I came to with my back pressed against the rough bark of an old-growth oak, thick ropes biting into my chest. Every breath was a struggle. A group of illegal poachers had jumped me—Mike, the local park ranger—and left me tied up in the backcountry to rot. It was their way of settling the score for the years I’d spent busting their traps and protecting the local wildlife.
But the ropes weren’t my biggest problem. Ten feet away stood a massive grizzly, its amber eyes locked onto mine. The woods went dead silent, that heavy stillness you only feel when a predator is nearby. Suddenly, the beast stood up on its hind legs, a nine-foot wall of fur and muscle towering over me.
A massive, clawed paw swung toward me with terrifying speed. I closed my eyes and braced for the end, saying a silent goodbye to my family. There was a heavy thud, but no pain. Instead of claws tearing through my shoulder, I felt a sharp jolt against the tree. The bear had struck the thick hemp rope tied around the trunk.
He swung again, snapping another cord. It hit me then—this animal wasn’t hunting me; he was trying to get me loose. He dropped back to all fours and moved in close, his heavy breath hot against my skin.
His snout was inches from my face. He gave a low, guttural huff, then grabbed the thick rope in his teeth and pulled with everything he had. The line went taut, but it didn’t break. The mountain dew had soaked the fibers, and the poachers had cinched the knots tight…
