animal, then dressed it and hung it in a tree,
planning to return the next day with our children. By noon we were
hunting back down the trail, single file, with myself
twenty yards in the lead. The early snow had melted and the
woods were damp, making it easy to move along quietly.
Mark Matheny -- Fred Bahnson
 As
I came over a hill and onto a bench of open timber, I saw
movement in the trees off to my left. At first it was hard to
fathom: two brown shapes hurtling into the air, 35 yards away.
Then I realized they were first-year grizzly cubs, the size of
German shepherds. The cubs had been nursing as the mother lay
on her back. At the sight of me, the sow jumped to her feet,
tossing the young bears into the air.
Immediately,
the sow charged. Grunting harshly, head low, she closed the
gap with unbelievable speed. I remember seeing those little
black, beady eyes, and the anger-like an aura around her.
I
spun, looking vainly for a tree to climb. Bahnson was twenty
yards up trail, so I ran toward him, yelling, It's a bear, get
your spray!
Weeks
before the hunt Bahnson had read about the increasing use and
success of pepper spray as a bear deterrent, and had bought a
small canister of a product called "Karate In A Can"
(actually designed for urban use against human aggressors, not
bears). He even fashioned a homemade leather belt holster to
keep the spray within reach. I planned on buying a can of
spray too, but, as I said later with equal parts rue and
wonder at what now seems an obvious oversight, I just never
got around to it.
Running
from the bear, I now admit, was a total mistake. Not only does
running increase the likelihood of a full-blown attack, it
doesn't work. You can't outrun them. They're like missiles
homing in on their targets.
But
I ran toward Bahnson. Bahnson groped for his spray, which
stuck in the leather holster. He dove off the trail. I jumped
behind a log.
I
turned around and there she was, a few feet away. I couldn't
help thinking, what a beautiful, magnificent animal-silvertip,
healthy, maybe 400 pounds. But that thought was quickly
replaced by fear that this is really happening.
I
thrust my bow at the sow and yelled, Get out of here!
 She
whacked the bow out of my hands with one paw, and leapt over
the log. It all happened so fast. Next thing I know, I'm just
seeing teeth and trying to jump out of the way. Oh God help
me!
The
bear lunged, biting me in the face and neck. I could feel my
face ripping. Then I was on the ground, the sow on top of me.
I felt her teeth crunching down on my head.
I
screamed, She's got my head, she's killing me! However, my cry
only intensified the attack. Then I realized, I've got to play
dead or I'm going to be dead.
At
that moment, I had what I now thinks of as an epiphany. When
she put the head bite on me, I felt the power she had to kill
me. Time just stopped then. I remember thinking, 'My time on
earth is done. I'm going to miss my wife and kids. Now I'm
going to meet my creator.
Mark Matheny
But
with his pepper spray canister in hand, Bahnson came running
toward the bear, screaming. She dropped me and lunged at
Bahnson, who shot a split second blast of spray into the
bear's face just as she knocked him down.
I
saw Bahnson fall, thinking this is horrible, now she's getting
both of us. I started squirming away like a mouse, as fast as
I could. That got the bear off of Fred; she turned back to me.
I saw her coming so I covered my head with my arms. Then,
wham, she pounced on me like a cat on a mouse. I remember the
weight of her, the incredible pressure against the ground. She
started ripping at my arm, shaking it violently. I thought she
was going to rip it off. I didn't feel any pain. It all
happened too fast.
The
sow, as we later learned, had been feeding on a nearby elk
carcass, and she stunk horribly, like rotting, decaying flesh.
She smelled like death.
I
made myself lie still as the bear mauled me. Then she left me
and turned back to Bahnson, who hit the charging grizzly
approximately 10 feet away in the mouth and nose with the
nearly full 4 oz. can of spray emptying it. Gasping and
choking, the bear veered off into the woods, the cubs bounding
after her. (By the way, the can that was used in this attacked
is not a Bear pepper spray) Bear
Spray
Through
my struggle to stay conscious, I heard Bahnson say, "Are
you all right?" Now Bahnson's experience as a physician
came into play. He calmly assessed my wounds and assured me I
would survive. The left side of my face was torn open, the
cheek flap hanging. Bahnson rigged a pressure bandage that I
held in place as we began walking out to our vehicle. Blood
from a puncture wound on my scalp kept pouring into my eyes,
making it difficult to see the trail. I adjusted by walking
with my head tilted forward and down so the blood could fall
directly from my forehead to the ground. The only pain I felt
was in my arm, which I thought might have been broken.
