“STOP RUNNING!”

Now, I much prefer to keep running, but heeding those two words may have saved me from trouble on a recent trail-running trip to Glacier National Park.

Allow me to explain.

That morning, I ran to Iceberg Lake, 10 miles roundtrip, perhaps the park’s most popular hike. Now, I talk loudly to myself while trail running and shout often to alert grizzly bears - there are about 300 in Glacier - to my presence.

That way, I don’t surprise them and they don’t kill me. Seems like a good deal.

On the downhill return that morning, I cranked it up, running harder and faster, leaping over rocks and roots, enjoying the feeling of freedom in the beauty around me.

As I charged around a final turn on the main trail near the bottom, I saw a crowd of people huddled together about 60 yards ahead.

I slowed. That’s when they waved and shouted, “Stop running!”

I stopped.

I knew what it meant: Grizzly bear.

I waited for several minutes, holding my can of bear spray, safety off the trigger. The crowd grew on the other end of the trail, while I stood alone.

Finally, wondering if I was missing a great view of a grizzly, I began walking to join the group. Should be fine.

I didn’t get far.

About 15 yards in, I looked up the hill and through an opening in the brush, saw the grizzly maybe 25 yards away. It was stopped and had its back to me. Then, it turned slightly and began walking again so that I could see its profile. About then, it glanced my way. It stared at me. For a second, it locked its eyes on me.

Stay calm, I told myself. Do not run.

I slowly backed up, out of sight, and again stood alone for a few more minutes. Finally, some of the crowd began walking on the trail toward me, and I began walking toward them. I looked up the hillside and saw the grizzly, farther away. He wasn't interested in me. I relaxed.

As I reached the group, I said, “Thanks for yelling at me.”

One woman responded: “We weren’t yelling at you. We were yelling for you.”

If they hadn’t been there, I might have run smack into that griz. And that could have been unpleasant.

My Uncle Frank liked to tell that joke, “You don’t have to outrun the bear, just the person you’re with.”

Good advice, but I was alone.

That was my second close encounter with a bear on that trip.

The previous day, on the Swiftcurrent Trail with my wife and almost near the trailhead on our return from Bullhead Lake, I heard a shout:

“BEAR.”

We stopped and looked down the trail. A medium-sized black bear about 30 yards away rounded the turn, stared at us and paused. We each pulled out our cans of bear spray.

My wife asked if we should shout, like the other people who alerted us, to let the bear know we were there.

“No," I said. “It knows we’re here. If we start shouting it might get annoyed — it's getting yelled at from two sides — and charge. Let’s step back off the trail and give it room to pass if it comes our way."

The bear, though, wasn't coming our way. It turned into the brush and trees, followed by two cubs, and disappeared.

We waited a minute before moving on.

“Thanks for shouting to us,” I told the people.

“I saw the white on your hat,” the woman said.

Glad I didn't wear the brown one.

Over the years, I have had several encounters with Glacier's grizzlies, but nothing has happened. Never had to use the bear spray. Never fainted. Never been chased. Which I like to attribute to my practice of talking loudly and shouting as I run.

People notice.

One couple saw us later that night in the campground.

“You’re the runner we saw at Iceberg Lake,” the man said.

Yes, that was me.

The man was curious.

"When you run and you’re talking, do you do that for motivation or because of the bears?"

“Both,” I said. “It keeps me going and lets the bears know I’m there."

The man and woman both nodded.

“We were so impressed at the way you were running and talking.” he said. “You are like the Zen Guru.”

That sounds cool. Zen Guru. Yeah, I'm the Zen Guru of Glacier National Park trail runners.

I hope the grizzlies are just as impressed.

I'll be returning to Glacier for some final solo trail runs next weekend. Close encounters could await. It's getting to that time when bears will be out, eating berries, fattening up for winter. So I'll do my best to talk my loudest.

Or it could be the last run of the Zen Guru.

Bill Buley is a reporter with The Press.