On a crisp October evening in the Ozark Mountains, two backpackers from Claremore, Oklahoma, found themselves face to face with a black bear while camping just east of White Rock Mountain. The encounter, which happened on the weekend before October 6, 2025, quickly made the rounds on social media and was amplified by news outlets, fueling anxiety in a region already shaken by two fatal bear attacks in the previous six weeks. But according to officials with the Arkansas Game and Fish Commission, the reality was far less dramatic than the headlines suggested.
The Ozark Highlands Trail Association, a respected nonprofit that maintains the sprawling 200-mile Ozark Highlands Trail, posted on October 6 about a “non-fatal attack” in which the campers “had to defend themselves the entire night against an aggressive black bear.” The post was widely shared, especially as Arkansas had recently mourned the loss of two residents—Vernon Patton, 72, and Max Thomas, 60—both killed in separate bear attacks in the Ozarks within a month’s span. The proximity and rarity of the incidents had the public on edge, and the notion of a third attack seemed almost too much to believe.
Yet, Keith Stephens, spokesperson for the Arkansas Game and Fish Commission, was quick to set the record straight. “The bear didn’t touch them and didn’t attack them,” Stephens emphasized in comments to the Arkansas Times. “I don’t think you could even remotely classify it as an attack.” According to Stephens, the father and son were cooking hot dogs at their campsite when the bear, likely drawn by the scent, appeared. The pair responded exactly as recommended: they yelled, threw rocks to scare the bear off, and then hung their food and scraps from a tree to keep them out of reach. After the initial scare, they didn’t see the bear again that night, though they admitted to a restless sleep, unnerved by every sound in the darkness.
Despite the hikers’ safe outcome, the incident was reported by some outlets, including the Kansas City Star, as a near-miss with death, suggesting the hikers “narrowly survived their own attack.” Stephens, who spoke directly with the father, said the story “had been blown way out of proportion” on social media. Chris Adams, a maintenance coordinator with the Ozark Highlands Trail Association, told Channel 5 News the hikers “were harassed or stalked for six hours” by the bear, but even this description appears to overstate the danger they faced.
The heightened alarm is understandable. Arkansas has seen more bear-related tragedy in the past two months than in the previous century. According to research shared by the Encyclopedia of Arkansas, the last known fatal bear attack in the state occurred in the 1890s. That changed on September 3, 2025, when Vernon Patton was fatally attacked by a yearling bear in northern Franklin County. Less than a month later, Max Thomas, a Missouri resident camping in Newton County, was dragged into the woods and mauled. His body was discovered days later. The bear from the first attack, which weighed only about 70 pounds and was described as underweight, was shot and killed soon after. In the Newton County case, officials killed a much larger, healthy bear weighing between 150 and 170 pounds, believed to be responsible for the second fatality. DNA testing is ongoing to confirm this, with samples sent to the University of Florida for analysis.
“At this point we are testing everything we can possibly test,” Stephens told the press. The commission is awaiting results on rabies and distemper for the second bear (the first bear tested negative for both diseases), as well as DNA evidence to conclusively link the animal to the attack. Despite public speculation, Stephens said, “There hasn’t been anything that we can tie both of them together.” The attacks occurred about 44 miles apart, in different counties, and involved bears of differing sizes and conditions.
As Arkansas grapples with these rare and tragic events, similar anxieties are playing out in the mountains of Colorado, where human-bear encounters have surged dramatically. According to The Aspen Times, bear reports in Eagle and Pitkin counties more than tripled between 2022 and 2024, soaring from 274 to 842—a staggering 207% increase. The reasons, experts say, are rooted in climate and food scarcity. Last spring’s late frosts devastated berry and acorn crops, leaving bears scrambling for sustenance. By late summer 2025, wildlife officials and residents were witnessing heartbreaking scenes: mother bears abandoning their cubs in a desperate bid to survive.
“This behavior is generally associated with poor natural food conditions causing sows to prioritize their own survival over their offspring,” explained Colorado Parks and Wildlife Manager Matt Yamashita. Dr. Lindsay Branham, an environmental psychologist and columnist for The Aspen Times, described a recent encounter that brought the crisis home: “Last night, I nearly ran over a mother bear with two cubs behind the Jerome Hotel. The three shadows had eyes, and they looked terrified as they scurried off into the lawn of a home.” The scene, she wrote, was both poignant and alarming—a stark sign of bears venturing deep into urban areas out of desperation.
While it’s normal for wildlife to move to lower elevations as winter approaches, Branham and wildlife officials agree that the spike in bear visibility is mainly tied to food shortages, exacerbated by climate change and drought. The consequences for bears can be dire. Colorado Parks and Wildlife enforces a strict “two-strike” policy, with immediate euthanasia if a bear is deemed a threat to human safety. “You can make sure this does not happen by keeping food sources out of reach,” Branham urged, reminding residents to secure trash in bear-resistant containers and lock doors and windows. “Do not, whatever you do, feed the bears. This will risk their lives.”
Bears, Branham noted, are considered an indicator species—their health and population trends reflecting the overall health of the ecosystem. The current wave of bear encounters and the heartbreaking behavior of mother bears in the Roaring Fork Valley signal a landscape under stress. “When I see the mother bear and her two cubs behind the Jerome, I see a Roaring Fork Valley in trouble. But I also see a choice. Every unlocked door and unsecured trash can will determine if those cubs live or die.”
Back in Arkansas, officials are urging caution and perspective. Black bear attacks remain exceedingly rare, and the recent fatal incidents—while tragic—are not evidence of a widespread threat. “They did everything exactly like they were supposed to,” Stephens said of the hikers who encountered the bear near White Rock Mountain. Their story, when stripped of sensationalism, is a reminder that coexistence with wildlife requires vigilance, respect, and a clear-eyed understanding of the risks and responsibilities involved.
Across both states, the message from experts is consistent: humans play a crucial role in shaping the fate of bears. Whether by securing food, resisting the urge to approach or feed wild animals, or advocating for healthy habitats, people can help ensure that these remarkable creatures survive and thrive—even as the pressures of climate and a changing landscape continue to mount.
As autumn deepens in the mountains, the stories of bears—tragic, resilient, and sometimes misunderstood—echo a deeper truth about the fragile balance between people and the wild places they cherish.