Twenty
minutes later, as we neared our Jeep, it occurred to me to
take a photograph of myself, my face covered with blood and my
cheek deeply gashed, just to record the event. Little did
either of us realize the impact these photos would later have,
or how useful they would eventually prove to be in my future
life. Only when I looked into the Jeep's rearview mirror did
the full extent of my injuries hit me. It was also at this
point that the pain began: Suddenly my head and face ached
terribly.
Aftermath
 Bahnson
had also suffered some injuries. The grizzly had bitten him
once in the side as she knocked him down, but because of his
coat and clothing the bite had not penetrated the skin. His
side was bruised and abraded and the compression force had
separated some ribs from the sternum. But at the Bozeman
hospital, Bahnson insisted on attending to my wounds. He
worked on me for nearly seven hours. The first bite had ripped
open the left cheek, tearing the jaw muscle loose from the
jawbone, cutting through the saliva gland and across the
larynx. Most frighteningly, but also most fortunately, the
lower bite wound included a tooth puncture that had come a
scant 1/8-inch from my jugular vein.
The
"head bite" had punctured my eyebrow bone, between
the brow and the eyeball, and also  the
crown of my skull.Total head and face repairs required more
than 15 inches of stitching. My arm was black and blue, and
would be sore for several weeks, but was not broken or
dislocated. The headaches, nearly constant, would continue for
almost two years-all this from a mauling we estimate lasted
less than 20 seconds.
If
the attack and rescue seemed over quickly (I went home from
the hospital that same evening) the larger repercussions of
the experience were just beginning. My construction business
had been progressing, with custom work contracted by the likes
of Ted Turner and Jane Fonda, as well as the nearby Big Sky
resort; but after the mauling I found it difficult to focus on
the job. All I could think about was bears and bear stuff. I
needed to make my peace with it.
 I
spent as much time as possible in the mountains, not wanting
the attack and the fear it engendered to ruin the outdoors for
me. When a pepper-spray company heard of my experience and
asked me to do a live-appearance testimonial at an outdoor
retail show, I jumped at the chance. Soon after, I quit
construction for good and joined the company's staff as a part
time sales rep. I became obsessed with the subject of pepper
spray as a bear deterrent to stop this kind of an aggressive
attack. Within months I had ideas for improving the
product: a much hotter pepper concentrate for more
effectiveness, a "fluffier" formulation that would
hang in the air longer, a carrying holster with a tied-on
trigger safety wedge that wouldn't be as easily lost as the
customary loose one, and even a glow-in-the-dark safety clip
so a spray canister could be quickly located at night in a
tent. I didn't invent the wheel, I just improve it.
When
the company resisted my suggestions, My wife Becky and I
decided to take the cold plunge and start our own pepper-spray
business. We mortgaged our home and 30 acres near Bozeman to
finance the operation we called UDAP. It was a total
learning situation, both in product development and later in
marketing and distribution. But long hours and hard work paid
off; within six months UDAP was shipping its Pepper Power bear
deterrent to customers, and sales took off quickly. The
business has grown each year.
 Work
Worth Doing
How
this experience changed my life.
My goal from the start was not just to sell pepper spray, but
to help educate the public-outdoorsmen in particular-about the
causes, prevention, and realities of bear attacks, so that
what happened to me could be avoided by others. To this end we
have produced bear-safety pamphlets, made a video, and shared
my experience and knowledge in a Discovery Channel
documentary. I give frequent talks to sportsmen's gatherings
across the country, to National Forest Service and State Fish
and Wildlife personnel, and to schoolchildren (one of my
favorite venues) etc. People of all ages, I have discovered,
are eager to know more about bears.
People
are also struck by the graphic close-up photo taken of me
shortly after the mauling. My blood-caked, gouged visage is a
disturbing reminder of the potential severity of a bear
attack. Yet the vividness of the picture
has
also brought criticism from some corners, particularly from
environmentalists who feel that such images sensationalize and
even distort the already too-sensational subject of bear
attacks. I do admit, I thought long and hard about making the
photo public. It's a very emotional picture to me. I decided
to use it because if it helps someone else think about bear
safety and gets them to carry a can of spray and maybe stop an
attack, then that picture was worth it. In this case a picture
really does speak a thousand words. When I show it to kids and
then tell them not to bring peanut butter and jelly sandwiches
into the tent at night, they're more likely to listen and take
the advice seriously.
At
the same time, I am also sensitive to what I call the
negative-sensationalizing of bears. I tell people, "Look,
this was a bad situation, but bears are not out there looking
to do this to you". I try to simmer down people's
fears, while also educating them to the reality, all in
perspective.
The
bottom line is you should be prepared and carry bear spray in
bear country. Hopefully you won't need to use it-but if you
do, it can save your life. It's better to have bear spray and
never need to use it, apposed to needing it, and not having it.
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