There are, of course, lots of -ologists: Ornithologists study birds, entomologists are into creepy-crawlies, paleontologists mull over plant and animal fossils, and archaeologists reconstruct ancient human life. Most serious study is usually undertaken by accomplished professionals who devote years to training for whatever their -ologies might be. But each -ology is inevitably augmented by recreationally motivated amateurs.

Some -ologies appear dependent upon amateur participation. A classic example is the assistance of thousands of amateur birdwatchers to the study of migratory patterns for many bird species. But scientists from other -ologies resent amateurs' recreational intrusions, particularly among paleontologists and archaeologists who fear that amateurs foraging through key discovery sites might destroy important clues to the past. In many cases, professional anguish over amateur participation has led to laws and regulations prohibiting amateur involvement which, in turn, presents the professionals with a conundrum: without permitting participation by an interested public, how can they persuade them to finance their work? Biologists and their -ology, for the most part, appear aloof from that controversy. Instead, for over a hundred years, sportsmen's club members have assisted wildlife biologists in funding, trapping, and transplanting thousands of game animals and furbearers throughout the Treasure State, where I dwell. In addition, wildlife agencies actively promote a variety of "watchable wildlife" programs. In all honesty, however, I was into my amateur study of bear-ology before the agencies' "watchable wildlife" programs were instituted. My interest is not a trifling trend.

But not to worry. The Roland concept of bear-ology does not include my use of professional techniques. I do not sneak stealthily through the forest with a syringe loaded with a sleeping potion, lashed to the far end of a broomstick in the off chance I can stick a grizzly bear in the hinder. Instead, I might ease up where I can view a remote peat bog at daylight, or a hillside loaded with huckleberries. I glass where long ago forest fires once raged and where ursids sometimes forage under rotted logs and stones and where I can readily locate them with the aid of a spotting scope. In short, I enjoy watching the creatures at a distance.

Yet the question remains: will amateur bear-ology attract hordes of spectators?

Maybe. Maybe not. There are no highway signs directing casual viewers to bear-watching sites. In addition, if there were a lot of people there, bears would be absent. In a second addition, recent professional research discourages feeding bears to attract them to viewing stations. So the only real way to practice amateur bear-ology is to go off into the big lonesome and wander around in the hopes of observing an animal before being required to shake hands with him. So we're really talking about deliberately seeking out the world's largest carnivore -- an animal who can (and sometimes does) eat us. In other words, amateur bear-ology is not as risk-free as banding hummingbirds.

What would motivate otherwise normal human beings to search for bears they do not intend to kill or drive away from their livestock? John Murray expressed the reason well in his book, The Great Bear:

"Those who have packed far up into grizzly country . . . know that the presence of even one grizzly on the land elevates the mountains, deepens the canyon, chills the winds, brightens the stars, darkens the forests, and quickens the pulse of all who enter it."

 

Next week? Another walk on the wild side.