Bear spray is a useful tool to use against a charging grizzly. But it can be a very painful experience if you accidentally end up spraying yourself instead. Park Ranger John Waterman described in his new book Into the Thaw: Witnessing Wonder amid the Arctic Climate Crisis accidentally spraying himself.
At the time, Waterman had been on his first trip to Alaska's Noatak River. But it wasn't without accidents. In an excerpt via Outside Online, Waterman described accidentally using bear spray on himself. He was hiking with a hiking partner named Chris when the accident occurred.
He wrote, " With Chris 20 yards behind, I plunge step down through a near-vertical slope of alders and play Tarzan for my descent as I hang onto a flexible yet stout branch, and swing down a short cliff into another alder thicket. A branch whacks me in the chest and knocks off the pepper-spray safety plug. When I swing onto the ground, I get caught on another branch that depresses the trigger in an abrupt explosion that shoots straight out from my chest in a surreal orange cloud. Instinctively I hold my breath and close my eyes and continue to shimmy downward, but I know I'm covered in red-hot pepper spray."
Park Ranger Sprays Bear Spray On Self
It sounds pretty painful, right? Waterman did his best to get out of his affected clothing. He rushed to a stream to clean his clothing.
He wrote, "When I run out of breath, I squint, keep my mouth closed, breathe carefully through my nose, and scurry out of the orange capsaicin cloud. Down in a boulderfield that pulses with a stream, I open my mouth, take a deep breath, and yell to Chris that I'm O.K. as I strip off my shirt and try to wring it out in the stream. I tie the contaminated shirt on the outside of my pack and put on a sweater. My hands prickle with pepper."
From there, Waterman had to deal with the effects of bear spray. It doesn't sound pleasant.
He wrote, "Then we're off again. As we clamber up steep scree to exit the gorge, my lips, nasal passages, forehead, and thighs burn from the pepper. The pepper spray spreads from my thighs to my crotch like a troop of red ants, but I can hardly remove my pants amid the incoming storm clouds and wind. With the last of the alders below us, we enter the alpine world above the tree line."
Waterman continued, "By the time we reach the lake, the drizzle has become a steady rain. I'm nauseous and overheated underneath my rain jacket with the red pepper spray that I wish I had saved for an aggressive bear instead of a self-douche. Atop wet tundra that feels like a sponge underfoot, we pitch the Megamid tent with a paddle lashed to a ski pole and guy out the corners with four of the several million surrounding boulders left by the reduction of tectonic litter."
