What It’s Like to Survive a Grizzly Bear Attack.

In 2018, a grizzly bear attacked hunter Anders Broste during a routine hunting trip just a few miles from his home near Columbia Falls, Montana. Broste told Outside what it’s like to survive a grizzly attack, and the lessons he’ll forever carry with him into the backcountry.

I never thought I’d come face-to-face with a grizzly bear in the wild.

When I did, it was a clear, November day in 2018 along the foothills of the Whitefish Range, a 76-mile-long mountain chain stretching from British Columbia, Canada, into northwestern Montana. Six inches of snow had fallen the night before, and I could see my breath with every exhale.

My friend Dan and I were going out for a quick, early morning elk hunt. I was fully aware that I was in bear country, but I play in this neck of the woods all the time. The foothills are my backyard, about five miles from my back door. I had even made plans to ski with my wife later in the day. But a routine hunting trip showed me the brutal reality of wilderness survival. Since first moving to Montana nine years earlier, I’d only come across a grizzly twice.

My hunting partner, Dan, split off from me so we could cover more ground–I had been in the area two weeks earlier and knew exactly where I wanted to look for elk. During the earlier trip, I had packed bear spray, but I forgot to bring my canister this time.

After Dan departed, I was on my own. I don’t know what prompted me to turn around—maybe I heard branches break—but when I looked over my shoulder, I saw a grizzly bear barreling at me from less than 100 feet away. Time froze, and my thoughts slowed down. Should I fire my rifle? No, there’s not enough time to get your glove off and finger on the trigger. I grabbed my firearm and shoved it between myself and the bear like a stick.

The bear crashed on top of me, bit my left hand, grabbed my right arm, started throwing me around, and shaking me like a rag doll. He then clamped his jaws around my left calf just above the ankle, rotating my entire leg 90 degrees, and began pulling me downhill.

I grabbed a branch, thinking, I’m not going to let this bear drag me off.

My leg extended unnaturally, and I said to myself, My leg isn’t supposed to move that way.

The bear bit down on the front of my foot, its canine tooth nicked between my big and little toes—you can still see the jaw marks on my mountain boots.

Then, the bear just dropped my foot and ran off. I’ll never forget its fuzzy brown butt running off into the distance. Time stood still.

Altogether, the encounter lasted no more than 30 seconds. I didn’t see my life flash before my eyes, but I remember thinking, This could be it.

I screamed for Dan.

I wasn’t scared of bleeding out, but my arm and leg were mangled. Dan rushed to me and built a makeshift brace for my broken wrist, thumb, and arm. My hand was also dislocated. There were major lacerations across my body. I grabbed a stick and attempted to put weight on my knee—it again bent 90 degrees. I later found out that my ACL, MCL, and meniscus were torn. My foot was only held to my lower leg by connective tissue.

Dan and I called search and rescue. It took the teams 45 minutes just to get to us, and I let out a big sigh of relief at the sight of the helicopter. But the terrain and snowfall made landing difficult, so they hoisted me out instead. I spent a week in the hospital, underwent three surgeries, and went through physical therapy for another three months.

I can’t quite run like I used to, but I’m more of a mountain biker anyway. I want to keep playing as long as I can, and I’m thankful my limbs still work.

Nearly every grizzly attack is an act of natural aggression, and in my case, we later learned the bear attacked me during a surprise encounter. I walked into its bedroom, and it rightfully charged me.

Through DNA analysis, Montana Fish, Wildlife, and Parks (FWP) traced the bear using routine tagging and told me its name was “Chubb.” He didn’t act unnaturally, and officials decided not to euthanize him.

I’ve since conducted field tests with FWP to track bears and document their lifestyles. Bears smell like dirt, and the size of their paws always leaves me in awe. They’re so big, and their skin is rough, almost like a Brillo pad. I can’t believe I survived.

Now, eight years after the attack, I acknowledge that I put myself at risk. It was a case of backyard complacency. I also don’t blame the bear for attacking me. I’m grateful the animal decided that I wasn’t a threat that required killing. I’ve since talked to other bear mauling survivors, or family members of attack victims, and every situation is different. I still go outside, and I know that I’m in bear country. I love Montana, and the bear is a symbol of the wildness of my home.

Am I more bear aware and prepared now? Sure. But my biggest piece of advice for anyone recreating in bear country is to take your time, carry bear spray, and practice routine safety. I was extremely fortunate, and you never know what’s going to happen. Don’t let things hold you back, understand the risks, and be respectful of the environments you visit.

As told to Madison Dapcevich. This interview was edited for space and content.