While hiking in Bulgaria’s Rhodope Mountains, I asked our guide, Svetoslava, what she honestly thought our chances were of seeing a bear during the following day’s bear and wolf tracking hike.
She smiled and gave me the answer I was expecting.
“In all honesty… not very good.”
She explained that we’d almost certainly find tracks, claw marks, or other signs that bears had been in the area, but seeing one was unlikely. Eurasian brown bears are much more active in the evening and overnight, while our hike would take place in the middle of the day.
That made perfect sense because it matched what I’d always heard about bears—and what I’d experienced myself. I’ve been fortunate enough to see bears several times in U.S. national parks, and every sighting had been either early in the morning or around dusk. I knew our chances were pretty slim.
Still, I couldn’t help hoping.
Then I remembered something Svetoslava had shown us on one of our earlier hikes. We’d stopped to look at one of the feeders local hunters had hung in the forest and filled with corn to attract wild boar (to bring them into one area and make them easier to hunt). She explained that they also place trail cameras nearby to monitor the wildlife that visits. Since bears sometimes stop by the feeders as well, I figured the hunters probably had a pretty good idea whether any had been around recently.
“So why don’t we ask the hunters?” I suggested. “If they’ve been seeing bears in the evenings, maybe we’d have a better chance.”
To my surprise, Svetoslava smiled and said she might be able to arrange something.
She asked if I’d actually want to go.
“Absolutely.”
She told me she’d make a few phone calls as soon as we had cell service.
A little while later she came back with both good news and bad news.
The good news was that she’d found a local hunter willing to take us out that evening.
The bad news was that it would cost about $100, and I only had around $50 in cash with no way to get to an ATM.
Fortunately, two fellow travelers, Megan and Caroline, wanted to come too. We split the cost three ways, and suddenly this crazy idea I’d come up with was actually happening.
After dinner, we met outside the hotel around 7:15, where Svetoslava introduced us to Martin, the local hunter who would also be our driver.
He arrived in an old Soviet-era van.
I later learned it was a UAZ-452, nicknamed the “Bukhanka,” or “Loaf,” because of its boxy shape. It looked like it had been climbing these mountain roads for decades. I also found out it had once served as the village ambulance.
Somehow that made perfect sense.
Inside, there wasn’t much to it—two narrow benches facing each other, a rubber floor, and not much else. We quickly realized the most valuable feature wasn’t the seats.
It was the grab bars running along the ceiling.
About five minutes after leaving town, we turned onto what I hesitate to even call a road.
It crossed an open meadow before beginning its climb into the mountains. It was little more than two narrow tire tracks winding up the mountainside. Years of rain had carved deep ruts into the surface, with rocks, muddy washouts, and holes that Martin had to maneuver around.
The van lurched from side to side as one wheel dropped into a rut before climbing back out again. We held onto the grab bars most of the way just to keep from sliding off the benches.
As we climbed higher, the track became even narrower, twisting through the forest with barely enough room for one vehicle. Several times we met another vehicle coming downhill. Martin calmly backed up until we reached a wider spot where the two vehicles could squeeze past.
The funny part was that he never seemed the least bit concerned.
Meanwhile, the three of us in the back were hanging on, laughing at how ridiculous the whole thing was. Here we were, bouncing around in the back of a decades-old Soviet van somewhere in the Rhodope Mountains, hoping to see a Eurasian brown bear.
I was also glad Megan and Caroline had decided to come. Besides making the cost much more reasonable, it would have been pretty awkward sitting alone in that little hide for hours in the dark. Martin didn’t speak English, so once he got us settled there really wouldn’t have been any way to communicate. Having the two of them there made the whole experience a lot more enjoyable.
About thirty minutes later, we stopped in what felt like the middle of nowhere.
Martin led us down a few steps toward what looked like an overgrown hillside. Thick grasses, vines, moss, and shrubs almost completely hid the entrance. If he hadn’t opened the door, I never would have guessed there was anything there.
It reminded me of a Hobbit house tucked into the forest.
Inside were simple wooden benches facing six narrow viewing windows overlooking a quiet forest clearing. In the middle stood a large tree with one of the wild boar feeders attached to it. The feeder slowly released corn while we waited.
Once Martin got us settled, he moved the van farther away before returning.
And then we waited.
Of course we hoped a bear would appear, but we knew there were no guarantees.
