Queen of the Tetons and Other Wild Encounters
- Mark Bradshaw
- Oct 24
- 5 min read
An annual journey through Yellowstone and Grand Teton reveals the beauty, chaos and unpredictability of life among the grizzlies.
By Mark Bradshaw
Grizzly bear encounters are a lot like that saying about a box of chocolates - you never know what you’re going to get. It usually starts the same way. Someone spots a grizzly. Word gets out. And suddenly a once quiet corner of the park turns into a frenzy. My wife Michelle and I fly into Jackson, Wyoming every year. We rent a camper van, and explore Grand Teton and Yellowstone National Parks for a couple of weeks. We hike, she fly fishes, and I take photos of the beautiful scenery and abundant wildlife.
These neighboring parks are great places to hang out to escape city life - and they’re also where some of North America’s most awe-inspiring creatures hang out. On our most recent trip, we saw bison, elk, wolves, moose, deer, eagles, foxes, coyotes, bighorn sheep, pronghorn antelope and maybe a dozen black bears. The black bears attract a lot of attention, but nothing like the commotion a grizzly sighting causes. Not even close.
THE GRIZZLY JAM
Our encounter with grizzly 1063 proved it. (Federal agency scientists give many grizzlies a number to help track and manage them. Occasionally the public will give it a nickname. For example we saw Miracle several times a few miles away. Miracle is 18 months old, the only surviving cub of 1063 and living on its own now.)
It begins with a traffic jam - a sure sign of wildlife activity - near where the Snake River spills out of Jackson Lake in Grand Teton National Park. The Snake is legendary for its beauty and its fine-spotted cutthroat trout, which Michelle had fished for during our adventure.
The grizzly bear die-hards move to a place across the river, cameras ready. And we join them. After an hour of waiting 1063 crosses the Snake but too far away for a good shot. So the crowd rushes to a nearby road hoping for a sighting. Within minutes, hundreds of vehicles clog both sides — a full-blown grizzly jam.
“There she is,” someone shouts. Every long lens turns in unison. 1063 is making her way in and out of the sage brush and small trees to the road. But where she will cross is anyone’s guess. The park rangers and volunteers usually do a good job controlling the chaos that grizzly sightings cause, protecting both people and bear. This is strictly chaos. We see her, then lose her in the sage. Then all of a sudden she crosses the road no more than 10 yards from me. I know the 100 yard rule, but if you’ve ever been in a grizzly jam, that rule is thrown out the window. It's pandemonium. Some people run away. Many more run forward, cameras firing. A wildlife version of a rugby scrum. I’m sure some get a better photo but that’s the best I can do in this scrum. I think it does capture the raw power and unpredictability of being that close to the wild.
THE QUEEN OF THE TETONS
We’ve seen, and to be honest, have been a part of many of these grizzly spectacles over the years, some more controlled than others. But none left a greater impression than the day we saw the most famous bear in the world, Grizzly 399, crossing the road with her four cubs. 399 was legendary for her age and number of litters. She had her own Instagram page and a documentary called “Queen of the Tetons”.
A few years later, we were fortunate to see her again with her final cub, Spirit, crossing the road close to where we saw 1063 this year. Once again we were caught in a grizzly jam. It’s rare to witness a legend without the paparazzi. But several days later we were driving our van down a deserted dirt road. Michelle spotted them first, and I managed to capture a photo of 399 with tiny Spirit peeking over the brush beside her mother. And then they were gone. And we were alone with a lasting memory. It was the final time we would see her. In the fall of 2024, at the remarkable age of 28, 399 was struck and killed by a vehicle. Her passing marked the end of an era — and a reminder of how fragile life remains, even for icons.
CAMPGROUND SURPRISE
One of our most surprising moments came in Yellowstone’s remote northeast corner, at Slough Creek Campground — a rugged, 16-site gem that’s nearly impossible to reserve despite having no running water or electricity. It’s one of the few places where bison, wolves, and bears still wander through camp.
One afternoon, we watched in disbelief as a coyote chased a cinnamon black bear up a tree. I caught a photo of the bear perched on a log, glaring at me as if embarrassed. Who knew bears could be intimidated by coyotes?
TOO CLOSE FOR COMFORT
But the encounter that still makes my heart race happened in the summer of 2024, along Yellowstone’s Lamar River. Michelle had just begun fishing when I was distracted, photographing a bison crossing the stream. I barely heard her yelling over the roar of the water. When I finally looked up, I froze — a mother grizzly and her two cubs stood only 25 yards away. One of the most dangerous situations to be in.
When in Yellowstone and Grand Teton you always carry bear spray. We always do — except that morning. We’d left it in the van, convinced the open river valley was “safe.” It wasn’t.
Michelle had seen the bear first and slowly backed out of the water, never turning her back. In a moment of foolish instinct I reached for another camera with a longer lens instead of bear spray, which wasn’t on my hip to begin with. Thankfully, the bears moved away without incident.
Later, Michelle said she thought the growl she heard wasn’t aimed at her, but at the cubs — a mother scolding her children. Maybe she was right. Either way, we were lucky. If not, I wouldn’t be writing about it today.
THE WILD UNKNOWN
That’s the thing about grizzly (and black bear) encounters — they’re unpredictable, thrilling, and humbling all at once. They remind you that in the parks, we’re the visitors. The wild makes the rules.
And like that box of chocolates, every encounter is a mystery. You never quite know what you’re going to get.
Mark Bradshaw is a former TV news anchor turned storyteller and photographer who travels each year with his wife, Michelle, exploring America’s wild places and the unforgettable moments that happen there. They also regularly podcast about their adventures.
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