I can't recall ever having a really close one with a wild creature. Once in the early 1950s, I went scuba-diving in Puget Sound with a friend of mine. At one point, about 30 feet down, I saw a very large dogfish (a type of shark—or maybe) or a fairly small shark of some other breed go swimming lazily by. It looked to be about 5 feet long and passed me within about fifteen feet. It didn't seem to even notice me. (Whew!)

On another dive, my friend had a hair-raising encounter with an octopus. Puget Sound is great octopus country, and there are some real big ones around here. My friend was investigating a small pleasure craft that had sunk off the Edmonds ferry landing when suddenly something jumped on him and wrapped itself around his head. He managed to wrestle the thing off (sort of like a cat who lands on a sheet of fly-paper) and escaped through the back of the craft's cabin. Definitely an octopus of some size, and probably a female. Ric said he saw several small octopuses (octopi?) there and figured he'd blundered into a nest. Although the movies have made them look like the ultimate undersea monster, the octopus is really a fairly shy creature and generally won't bother you unless you threaten it in some way, and even then, its first choice is to emit a cloud of ink into the water to confuse you and jet away as fast as it can.

In the mid-1950s, I had occasion to drive from Seattle to Denver, and spent a couple days in West Yellowstone while touring Yellowstone Park. I found it was everything it was reputed to be. I've learned more about the geology of the place since, so it would be even more fascinating now.

The rangers were adamant, and quite rightly so, about not messing with the bears – especially not feeding them – no matter how cute and cuddly they seemed to be. But the scams the bears used to try to con free lunches from sightseers were amazing. Kids hanging out in front of the mini-mart and begging for "spare change" (a self-evident oxymoron) could learn a lot by watching the Yellowstone Park bears. They were more on a par with street musicians, jugglers, or mimes. They were real pros. They all had their own acts and they were more than willing to entertain if they thought it would result in a handout. It's possible that whenever someone was mauled or molested, it was because there weren't enough anchovies on the leftover pizza.

On a narrow road, I had to negotiate my way around a cub that was sitting right on the center line and bawling its head off. It's mother had sat him there, knowing that people would undoubtedly stop, and she could possibly bum a handout from them.

A few years ago, I was driving home from work, and just before I was about to turn into my garage, I was challenged by a neighbor's Yorkshire Terrier (slightly larger than the average hamster) that ran out in the street and faced me down, barking up a storm. I stopped (I was driving a Honda Civic), laughing. But when I tried to steer around him, he'd head me off, still barking. This went on for a couple of minutes, then the dog's owner came dashing out of her house and scooped the dog up. We had a good laugh at the Yorkie's bravado, but the Yorkie felt that he was winning until his owner raided the game.

Me and Frank Buck!

Don Firth

But as to "Close Encounters of the Wild Kind," there's always "Well, helloooo, there!"