As daylight faded, the forest grew quiet. Dusk gave way to darkness, and before long fireflies began appearing among the trees. At first there were just a few, but as it grew darker, hundreds of them seemed to fill the area in front of us.
There was something surprisingly peaceful about sitting there, watching the fireflies and listening to the forest settle in for the night.
We talked quietly for a while, but gradually the conversation faded. Every now and then one of us picked up the binoculars and scanned the clearing before setting them back down.
As more time passed, I think we all started accepting that maybe it just wasn’t going to happen.
And I was okay with that.
Sitting there in the middle of the Rhodope Mountains, surrounded by darkness and listening to the sounds of the forest, had become an experience all by itself.
Even if we never saw a bear, the evening had already been worth it.
By 10:15 p.m., after sitting there for more than two hours, Megan quietly asked what time we wanted to head back.
I looked at my watch.
“Let’s give it another fifteen minutes.”
Thank goodness we did.
About five minutes later, Megan suddenly whispered, “Oh my gosh… I see a bear.”
There it was.
At first, all I could make out was movement at the edge of the clearing. Then a large dark shape slowly stepped into view beneath the feeder. After hoping all week, I couldn’t believe I was actually looking at a wild Eurasian brown bear.
It was much larger than I’d imagined. It moved slowly and confidently, completely unaware that three very excited people were quietly watching from a hidden shelter.
We took turns looking through the binoculars as it ate the corn beneath the feeder. Every so often it rubbed against the tree before going back to eating. Occasionally its head disappeared into the tall grass before popping back up to look around.
For nearly thirty minutes, none of us said very much.
We simply watched.
It was too dark from where I was sitting to get a photograph, so this was going to be one of those moments I would just have to experience without one.
Then something startled it.
The bear lifted its head, paused, and disappeared back into the darkness.
It was nearly 11:00 p.m.
Before we’d left the hotel that evening, Svetoslava had explained that since Martin didn’t speak English and we didn’t speak Bulgarian, all I needed to do when we were ready to leave was say, “Hotel… hotel.”
“Hotel… hotel.”
Martin immediately understood. He slid the benches back against the wall, unlatched the heavy metal door that had been fastened behind us all evening, and motioned for us to follow him.
The moment I stepped outside, I suddenly felt exposed. Knowing a bear had been standing there only minutes earlier made that walk back to the van feel very different.
Martin had parked the van some distance away so it wouldn’t scare off any wildlife, which meant we had to walk through almost complete darkness. The only light came from Martin’s flashlight and the flashlight on my phone.
I’ll admit, my imagination was working overtime.
We knew there was at least one bear somewhere out there because we’d just spent the last thirty minutes watching it. I found myself listening to every sound in the woods, hoping it had decided to spend the rest of the evening somewhere else.
The ground was rocky and uneven, so we couldn’t walk very fast. Every snapping twig and rustling leaf suddenly seemed much louder than it probably was.
Then I looked up.
Away from any towns or city lights, the sky was filled with stars, framed by the silhouettes of the tall evergreen trees. It was one of those skies that reminds you how much you don’t see when you live near towns and cities.
I would have loved to stand there a little longer and take it all in.
Then I remembered exactly where I was.
Somewhere out there in the darkness was the same Eurasian brown bear we’d just spent thirty minutes watching.
Suddenly that beat-up old Soviet van looked pretty inviting.
The ride back down the mountain was every bit as rough as the trip up, but now we couldn’t stop talking about what we’d just seen.
Back at the hotel, Megan asked if I wanted to help finish the bottle of Bulgarian wine she’d opened the night before. Caroline was more than ready for bed, but I happily joined her.
For the next hour, we replayed the evening from beginning to end, still amazed by how lucky we’d been.
What still gets me is how easily the whole thing might never have happened. I’d asked Svetoslava a question, she’d made a few phone calls, Megan and Caroline decided to come along—and then we waited just fifteen minutes longer.
If we’d left when Megan first asked, we would have missed the bear by five minutes.
Hiking Bulgaria’s Rhodope Mountains: A Week on the Trails
Six days of hiking through forests, gorges and small villages, with Yagodina as our base.
2 Days in Plovdiv, Bulgaria: Old Town, Roman Ruins & Kapana (coming)
Two days exploring Plovdiv’s Old Town, Roman ruins, colorful Revival houses and the streets of Kapana.
A Day Trip to Rila Monastery from Sofia (coming)
My day trip from Sofia to Rila Monastery, tucked into Bulgaria’s Rila Mountains.
