GLACIER NATIONAL PARK - Bear.

That was the one word my son Nick said quietly after he suddenly stopped walking down the trail from the Swiftcurrent Valley at Glacier National Park, and pulled a can of pepper spray from its holster.

He nodded to the left of us. There, almost hidden in the brush and trees, a mere 10 to 15 feet away, was a grizzly. It stood silent, staring in the opposite direction. My guess, it was around 300 pounds.

"Back up, slowly," I said to Nick and my other sons, AJ and Ray, and another couple.

As we inched backward, I pulled out my pepper spray and hoped the bear wouldn't step out on our trail. If it did, I didn't know what would happen. But instead, it began lumbering slowly away into the thick of the forest.

For a minute, we stood and stared as it disappeared. (Except for AJ, who decided to walk up for a better look. No worries). Then, we relaxed. It was gone. We were safe on this 80-degree Friday afternoon. Surprisingly, being that close to an animal that could easily kill you wasn't frightening. It was exhilarating - but only because no one was hurt.

As we walked slowly down the trail to our campsite, we talked excitedly about the grizzly, about what we would have done had it come our way, and joked about not having to outrun the bear, but just the person you're with.

I wondered why a grizzly was standing so close to such a busy hiking trail near the popular Many Glacier campground. Usually, they stay away from people. They tend to be reclusive. You might see one from a distance.

Turns out, this would be one father and sons camping trip when Glacier's bears, big and small (there are about 350 grizzlies in the million-acre park) seemed to be everywhere - on the trails, next to lakes, on hillsides, in front of our van and even right outside our tent.

By the way, Sunday, the Swiftcurrent trail was closed. Reason? "Bear frequenting."

Outside the tent

We pulled into the Rising Sun campground Thursday morning on the park's east side and found a camping spot nestled near brush and massive boulders at the base of a mountain. It was a spectacular site we were lucky to land.

Within a few minutes of setting up our tent, a ranger strolled in and said there had been a lot of bear activity in the area. There was a trail in the woods just beyond our tent that the bears liked.

He urged us to keep the site clean and be sure to not leave out food or drink.

"A bear got breakfast here this morning," the ranger said.

I didn't worry about bears as I drifted off to sleep in our tent after a day that included a 10-mile hike with an 1,880-foot elevation gain to Otokomi Lake.

That's when I heard it.

Crunching. Snapping. Rustling.

My God, it's a bear, I thought.

I sat up. All three sons lay in silent slumber. My heart pounded. I clutched a can of pepper spray tightly and listened. Nothing. For about a half-hour I stayed on full alert. How quietly can grizzlies move? Perhaps I should sleep in the van, I thought, but I could see the headlines: "Father flees while sons mauled by bear."

Finally, I decided there was no bear. Just my imagination. I grabbed a flashlight, ventured outside the tent and looked around. I glanced up at the stars that glowed in the sky and took a deep breath. Beautiful night. An owl hooted softly. I relaxed. Nothing to fear. It was about then an animal of some sort shrieked in the distance. I would not sleep until sunrise.

On the hillside

On the hillside far above the gift shop, restaurant and motel at Many Glacier, bears can sometimes be viewed wandering in the later afternoon and evening, digging for food. It is standard for crowds to gather in the parking lot with binoculars and telescopes.

Friday evening, we saw a sow with three cubs, then a sow with two cubs roam around, and finally a lone male grizzly. One man with a powerful scope allowed anyone who wanted to take a look. I spied three cubs chasing their mom up the hill. They tumbled, tackled and tussled together. I focused on another cub as it walked, then plopped down, lay there for a minute, then popped up and ran back to mom.

Grizzlies are gorgeous - from a distance.

On the trail

While AJ and Ray slept in, Nick and I jumped up early Saturday for a 10-mile trail run to Iceberg Lake, and planned to add another five by taking the turn to Ptarmigan Tunnel.

It was a bright, brilliant morning. We were the first to reach Iceberg, our trek marked by a run-in with a massive moose that led us to leap off the trail.

As we made the long, uphill climb to the tunnel, an elevation gain of 2,300 feet, we came up to Ptarmigan Lake, about two-thirds of the way to our goal. Now, my rules for trail running are make lots of noise by yelling often to alert any bears to our presence and carry pepper spray.

I decided to break one of those rules as we rounded a corner near a meadow and stream.

"Let's be quiet in case there's a bear by the lake, so we can watch it."

Not a great idea.

"There's a bear," Nick said a moment later.

About 200 yards away a large grizzly rambled up a hill. First we thought it was alone. Then, we saw two cubs following.

The bear family settled on the trail - the same trail we were on - and started walking our direction. As the trail led into a stand of trees, we lost sight of the mom, and then saw one of the cubs start running down the trail.

Now, for all we knew the mom had spotted us and was charging. It was doubtful she heard or smelled us, as we were downwind.

"We better get out of here," I said to Nick.

We retreated down the mountain, and met another hiker, Bruno from France. We decided to team up, make more noise and surely the bears would give ground.

As we reached the point where we previously stood, we peeked around the corner and looked down the winding trail. Bruno's eyes suddenly got big.

"The bear is right there, coming at us."

Danger, Will Robinson. Danger.

Again, we retreated 100 yards or so and waited.

Again, I said let's make more noise, and surely this bear and her cubs would go away.

With each of us clenching pepper spray, we inched back up the trail and once more, peeked around the corner.

"There they are," Nick said.

In the meadow, perhaps 25 yards away, the two cubs stood nose to nose, almost boxing, pushing, playing, in tall grass. We watched, mesmerized, for a few seconds. It would have been wonderful to stay longer, but for one problem.

"Does anyone see the mom?" I asked

At this point, for all we knew she was circling with plans to teach us a lesson about how to behave in grizzly country. The cubs were bound to sense us and once they bawled for mom, well, that would be bad, as little enrages a sow more than a threat to her babies.

For the third time, we retreated.

Nick was a shade reluctant to try to pass the bears again, but I convinced him - and thus risked his life - that our chances of being attacked were slim, and if we just made more noise the bears would surely flee.

"Don't worry. Nothing will happen," I said

So, once more, we advanced.

Finally, the bears were gone. We made it to Ptarmigan Tunnel. Soaked in sweat, we enjoyed the breathtaking scenery.

But was it worth chancing a run-in with a big bear?

Well, since we made it, yes.

Bear danger

Saturday afternoon, we settled on a short hike to Appekunny Falls, just two miles roundtrip and with a reward of a waterfall. We drove the three miles to the trailhead outside the campground, loaded up with water and pepper spray, and walked to the trailhead.

A sign greeted us.

"Trail closed. Bear danger."

The next day I asked our campground host what was up. He said when there are too many bear sightings in an area, they close the trail.

"It's a numbers game," he said.

Going to the Sun Road

Sunday morning, headed home on the Going to the Sun Road. Shortly after entering the park at the St. Mary's entrance, we see a small black bear amble across the road ahead of our van.

Five miles later, another bear, this one a smallish grizzly, lumbers across the road and I pull slowly to a stop. As the bear starts up the short hill on the other side of the road, it stops, glances in our direction and looks back from where it came. It is then two cubs, about 40 pounds each, trot after their mom. They pass directly in front of our van, and Nick snaps a few pictures.

We look at each other in awe of the majesty of these little grizzlies and exchange high fives. This is one father-son camping trip we won't forget.

We have the bear tales to prove it.