Bear attacks have been dominating the news lately. Every day, reports flood the media—not just about crops being ravaged, but about actual human beings being mauled. People say the primary reason for this unprecedented spike in bear encounters is the brutal, unrelenting heatwaves we've had, which completely devastated the wild nut harvest. On the flip side, I've been hearing more and more about people calling local government offices to complain whenever a nuisance bear is euthanized. For someone who has actually been attacked by a bear, extermination seems like an obvious necessity. For animal rights advocates, filing a protest feels just as natural. Every time I hear about this debate, it forces me to reflect on just how difficult it truly is for humans to coexist with wildlife. Forgive the somber setup, but I’d like to share a true story about a man who lost his best friend to a bear nearly thirty years ago.
It came completely out of the blue when my college friend, Takita, reached out to ask for advice about taking early retirement and moving permanently to Hokkaido. He was working for a fairly prominent company, held a decent position, and lived a comfortable life. I keep using the phrase "fairly decent," but while it wasn't top-tier luxury, his standard of living was undeniably above average—what you might call "upper-middle class." He was the most successful among my circle of friends, and to be honest, I was jealous. My repeated use of "fairly decent" is probably just my envy talking (haha). Which is precisely why I couldn't understand why he wanted to throw in the towel and quit. He even told me his company was actively trying to persuade him to stay.
"I took trips to Hokkaido two years ago and again last year, and I just fell in love with the place. Besides, I'm single, right? I thought living a self-sufficient life might be nice for a change." When I told him he wasn't at an age where people usually consider early retirement, he countered that as a lifelong bachelor, he had zero baggage holding him down. He didn't hate his job, but he explained that he didn't want to spend the next few decades bound by corporate politics and social obligations.
Well, he had a point. I couldn't completely disagree. I strongly opposed his decision at the time, but he refused to listen. Looking back now, though, the fact that both of his parents had passed away in quick succession the previous year likely played a huge role. I remember Takita once breaking down in tears while we were out drinking. He was always a weeping drunk, but he spoke with deep gratitude about how his parents, despite not being wealthy, had worked themselves to the bone to put him through college. I knew firsthand how much he cherished them. He was always taking them out for dinner or taking them on trips. He openly stated that he owed his comfortable lifestyle entirely to his parents. Reflecting on it now, I realize that once his beloved parents were gone, it was as if the thread holding his life together snapped, and he simply lost all motivation for his job. About six months after our conversation, a New Year's card arrived from him the following January. It featured a photo of Takita standing in a blanket of snow. A handwritten note was scribbled on it: "Hokkaido is amazing. You have to come visit."
It was nearly two years later when I saw Takita again. Toward the end of summer, I got a complaining phone call from him: "I told you to come visit, and you haven't shown up at all!" The hectic launch of a new business project at my work had finally settled down, and since I could take about a week off, I decided to take him up on his invitation. Seeing Takita for the first time in two years was a shock. The stylish, sharp-dressed city worker who used to grind in Tokyo was gone; in his place stood a man who looked like Goro from the classic TV drama *From the Northern Country*. When I pointed this out, he just laughed and said, "Yeah, pretty much."
Takita was living in City F, about a two-hour drive from Sapporo. If I mention it was the setting for a famous TV drama, you can probably guess where it was. Apparently, his parents had deeply fallen in love with the landscape when they visited on a trip, so he had decided long ago that if he ever moved permanently, it would be here. He also mentioned that he had relocated his parents' grave to the area so they could enjoy the view. Takita had built a cozy, log-cabin style house. It was a stylish place that fit the surrounding scenery perfectly, featuring a spacious living room, a bedroom, a guest room, and a loft. It even had a wood-burning stove, which gave the house a wonderful, warm atmosphere.
"I wondered how you were living out here, but seeing you live so comfortably makes me genuinely envious." "I may be free from social obligations, but life out here has its own share of hardships, you know." We chatted over a steaming pot of Ishikari stew he had prepared for dinner. Since Takita had never cooked a day in his life back in Tokyo, I was a bit worried, but the food turned out to be absolutely delicious. He served plenty of local sake, treating me like royalty. The meat in the hot pot was particularly flavorful, and when I asked what kind it was, he told me it was wild boar.
"Oh yeah, since moving here, I took up hunting," he said. With that, he retrieved a hunting rifle from a locked cabinet in the back of the room. He explained that a member of the local hunting association had invited him to try it, and now he was skilled enough to track and take down wild boar and deer all on his own.
"Tastes great, right? That's the boar I brought down two days ago. I've got plenty, so eat as much as you want." He pulled a massive slab of meat out of the fridge to show me. I remember us drinking, eating, and making a racket late into the night.
