Backstory: Bearology in grizzly detail

Being savvy around bears is something more people in the West are being forced to do. As the population of grizzlies in the Yellowstone area grows - from 200 in the 1970s to an estimated 600 today - man-bear encounters are increasing. In some areas, notably Yellowstone National Park, experts have done a good job of minimizing the conflicts. Long ago the park put in bear-proof garbage cans, ones that require a virtual safe- cracker to breach. Rangers also routinely patrol campgrounds and confiscate food left out. Campers are required to watch a video about bears before trekking into the backcountry.

The result: Despite hundreds of encounters, only about one hiker is mauled in the park a year versus an average of 50 prior to the 1970s. "We've proven that you can have a fair number of visitors and still have bears," says Kerry Gunther, a bear-management specialist in Yellowstone since 1983.

Outside federally managed areas, though, the rules of the woods aren't always as well understood or followed, which raises concerns about the perils facing both people and bears. One focus of Podruzny's research, in fact, is to see how grizzlies migrating south out of Yellowstone are interacting with people, as well as black bears.

Podruzny - a bespectacled, medium-built woman of few words - might seem an unlikely person to be shadowing one of the fiercest creatures on earth. She grew up in suburban Atlanta and lived for a time in New Jersey. Yet she has always harbored a fascination with carnivores - what she calls the "big, charismatic species."

Affable and cool-headed, Podruzny wanted to study mountain lions when she graduated from Montana State University (MSU) in Bozeman with a master's degree in fish and wildlife biology. But there were no jobs. She signed on with the Bear Study Team instead, happily. "When I got my first bear job, I was running and skipping through the house," she says.

Like many in the small fraternity of bearologists, Podruzny is captivated by the grizzly persona - the bruin's intelligence and individuality. Some are timid, some dominant, some aggressive, some playful. "Each has its own idiosyncrasies and personality," she says. Or as Mr. Gunther puts it: They are not like a herd of antelope. They "think things through. They are a lot more like people that way."

Studying bears also has the advantage of going to an office in the woods. Many of the young, enthusiastic researchers on Podruzny's team are attracted to the work for similar reasons - the mystique of the grizzly, the allure of the outdoors.

Meghan Riley, a graduate of Smith College, is a wildlife junkie. She has researched spotted owls in New Mexico, tree frogs in Florida, and seabirds off San Francisco. She likes to pick up every snake she sees. "I've just got a big thing about animals," says Ms. Riley.

Similarly, Bryn Karabensh, a summer worker and student at MSU, finds bear biology "incredible and endless," she says. "Bears are hard not to like. They are amazing creatures."

The researchers' devotion is evident on the last hike of the day, a trek into the Bridger-Teton National Forest to examine a black bear site. We drive a couple miles in on a road with ruts as deep as an open-pit mine. We trudge uphill, in a steady rain. Mud is flowing into my shoes. The rain mocks my $5 slicker. At 7,300 feet, I am gasping for air. Podruzny and Riley saunter on, effortlessly and contentedly.

When we finally reach the site, Podruzny decides just to retrieve some bear scat because it is getting too hard to record measurements in the rain.

Later I ask if hiking that far through those conditions just for some feces is a good day on the job. "We got our poop," she says. "It's data."

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