That’s a deadly attitude to cop in the griz woods. To even out the odds, I stick to bear spray in the backcountry like a cocklebur in a setter’s coat. Seriously. It’s with me everywhere. When I fish, it’s attached to a fanny pack belt or wading belt or slung like a man purse around my back and hanging six-gun style behind my right elbow. When I’m on the trail, it rides on a pack strap. When I sleep, I stand a can of capsicum death ray upright in a boot, aimed towards the tent door. (Like a bear’s gonna come to the front porch, I know, but it makes me feel better.) And when I poop, the canister is on the ground, beside my right knee, ready for business but out of the way of the business at hand.