The next day, he took me sightseeing while running some errands, driving around local landmarks. "This spot right here was a filming location for *From the Northern Country*," he kept repeating at almost every stop.
Even though he said the exact same thing everywhere we went, I loved that show, so I thoroughly enjoyed taking in the scenery while reminiscing about various scenes.
That evening over dinner, he brought up a new plan. "I haven't shown you nearly enough yet. Tomorrow, why don't we head up into the mountains for a little exercise?" "Exercise? I didn't bring a single piece of hiking gear." "I told you I hunt, didn't I? Just tag along. I'll show you how cool I look out there," Takita said with absolute confidence.
Early the next morning, Takita and I loaded our gear into his pickup truck and set off for Mount N. "When you said hunting, I assumed you'd be using dogs." "Some people do, but I almost always go solo." Takita explained that he preferred a style called "stalking," where a hunter enters the mountain alone to search for game. "It lets you experience the true thrill of hunting. Though occasionally I'll head up the mountain with guys from the hunting association." Engaged in conversation about hunting, we eventually arrived at our target, the western peak.
"In another month, this whole area will be covered in snow," he remarked as he geared up and started walking. The moment we stepped into the mountain, the expression on Takita's face shifted completely. His gentle demeanor vanished, replaced by the sharp, intense look of a true hunter.
"Well, this isn't a game. The animals' lives are on the line, so both sides are desperate." That was his response when I commented on his change in expression. I had assumed hunting was just an extension of a hobby for him, so hearing him articulate how serious it was took me by surprise.
Once we were deep in the woods, he became extremely quiet. It made sense; he couldn't afford to let the animals catch his scent or hear his footsteps. I followed close behind, obeying his quiet, minimalist hand gestures. After walking for about two hours, Takita signaled for me to stop.
"Brown bear. Don't move a muscle," he whispered, his voice barely audible. Looking ahead about a hundred meters, I saw a massive, dark shape moving among the trees on the mountain slope. Seeing a wild brown bear in the flesh for the first time terrified me. It was a massive male, easily over six feet tall, lumbering along. We hid in the thicket, holding our breath and watching the bear's every move. After watching for a while, the bear eventually vanished deeper into the woods.
Takita let out a long breath. "Let's head back for today. If I were alone, it'd be one thing, but I can't put you in danger. I wanted to show you me taking down a deer, but that'll have to wait for next time."
With that, we turned around to retrace our steps.
On the way back, Takita spoke up. "That bear didn't seem to notice us. I'm not gonna lie, I was spooked. That's the first time I've ever run into a bear while out hunting." "But you've got a rifle, so even if it charged, you'd be fine, right?" "Don't be an idiot. If you shoot a bear and fail to drop it instantly, you're dead." He explained that even the local hunting association warned members never to shoot at a bear carelessly. Apparently, it wasn't uncommon even for veteran hunters to lose their lives in face-to-face encounters with bears. "Anyway, let's just get back quickly."
However, our hurried retreat was brought to a sudden halt by a deer. Just a short distance from the truck, we spotted a solitary deer. Whether it noticed us or not, it raised its head, looking slightly cautious. Takita hesitated for a moment about whether to shoot, but then said, "Wait here. I'm going to take a shot." He crept quietly through the brush. The deer remained motionless. Takita stopped walking. He loaded a round into the rifle slung over his shoulder, raised it, aimed... and fired.
A gunshot echoed through the mountain valley. Simultaneously, the deer collapsed on the spot.
"Yes!" Takita let out a satisfied shout. I ran over to the deer with him. Shot through the throat area, the animal was already dead. Looking at the lifeless creature gave me an indescribable feeling. Confronted with the fact that a life had just been extinguished right before my eyes, I felt an uncomfortable mixture of guilt and a strange sense that my friend had done something wrong.
"I need to field-dress and butcher it right away, so give me a minute." He began working expertly with his knife, but I couldn't bring myself to watch. I moved a distance away to wait for him to finish. After I don't know how long, Takita called me back. Three burlap sacks were lined up on the ground. I instantly understood that the deer from moments ago was now inside them.
"I didn't have time to do a fine cut, so I just divided it into rough sections. We're carrying these down. Here, take this one." He handed me the lightest-looking burlap sack. I hoisted the heavy weight onto my shoulder, but it filled me with a strange, heavy feeling. I suppose you could say I was feeling the literal weight of a life.
"Do you feel sorry for it?" Takita suddenly asked. "Well... I don't really know how to put it." "I felt the exact same way at first. But, you know, from the perspective of wildlife management and conservation, this is undeniably necessary. I might sound full of myself, but I view this as a form of service to society. It's work that somebody has to do. That doesn't mean I take the life of a wild animal lightly, nor should I ever." Feeling torn, half-agreeing and half-uncertain about Takita's words, we made our way back to the truck. We finished loading our gear and the burlap sacks into the bed of the pickup. Takita told me to get in first, and just as I opened the passenger door and was about to climb in...
