by Mick Rhodes | editor@claremont-courier.com

Places can hold potent seductive power. Dramatic vistas, white sand beaches, and soaring mountains are nearly universally alluring, and we don’t necessarily have to see them in person to fall under their spell. But when our memories are paired with actual feet on the ground experience, the seduction can become indelible.

The north shore of Lake Tahoe is one of those magical spots for me. I lived and worked there for nearly three years in the mid-1990s, and it’s had my heart ever since.

I got my first look at Tahoe in 1992. We’d traveled north on Interstate 5, roasting in the mid-summer heat, caught the 80 east in Sacramento, and then taken State Route 267 south from Truckee. I had no expectations, other than seeing a large lake and some trees. Those trees turned out to be my first indication that I’d misjudged the magnitude of where I was headed. The scent of the sugar, ponderosa, lodgepole, and Jeffrey pines — at what I later learned was peak perfume season — hit my nose before I saw the lake. It was otherworldly, almost overwhelmingly fresh. I’ve been chasing that aroma ever since. Soon we began our descent into the Tahoe Basin and there it was: Lake Tahoe. Massive, ancient, the purest blue I’d even seen. It took my breath away. I was 29, and it was the most beautiful place I’d ever seen.

That week in Tahoe was a turning point in my life, and not just because I’d found one of my favorite places in the world. I learned the man who lived next door to where we were staying in Kings Beach was the editor of the local newspaper, the North Lake Tahoe Bonanza, and he was looking for a new reporter. I ambushed him at his Incline Village office the next day, grossly overselling my meager skills. Two weeks later I was packing my belongings into a rented U-Haul, on my way to my first full-time job in journalism.

I wasn’t great at my new job. But the soothing smells, the quiet of the forest, and the beautiful views at every turn soothed my anxiety. I spent nearly three years in Tahoe, developing a deep love for the place. So much love in fact that I’ve returned about a dozen times since with family and friends. Each visit is a recentering of my soul. The aromas still seduce. I always leave reinvigorated.

I’ll do it again the week between Christmas and New Year’s when my kids and I drive the 500-plus miles — mostly on what is for my money the most beautiful road in California, Highway 395 — to spend a few days on the west shore, near Tahoe City.

Prior to every previous Tahoe trip my only real concerns were the roadworthiness of my vehicle, having enough snacks for the eight-hour drive, and getting up into the high desert in time to watch the sunrise. This time though, there’s something new to consider:

In Tahoe, “Bears have learned how to unscrew lids. They know how to open sliding glass doors. They’ll prowl from car to car, trying handles,” wrote The New Yorker’s Paige Williams last month in her brilliant, if terrifying story, “Lake Tahoe’s Bear Boom.” Williams recounts in explicit detail the first known human death caused by a black bear — the state’s only species — in California’s recorded history. It occurred last year in picturesque Downieville, a Gold Rush town about 70 miles northwest of Tahoe.

I never saw a bear in the nearly three years I lived in Tahoe. They seemed to want nothing to do with humans back then. They were certainly around; we reported on sightings, and reminded folks to keep their exterior trash bins locked up, especially during fall when our ursine friends were bulking up for their winter nap. But while their potential for mayhem was certainly respected and well established, aside from a few knocked over trash cans or the occasional midday stroll across State Route 28 (the 72-mile road that wraps around the entirety of Lake Tahoe) they were regarded as peaceful symbols of the nearby wilderness, almost loveable mascots.

But that was 30 years ago. Tahoe has changed. Its population swelled during the pandemic. More and more new developments have encroached on formerly wild lands. This has resulted in oodles of new food sources for Tahoe’s bears, and increasingly brash behavior.

The owner of the condo I’ve rented sent this email last week:

“I want to warn you that we have had some bear issues in the development and the maintenance people have checked our unit for anything that might encourage a bear break in.”

Gulp.

She went on to explain that our specific condo hadn’t yet been targeted by hangry bears, “but several other units have had bears break through locked wooden doors. The grounds crew have actually checked all units to see what might be attracting the bears.” She said to be sure to lock and deadbolt all doors. “The bears have become expert at turning the handle if you don’t use the key to lock the doors.”

Double gulp.

Modern Tahoe protocol now must include a primer on what to do in case of bear. I consulted the National Park Service, whose guide includes the following: “Stay calm and remember that most bears do not want to attack you; they usually just want to be left alone. Bears may bluff their way out of an encounter by charging and then turning away at the last second. Bears may also react defensively by woofing, yawning, salivating, growling, snapping their jaws, and laying their ears back. Continue to talk to the bear in low tones; this will help you stay calmer, and it won’t be threatening to the bear. A scream or sudden movement may trigger an attack. Never imitate bear sounds or make a high-pitched squeal.” There’s also this reassuring bit: “It may come closer or stand on its hind legs to get a better look or smell. A standing bear is usually curious, not threatening.”

I wonder exactly how one would avoid a high-pitched squeal in the face of a reared up, salivating 300-500 pound bear? And regarding that behavioral quirk of “charging and then turning away at the last second,” what were the circumstances of that data collection? I imagine those folks are living quiet lives somewhere at sea level now. Permanently.

This new development certainly adds a layer of real danger to our previously routine, supremely relaxing Tahoe escape. And while alarming, it’s not enough to keep me away from my beloved place of peace. We will be conscientious, respectful tourists. We’ll keep our food, trash, and bodies well secured.

As long as I’m still able sit and drink coffee on the deck and look at the lake in the morning, I’m good. Do bears even like coffee? I’ll let you know.