The Bear’s Bear by Brian Sacca

Smokey packed light; only a few spare hats and a toothbrush. He wasn’t sure he wanted to bring the hats. This was a vacation, after all, and the park ranger hats were how people recognized him. If he wore his hat, he would just be promoting forest fire safety like he had done every day since starting his tenure with the Forest Service. Because of his incessant work schedule, Smokey hadn’t taken a hibernation break in 34 years. He was due. It was time to disconnect. And he had found the perfect place to unwind and celebrate himself: Palm Springs Bear Week.

Smokey had never heard of this festival, but he was overjoyed at the thought of a whole week dedicated to bears. It was about time society celebrated this magnificent creature. And he heard Palm Springs was a dream—pools to lie in all day long, restaurants that served all types of salmon, no forests to catch fire.

Smokey scanned his den to see if there was anything else he might need for his journey. He loved this den. He’d lived there for the past 10 years. It was a modest den, high in the peaks of the Sequoias. At one point, he had imagined himself raising some cubs here. But as his work schedule became more relentless, he accepted the truth—this was a single bear’s den.

Smokey slung his small sack over his shoulder and started the journey to Palm Springs. It would take him two days to trek from Sequoia National Park to the Coachella Valley. He could’ve caught a bus, but Smokey chose to walk as a way to connect with his roots.

Almost immediately, the hike revitalized his spirit—Smokey started to feel like a real bear again. Bears typically migrate throughout their years, following food or climate, but Smokey hadn’t migrated since becoming a mascot. If the Forest Service needed Smokey to travel, they would take him by car or plane. He missed walking. He felt himself reconnecting with his heritage, that animalistic awareness he had lost long ago. It reminded Smokey of his time as a bear cub wrestling with his brother while his mom caught food from the river. It was a simpler time: no forest service, no hats.

On the first night of his journey, Smokey slept under a tree. As he curled up, snuggling his nose into the undercarriage of his hind legs, Smokey dreamed about who he might run into at Palms Springs Bear Week. Maybe Pooh Bear or Yogi would be there. Yogi was somewhat of a mentor to Smokey in the beginning. Yogi taught Smokey the tricks of the bear trade—”don’t eat the cameramen” being the most important. Yogi was old now and preferred life out of the limelight. He mostly stayed in his Jellystone den, waiting for Boo-boo to bring some stolen picnic baskets for them to share. Smokey hoped that the idea of a week celebrating bears might coax Yogi out of his den.

After two days, Smokey finally saw the lights of Palm Springs shimmering in the night sky below him. He was famished after this long trip and looked forward to a nice poolside meal amongst the company of bears. Maybe he would meet someone special this week. Not necessarily a partner of any sort—just a special friend. A Boo-boo to his Yogi.

Smokey strolled down Main Street in Palm Springs, happy to see the rainbow-colored signs for Bear Week hanging on the lamp posts. Oddly, Smokey didn’t see any bears around. He did notice a surprising amount of men dressed in revealing outfits but no bears.

Smokey checked into his hotel and went straight for the pool to cool off. As he floated, he closed his eyes, transporting himself back to the time he floated in the lake with his brother. They would push each other under the water before rising back to the top. That was the fun part about playing in the water as bear cubs; there’s so much fat, you can’t sink. Smokey could almost smell the lake water. He inhaled, hoping to be transported back to the lake, but instead, he caught a whiff of smoke.

Smokey opened his eyes, alerted to the possibility of a forest fire. He scanned the skyline, looking for the rising smoke. But there were no plumes. Only a leather-clad man standing at the edge of the pool, sucking on a cigarette.

The leather-clad man called for his friend, “Chance! There’s a fucking bear in the pool.”

In the distance, Chance replied, “HOT. Join him.”

“No, Chance. Like a rawr, rawr bear.”

Chance, a pudgy man, sauntered up. His shirt was opened, exposing a mane of curly hair covering his torso. He sipped from an oversized plastic beaker of margarita. “Oh, fuck, Kip. That’s a bear.”

Smokey was confused by their surprise. “I’m sorry if I’ve frightened you,” he said, “but isn’t this bear week?”

Chance took a step back. “Holy shit. It’s a talking bear.”

Kip rubbed his eyes, “Did you dose me? What is happening?”

Smokey could smell their fear and attempted to assuage them. “There is no need to be frightened by me.”

“Are you a friendly bear?” Chance asked.

“Of course. Are you?”

“I’ll be friendly as long as you’re not a bitch.” Chance replied.

