For being nearly 500 pounds, it was surprising how stealthily he closed in on my hammock. I didn’t hear his footsteps when he emerged from the tree-line. I didn’t hear his breathing behind me. I never sensed that I was in danger, and I didn’t expect to find myself face-to-face with the same bear local authorities had reported as, “above average size and unafraid of humans.” Seconds before that moment I had been enormously alive. Now, I wished to be as small and invisible as the bead of sweat that was trickling down my back. I was thirteen secluded miles into the Quinault Rainforest, an area in the Olympic National Park in Washington that’s renowned worldwide for its hiking. The destination I’d hiked to is The Enchanted Valley, locally known as the more alluring Valley of 10,000 Waterfalls. It was my birthday, and where some women desire champagne and sequins to celebrate, I instead felt pulled to gather fellow adventurous souls and wander through miles of uninhibited, wondrous freedom. For a place that receives over 12 feet of rain annually, it was a peculiarly warm and sunny May afternoon. Yet, despite the pacifying humidity, I was rejuvenated. The cedar air was filling my hiking lungs, and the long-desired vitamin-D rays had already begun spotting my cheeks in freckles. The day had been a blissful one, as the out-and-back 26-mile trail to the Enchanted Valley is nothing short of enchanting itself. The trail mirrors the boisterous sapphire Quinault River, bending under moss-strewn limbs and leading through fern flowered valleys. It winds around timbered giants; some so tall they disappear in their reach for the skies, while others, time has ripped from the ground, surfacing root systems that make even the largest of humans appear doll-like in comparison. Those daring to explore it, journey away from civilization, ending at a 1930s three-story deserted Chalet in the middle of the Valley. Once a sanctuary for weary hikers, it’s now a dilapidated historical landmark, sitting as an ominous reminder of nature’s resistance to bringing development to the Enchanted Valley. You’ll know you’ve made it when you cross the one-railed Quinault River Bridge and exit from the shadows of the wooded trail. Weary pursuers are then enveloped by 7,000 ft. snow-capped giants that surround the valley, locking in its beauty like a fortress. Upon first sight I believed the Valley a dream, for how can a person spend an entire lifetime unaware that places like it are within our reach? Yet, my eyes saw the countless cascading waterfalls and my skin shivered against the chill that surfaced off the snowy peaks. I inhaled the untainted, intoxicating air, feeling as though breathing it should be illegal. After arriving, our group of five marched across the valley, setting up our hammocks to spend the day inhaling it, anyway. Three of our five scattered to explore, while Caleb and I remained behind to relax in a hammock. To this day, I’m unaware of the correct response one should have when the person you’re conversing with stops mid-sentence, eyes widening, as they look behind you and whisper, “BEAR.” I believe falling out of a hammock is probably not it. When I stood, I found myself shielded behind Caleb. Instantly, I admired him more. Instantly, I thought this was how it all ends. The bear was less than a stone’s throw away, and he was large. Too large. Yet he became even larger when he hauled himself onto his hind legs. He moved his gums away from his teeth and pointed his nose into the air. Don’t make eye contact. Don’t act afraid. But don’t act threatening, either. Get big. Don’t play dead. Don’t you dare try to run. “Hey, Bear! Hey Bear!” Caleb challenged. A frozen moment ticked by between the three of us before the bear landed his four paws back on the ground, rearing his head and pulling away. A few breathless counts later our friends re-appeared, unaware of what had just unfolded. They excitedly pointed to the bear in the distance asking if we saw him. I watched him go until he faded back into his enchanting home. “We saw him,” I whispered.