Yellowstone National Park, Wyo. ? In many years wandering the outdoors I’ve encountered just one bear in the wild, and that from the safety of a car in the Minnesota iron range.

It was a handsome black bear, all rippling sinew and fat, that came rambling down an autumn hillside with amazing power and grace, sunlight glinting off its ample flanks.

You expect to run across bears here in the wilds of Wyoming, of course, where they are regarded by some as a nuisance. You hope the ones you meet are mild-mannered black bears and not ferocious grizzlies, which could make your day short and unpleasant.

Still, it was a surprise to see one so soon, at the start of our first morning out, on the way to the fishing grounds at Soda Butte Creek. And I definitely never expected to get so close.

The bear was sashaying across a meadow damp with morning dew, stopping to paw at the ground and grab handfuls of vegetation. I tried to snap pictures but it was pretty far away.

“If we hurry to that little stand of trees up ahead, he should walk right up to us,” said Larry Coburn, my longtime fishing partner. We dashed for the truck, sped ahead 250 yards and made another dash on foot through a sparse cluster of evergreens.

We arrived just in time. Within seconds the bear was upon us, barging straight toward our position, and I felt cold sweat trickling down my neck.

“Don’t worry,” whispered Coburn, who has trout-fished here before and dealt with quite a few bears, including a grizzly or two. “He won’t hurt us.”

You sure could have fooled me. I grunted unintentionally, doubtless from fear of the unfamiliar creature, and the bear came to a skidding halt 15 yards away, raised up on its hind legs and peered at us with cold, black eyes. It sniffed the air for a scent.

I remembered reading somewhere that bears, like deer, don’t see well in the daytime and rely mostly on smell and sound. Happily, we were downwind. I made a note to make no more noise and neither of us twitched a muscle.

The bear was close enough that its breath was audible. Between us lay a desiccated, fallen tree trunk. The beast must have gotten a whiff of something good in the dry-rotted wood because it suddenly directed its attention there.

What followed was a lesson at point-blank range in just how strong a bear is. Before our widening eyes, it tore the tree to shreds with its front paws, noisily ripping and spewing shards of wood in all directions as it rooted for grubs.

You’ve probably heard the joke about the hiker who buys new sneakers before setting out on a trek. When his partner asks why, he says it’s in case they meet up with a grizzly bear.

The partner laughs and says, “You can’t run faster than a grizzly.” The other replies, “I don’t have to; I just have to run faster than you.”

Well, I’ll admit that from the corner of my eye I was sizing up Coburn. With his long legs, I didn’t like the odds. I started backtracking noiselessly, and he followed suit. The bear never looked up, and in a minute or two we were back in the clear.

“Welcome to Yellowstone,” Coburn said. And off we went to lay waste to the cutthroat trout of Soda Butte Creek.