The thick brush directly ahead of us rustled violently. It was only about thirty yards away. Just as I thought it might be another deer—
A massive brown bear emerged right before our eyes.
The moment I witnessed its overwhelming presence, I felt my heart drop into my stomach. The bear fixed its gaze on us and began advancing, taking slow, deliberate steps. Then, it stopped and simply stared at us. It was about twenty yards away. Its eyes, locked onto us, held no malice, no hostility—they looked like clear, flawless black gemstones. I had never experienced a gaze so completely pure and untainted in my entire life. It was so mesmerizing that I almost felt spellbound by those eyes.
Out of the corner of my eye, I glanced at Takita. Heavy drops of sweat were streaming down his cheeks. His shoulders heaved as he breathed heavily, his hands gripping the side of the truck bed. After what felt like an eternity of staring down the bear, the animal suddenly reared up on its hind legs, sniffing the air as it looked around.
Seeing the bear stand on its hind legs sent a wave of pure terror crashing over me. I looked back at Takita and saw him slowly reaching for his rifle, careful not to alert the bear. Once he had the rifle in hand, he slowly pulled a round from the breast pocket of his vest. Keeping his eyes locked on the bear, he loaded a single bullet into the chamber and raised the barrel toward the beast.
The bear, meanwhile, stopped sniffing the air. It remained standing on two legs, staring intensely at us. But unlike before, I could now feel unmistakable hostility radiating from its eyes. Takita stood frozen, aiming the rifle without trembling.
"Listen to me. Get into the car very slowly. Close the door quietly—don't make a sound. Once you're safely inside, slowly open the driver's side door for me. If the bear charges after you get in, don't hesitate—shut the door and under no circumstances open it again." Takita issued these instructions in a low whisper, his eyes never leaving the bear. I gave a silent nod and crept into the truck, moving as slowly as possible so as not to provoke the animal. Once inside, I reached for the driver's side door handle. I pulled it slowly, opening the door while trying to make as little noise as possible.
I eased the driver's door open millimeter by millimeter. A dull metallic creak echoed from the hinges—*creaaak*—despite my best efforts to keep it silent.
The door opened about halfway. Takita took one step, then another, moving from the side of the truck bed toward the driver's seat. Just as his hand touched the door—
*ROAAAAAAAR!*
The bear let out a deafening roar out of nowhere and charged straight at us.
"AAAAAHHHHHHHHH!" I shrieked in absolute terror at the sight.
*BANG!* A gunshot echoed. I instantly realized Takita had fired right next to the truck. But the bear didn't stop—it slammed straight into Takita. The massive creature collided violently with the driver's side, slamming the half-open door shut with a deafening crash and sending a violent shockwave through the truck.
"AAAAAGGGGHHHHHHH!" Takita's agonizing screams mingled with the guttural roars of the bear. Through the driver's side window, I could see the bear thrashing wildly. But I had neither the courage to look out the window to see what was happening nor the strength to save my friend. In absolute despair, Takita's final words flashed through my mind, and I slammed the passenger door shut.
All I could do was squeeze my eyes shut, cover my ears, and curl into a ball. Takita's screams, barely audible through my covered ears, eventually faded to nothing. When the bear's roars finally stopped as well, I cautiously peeked out through the driver's window.
The ground by the truck had turned into a sea of blood. But Takita was nowhere to be seen. A horrific drag mark trailed through the blood, leading straight back into the thicket from which the bear had emerged. I could do nothing but stare blankly at the trail of red.
Eventually, I managed to drive the pickup back down to town. I explained what had happened and filed a missing persons report with the police. A search party consisting of police and members of the local hunting association eventually found Takita's remains in a truly gruesome state. The hunting association launched a sweep to hunt down the bear that attacked him, but they were never able to find it.
A member of the hunting association who had looked after Takita in life said this to me: "He always said to run if you see a bear, but shooting that deer on the way back was his fatal mistake. The bear must have smelled the blood and tracked you guys down. What happened to Takita was a tragic accident—you mustn't blame yourself. Besides, stepping into the mountains with a gun means accepting that risk. Thinking you could have saved him is nothing more than arrogance. Before wild beasts, all humans are equally helpless."
Whenever I hear news reports about bear attacks, those words echo in my mind. If you ask me whether I hate the bear that killed Takita, my answer is no. What that bear did was an inevitable act of survival, just as humans culling bears to protect themselves is an inevitable necessity. That's why I don't hate that bear, nor will I ever. The only thing I can say for certain is that I miss Takita terribly. My only best friend is never coming back.
