Let’s Talk About Bears (Again)

Why Most Hikers in Japan Still Have Little to Fear

Watching the NHK nightly news recently, it’s rare to go a night without a story about a bear attack somewhere in Japan. But is there really much to worry about for the average hiker?

Returning along the gentle trail to the Kamikochi bus terminal last month, the constant sound of bear bells was painful. Every hiker seemed to have one jangling away, the metallic tinkle echoing through the forest and drilling into my eardrums. And the crazy part is, as I’ve written about previously, they’re as much about repelling bears as they are about signalling ‘correct’ hiking etiquette. A few even carried bear spray – a trend I’ve started noticing around the Kanto region too. Understandable, perhaps, given the steady stream of headlines. But it all feels a little over the top.

After nearly twenty years of hiking across many parts of Japan – from Tokyo’s backyard of Okutama to the alpine ridgelines of the Northern Alps – I’ve only encountered bears twice. Both times they turned tail and ran as soon as they realised I was there. Encounters like that stay with you, but they also remind you that most bears want nothing to do with humans.

That said, there’s no denying the alarming numbers. This year has already seen a record number of bear-related incidents, with over a hundred injuries and at least nine fatalities since spring. A 26-year-old hiker was fatally attacked by a brown bear on Mount Rausu in Hokkaido in August, while a New Zealander was seriously injured just this month while trail running in the foothills of Myoko, Niigata Prefecture. Sobering stuff, and a reminder that these animals demand respect – especially when paired with Quinlan, a J-Vlogger’s frightening encounter video from northern Honshu.

Still, context matters. While overall attacks are at an unprecedented high, most have occurred not in remote mountain terrain but in the foothills or satoyama – the semi-wild zones where villages meet forest. Most victims are foragers, farmers, or locals collecting mushrooms or mountain vegetables, as has long been the case. However, with bears now encroaching on bus stops, suburban trails and even appearing at a supermarket and childcare centre, the risk zone for everyone has expanded. While the statistical probability of a serious incident for the average hiker on established trails remains small, the need for vigilance has never been greater.

As I mentioned in The Curious Case of Bear Bells in Japan, Japan’s relationship with its bears is complicated. Rural depopulation, abandoned farmland, and poor acorn harvests have all blurred the boundary between human and bear habitats. The result isn’t so much an increase in aggression as a shift in proximity. The bears aren’t coming for us – we’re simply crossing paths more often, and sometimes in places we didn’t used to.

That doesn’t mean we should be complacent. Hikers should stay alert, make some noise, avoid hiking alone in dense forest – particularly in the morning and evening when bears are most active – and know how to respond if they come across one. Still, it’s worth keeping things in proportion. For most of us, other hiking hazards pose greater risks than bear encounters. The recent rush to buy bear spray in lowland Kanto forests seems disproportionate to the actual risk.

Perspective helps. Bear encounters happen, and thankfully most are fairly benign. For the average hiker, far greater risks lie in getting lost, injured, stung by a hornet or succumbing to hypothermia – not fending off a bear.

Ultimately, the message is balance: stay cautious, stay aware, but don’t let the headlines turn every rustle in the forest into a source of fear.