Expert research in Alaska finds that a few ounces of pepper spray are just as effective as a gun in an aggressive encounter.

The angry bellowing of several coastal brown bears erupted behind a patch of ryegrass that separated me from the salmon stream. Bears gathered there were undoubtedly disputing fishing rights. As I angled across a mudflat to avoid the scuffle, a medium-sized bear emerged from the grass. His whimpering and bawling indicated he'd been a loser in the standoff, his head low as he ambled along. Catching sight of me, he launched into a gallop, growling as the 100 yards separating us rapidly dwindled.

I had to restrain myself from running: There was nowhere to go and the bear easily could have run me down. So I squared off with his hurtling hulk, planting my feet and frantically groped for my can of bear spray. To my utter shock, the can was not on my hip. In a split second I realized I'd foolishly put it in my pack to get it out of the way as I hiked through dense bush. The thought had no sooner cleared my mind when a spray of sand shot up. The bear halted, mere feet away, staring at me, head down and growling. This was not going well.

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