Struggle for survival

When a friend and I went to the climbing gym this morning, we heard a story about the young guy that just died up in the mountains from the manager of the gym. Twelve years ago, the guy was hiking by himself in Yellowstone and as he came around the corner of a trail, there was a grizzly cub on one side. Of course the mother bear was nearby, and she came out of nowhere, knocking him down a slope. He was lying there, thinking he had a chance to live, since he'd fallen a fair distance away from the bears; suddenly she leapt down the slope, and grabbed his head. At that point, he reached for his cannister of pepper spray, only to discover he'd grabbed his camera. She crunched on his head for a bit, then his abdomen, then left him. After a while, he got up and hiked several miles out to a road. He said he stood by the road, bleeding profusely, trying to wave down a ride, but they kept passing him. Finally he stood in the middle of the road, waving his arms, and was picked up. What he died from over the weekend was a 1,000 foot fall, after a hold broke, or rock moved on a chossy slope, according to two friends who did the major searching for him.
We spent our session climbing easy leads, and savoring our existence.