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Lake Tahoe Bear Tale Shows Clash Between Wild Lands, Civilization

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TIMES STAFF WRITER

On the serene west shore of Lake Tahoe, anyone who knows Ann Bryant knows she loves bears.

Now she’s in trouble for it.

A gentle woman who spends her days caring for sick or injured squirrels, porcupines and other wild animals brought to her home among the pines, Bryant faces criminal charges for taking a sickly cub from the wild.

There was no choice, Bryant says. She was simply saving the honey-colored little bear.

But state game wardens say she broke the law--and committed the creature to a life behind bars.

Therein lies a clash of philosophies that continues to grow with every new subdivision or vacation villa erected in or at the edge of California wild lands. As civilization elbows its way into the domain of the state’s largest omnivore, the debate rages over how best to settle the inevitable clash between homeowners and bears.

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For years, state wildlife officials have had a last-resort solution for any bruin that batters into a home or consistently destroys property. A permit is issued to kill it.

Such tactics horrify animal lovers like Bryant. Two years ago, she helped form a volunteer group to educate Tahoe homeowners on ways to thwart nature’s ultimate eating machine. The group also put consistent pressure on state Fish and Game officials to delay killing the animals until nonlethal remedies were exhausted.

After months of uneasy coexistence, Bryant and state wildlife officials began butting heads over the capture and killing of bears in the Tahoe region, one of the state’s prime recreational playgrounds.

The breaking point came in March. A skinny little cub, fresh from hibernation and apparently orphaned, began skulking around a mid-mountain ski lodge at Squaw Valley USA, lured by the smell of lunchtime barbecue. Amused vacationers compounded the problem by offering leftovers to the bear.

Resort staffers tried for days to drive off the little female, to no avail. They called Bryant for help.

At 36 pounds, the bear was about a third the typical weight of a yearling. But state officials advised Bryant to use the standard aversion technique of “hazing” the bear--deploying everything from noisy whoops to pyrotechnics and pepper spray--to push the animal back into the wild.

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Instead, Bryant and some volunteers herded the emaciated little animal into a dog kennel and loaded it into her car for the trip down to a wildlife rehabilitation center in South Lake Tahoe.

“This bear was in danger of dying,” said Bryant, 49. “Hazing would have been completely inappropriate.”

Irked state wildlife officials disagreed, reasoning that the bear should have been given several more days before a rescue attempt was launched.

There are few happy alternatives, wildlife officials say. Relocating a bear to new territory, they say, only puts the newcomer in a precarious position with other bears; fights and fatal injuries are likely.

Bears that grow accustomed to humans and free handouts, meanwhile, become deadbeats hanging on the edges of civilization while wrecking property and posing a threat to people.

“We wanted to give that bear every chance to live as a wild animal,” said Mike Grima, Fish and Game’s regional patrol chief for Tahoe. “Once it’s in a cage, you’ve got a boarder for life. I wouldn’t want to live out my existence like that.”

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Game wardens seized the bear and took it to a Sacramento County field office. Though anemic and underweight, the little cub was nursed to health. And with donations from Bryant’s group, the BEAR League, it was shipped last summer to a permanent home at a wildlife sanctuary in Texas.

But the story didn’t end there. Fish and Game officials opted not to cite Bryant immediately, but wrote up a report laying out a case against her for allegedly violating state rules against removing any native animal from the wild.

The investigation report seemed to be collecting dust until early December, when prosecutors in Placer County filed two misdemeanor counts against Bryant. She appeared in court Dec. 6, was booked, and spent an hour in jail before being released on her own recognizance.

Each charge carries a maximum penalty of six months in jail and a $1,000 fine. A trial date for Bryant is to be set early next year.

David DeVore, her South Lake Tahoe defense attorney, said he finds it ironic that Bryant is being slapped with provisions of state law normally used to thwart poaching. The case, he said, is “a misuse of the criminal process” and a waste of taxpayers’ money.

Bryant sees another motive at work, suggesting that Fish and Game is pursuing her to discredit the BEAR League.

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“They want to permanently silence me and the league,” she said.

Grima, however, said there’s no grudge at stake.

“We’re not out to get her hide,” he said. “But it’s important for her to understand she can’t violate the law just because she disagrees with it.”

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