On a wilderness trek from the Yukon River to the Dempster Highway a man with his three dogs comes across a grizzly bear trying to kill a moose in a small river in front of his camp with two wolves watching in the wings. He worries that the bear might set his sights on him, and questions what he's really doing so far out here away from civilization. The realization that bears are in charge out here, not humans, hits home hard, and it is only by their good grace that they let us live.

Excerpt:
There were no fond farewells this time around. No one was at my house to see me off on my adventure to the Yukon, to wish me bon voyage or Godspeed and all that. It was just the dogs and me hitting the open road in the early morning light with their heads hanging out the windows, their wiry beards rustling in the wind. My girlfriend Marion had left for California where she was attending a Buddhist retreat for a month, so we had already said our goodbyes two days ago. I worried that my leaving might ruin our relationship and that we might never see each other again. I had gone to Sierra's house the night before and gotten Billie, the treasurable dog we had when we were together. We both still adored her like she was our child. None of my brothers lived in town, and they were, like usual, too caught up in their own busy affairs to wish me well to do on my journey. I called my mother the day before and she kept insisting that I be careful so she wouldn't have to worry. After all these years, she still had no idea what I went through out there, probably much more than she figured. One summer I almost starved to death. Another I almost drowned - goes with the territory. A doubtful part of my brain asked myself what was it all for.
After five days I rolled into Dawson City road weary under a sun that never set. The dogs in the back seat were looking out the windows for anything that moved - a squirrel preferably. A cat would be their second choice. A leaf blowing across the road was something. They watched with bulging eyes until they were certain it was not alive. These big-boned Airedales didn't miss a thing. I never knew when they were going to bark in my ear, so I wore ear plugs most of the time when I drove. Their hunting voices could damage ear drums. They were itching to create some havoc. "Easy, dumb heads," I said softly. "I love you guys to death, but good lord take it easy. Your time will come, don't worry." They needed a good hard run for a couple of hours very soon because all I had been able to do for the entire drive was take them out for short bathroom breaks, which was no way enough for eager Airedales. They needed unfettered rampaging across the land, and I needed to go one hundred miles into raw, wild country. Before it was too late.
"I got to find the liquor store," I said. I glanced back. All three were sitting on their haunches with eyes fixed on things outside. "Don't bark. Whatever you do, don't bark for chrissakes, not yet." I motored along the waterfront at an idle. I thought the liquor store was three or so blocks in toward the hills, which started up abruptly at about block twelve. There really wasn't much space for a town here, with the river on one side and the hills on the other, so buildings were crammed in pretty tight. Humans had a way of shoving a town in anywhere. There wasn't any room for growth, so new buildings had to be built along the highway as you came into town, and houses and businesses were being built for miles along it. If you had a business, though, you wanted it to be in town. That was where the tourists went. In summer people from all over the world came here to get a glimpse of what the frontier mining days must have been like.
I turned after the grocery store and putted inland. I finally found the liquor store on Third Street and pulled over out front. I left the windows halfway down for the dogs since it was already warm.