How To Survive A Bear Attack In the Wild (Satire)

Imagine it. You've been riding trails in the beautiful Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia, soaking in the scenic views from the Blue Ridge Parkway. Tomorrow, you have the Big Levels trail in the George Washington National Forest on your agenda. But for now, it's time to pull over, power down, and enjoy a peaceful camp evening. It’s the perfect October evening.

You pull over and pop up your rooftop tent, ready for a good night's sleep. You look around the empty clearing, and a devilish, delightful idea crosses your mind. You are here alone, so no one will judge you.

You decide to go for it.

You shamelessly shimmy out of your cargo pants, hiking boots, and favorite BROG t-shirt. You pull on your blue fleece Snuggie with the cat-eared hood. Come to Papa. This one is ankle-length and extra stretchy. You slide your feet into your dad-crocs—with socks. You’d never wear either of these things in front of your overlanding buddies on a group trip. You remind yourself that Scottish chieftains wore kilts into battle. You suddenly feel a little better about the QVC nightgown you’re wearing. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the windowed reflection of your vehicle. You look less like a chieftain and more like the cookie monster, but then again—no one around to judge you in the mountains, right?!

By the time you set up camp for the night, you’re toasty. It’s time to break out your camp stove. You've been looking forward to a trail dinner for hours now. You’ve got steak in the portable freezer, diced potatoes, and corn on the cob. It’s. About. To. Go. Down. Your tum-tum starts singing whale songs in anticipation.

As you round the Cruiser, you have another fiendishly good idea. You suddenly remember that you brought your new BROG Speakeasy Bourbon Bag this trip. And it has a jar of moonshine. The REAL stuff— not that phony rubbing alcohol from a liquor store. You got it from a friend of a cousin's ex-husband. The guy met you behind the gas station for delivery and he "won’t tellin' you where it come from, now do you want it or not!?"

How about a lil' drinky-drink—an aperitif, if you will? Admittedly, ‘shine is a little heavy for an aperitif, but your trip, your rules!

You're at the Cruiser, reaching for that bag of 'ruckus juice' when you hear a brush snapping off to your left. You swivel around like a ninja and freeze; spider senses tingling all over. The sound came from just beyond your campsite, in the dark edges of the woods.

Your mind begins to spin. You remember a recent social media post about a bear attack in the area. You briefly consider how quickly you can jump in the Cruiser, lock all the doors, and pull a tarp over your head. Then you remember ... you're a man; a road warrior, a trailblazer. You straighten up, clear your throat, and try to look menacing.

You need a weapon. You look around. The closest thing in reach is the bourbon bag, but you make a split decision to protect the homebrew at all costs. You reach for your BROG Triple Run Tool Bag instead. You grab the tool bag and test it's heft.

More shuffle, crunch, pop sounds emanate from somewhere in the dark. Something huffs and snuffles in the brush. Something big. What if it is a bear!? What should you do?

You hear something snort. It’s getting closer.

And your next thought? This is it, this is how I'm going to die. They’ll find what’s left of me in this damn Snuggie, lying on the ground like a chunky little blob of expelled crest toothpaste. There’s more movement in the brush. You brace yourself, tool bag in hand, ready to swing it like Jon Rahm. You say a prayer for a warrior’s death; willing yourself not to die of blown sphincter muscles—announcing your departure from this world with an incongruously jolly squeaking sound.

Closer and closer.

Your mind starts chanting a mantra; I’m a chieftain. A trailblazing warrior. A man! I need a war cry! Before you can make a sound, something snorts from the brush. You let out a short, girlish shriek. Even as the sound escapes your lips, you can feel your man-card being revoked. R. Lee Ermey is rolling in his grave. You hear his voice descend like the voice of God, "LET ME SEE YOUR WARFACE!

You gather yourself and emit a hardy, bellowing ROOOOAARRRRRR!

Whatever it is, isn’t deterred. You hear another huff, snort, crunch and then running steps. All gallantry dissipates. You're ready to drop everything, hitch up your Snuggie, and run for your life. You will honest to God let the bear have your entire campsite—Cruiser included—if you can make it out alive.

It steps around the clearing into full view. It’s time to man up, Goldilocks!

Lucky for you, our BROG bag is made of mil-spec, tough 1000D nylon Cordura. Our bags could make a formidable impromptu weapon if necessary. It features all mil-spec zipper and hardware. It's ready for hand-to-hand combat at a moment’s notice. Mil-spec webbing carry handles are sewn to the bag for maximum durability and portability. This handcrafted bag is the perfect way to store your favorite tools or fight off marauding wildlife. It comes with a lifetime warranty and is 100% made right in Virginia, USA. We guarantee we’ll warranty it if your bag gets beat up during a bear fight. No questions asked.