“I can leave if you want,” Smokey said.

“No way. I’m bored. You’re exciting and new. Can I dip my legs in the pool?”

“Please do.” Smokey pushed his floating body away from Chance, a subconscious way to ease Chance’s trepidation. “May I ask—where are all the bears?”

“Um, like everywhere.” Chance smirked.

“Really? I haven’t seen a single one,” Smokey said. “I thought this was going to be our week. But I guess there aren’t as many of us anymore.”

“Ummm… You’re looking at one. I’m a bear. Or bear cub. Whatever you prefer.” Chance said as he tapped the side of his oversized margarita, loosening the crushed ice.

Smokey studied this new breed of bear. “I’ve never seen a bear like you before. Where is your breed from?”

“West Hollywood.” Chance said.

“I’ve been there!” Smokey replied. “Well, close to there. I shot a commercial in Hollywood once. I didn’t get to see much of the town. They flew me in and out on the same day. I wish I knew there was a bear community nearby.”

“You’re in the business?” As an aspiring actor himself, Chance always loved meeting people in his business.

“Kind of. I’m a spokesperson. My name is Smokey.”

“A bear named Smokey? HOT. You are gonna slay here.” Chance said.

“Oh, no. I don’t want to slay. I don’t have a taste for human. I just came here to relax. Disconnect.”

“Um, buddy, this week is not about relaxing. It’s all about partying.” Chance set his drink down and thought for a moment. “You should come out with me tonight. We’re hitting all the clubs.”

Smokey had never been to a club, let alone a club for bears. Even though he wanted this vacation to be a relaxing time, he did hope he would meet a friend.

“That sounds nice,” Smokey responded. “Do I have time to dry off?”

“Hell yeah. I’ll meet you outside in 15.” Chance trotted away, his flip-flops smacking the ground.

Back in his room, Smokey blow-dried his fur. He liked how the heat pushed through the fur and warmed his skin. Before he left, Smokey did a once-over in the mirror. It had been a long time since he looked in the mirror. He didn’t like looking at himself; he always looked tired. It wasn’t that Smokey was sad to be aging; quite the opposite. He enjoyed the confidence and experience that came with age. But when he looked in the mirror, he saw a tired bear. He saw his mother. He missed her. She was a good mother, working endlessly to provide for Smokey and his brother. As a cub, Smokey couldn’t wait for the day when he could take some of the responsibility from her. He wished she could take a turn playing in the lake for once. But she never got that break. The last time Smokey saw her, she was running into a fire to find his brother.

Smokey put on his hat and left the room.

Smokey met Chance in the lobby. Kip was already outside, flagging the Uber.

Chance lit up, “You’re a bear and a daddy?! No way.”

“I’m not a father,” Smokey replied, confused.

“Your outfit—a hat, some jeans, and a leather pouch? Come on.” Chance laughed at himself.

The ride to the club was only two minutes. They could’ve walked in less time, but Chance was not a “walking type.” When they got there, they skipped the line. The husky, hairy men lined up outside the club hollered with delight as Smokey strolled past. Chance yelled at the waiting men, “He’s mine!”

Once inside, Smokey was overwhelmed by the cacophony of light and sound that filled this crowded room. An assault of noise. It reminded him of the thunderous clamor of a fire raging down a mountain. He closed his eyes to steady himself but was immediately transported to the blaze that took his mother. When he closed his eyes, Smokey saw his mother running into the inferno, desperate to find Smokey’s brother. Smokey roared for her to “stop!” He wanted to go with her. He didn’t like being alone. But she kept running. He roared louder, “Stop!” And LOUDER “STOP!”

Smokey opened his eyes. The club was dead silent. Lost in the reality of his flashback, Smokey bellowed the deafening roar that can only come from a full-grown grizzly. He now stood before hundreds of terrified men.

Embarrassed, Smokey turned to go, but Chance stopped him.

“It’s okay! Guys, it’s okay!” Chance climbed onto a chair. “This is my friend, Smokey. This is his first time here. He’s just as scared as any of us were when we first came to a club. So, let’s all show him some love. Got it?”

Kip pushed through the standing men and stood before Smokey. Kip wrapped his arms around Smokey and said, “It’s okay, buddy, we’re here.”

Then another man hugged him. And another. More and more until he was smothered in an embrace of love and acceptance.

A bear hug.

The combined strength of a dozen men felt like a hug from his mother. It felt like home.

Smokey was glad he came to Palm Springs Bear Week.