I think I may be the last person in the western U.S. who has never really seen a bear in the wild.

It’s not for lack of trying or even putting myself in situations where I’m likely to see one.

Early in my career, I worked in Palmer Lake, where covering bear encounters was part of the job. I remember talking to one guy who woke up in the middle of the night thirsty for a glass of water and when he flipped the light switch in the kitchen, saw a bear cub making an entrance through the window over his sink. As I talked to the guy and his wife the next day, he was excited, I was jealous and his wife thought we were both nuts.

Stories like this were not uncommon there. At town hall you could buy a T-shirt from the town clerk that read, “I saw a bear in Palmer Lake.” I was never rightfully able to buy one.

To make matters more frustrating, I lived in a part of Palmer Lake that was extremely bear-adjacent. I put my trash in cans surrounded by a cage mangled by bears trying to get at my leftovers. Still, nothing.

When I moved away from there to south metro Denver, I figured my chances of seeing a bear would diminish quite a bit.

But every so often, a story about a bear in the middle of suburbia would cross my desk and attached to it would be a photo of a treed bear or one that had recently been de-treed by the Division of Wildlife personnel.

I always ran these stories with a certain hard-luck attitude about missing the excitement of seeing the whole ordeal unfold for myself.

I’ve been to Yellowstone a few times. I hiked with bear bells (the hiker’s calling card in bear territory since bears don’t like surprises much) tucked silently and stupidly away in my pack for fear they’d rob me of seeing what brought me to the park in the first place. No dice. Nowadays, you’re hard-pressed to get out of the park without having a bear snuggle up next to you in your sleeping bag.

I spent some time in Roxborough State Park during drought years when bear sights were high. The rangers were meeting me at my car door warning me of bears in the park. One of these conversations lead to what might technically qualify by standards other than my own as a bear sighting. A ranger pointed out a rock in the distance that, even through binoculars, had a gnat-sized spec on it that he swore was a bear. It could have been lint on my binoculars for all I know.

And yet I return to suburban living and the steady news of bear sightings without one of my own to share.

This particular scab of mine was picked again this week when we not only got a story, but visual evidence of the kinds of encounters I pine for. In this case, a black bear took a leisurely soak in Aud Schaap’s backyard pond in Castle Rock — a little further west on the road I drive to the office everyday. We’re running it this week in some of our papers, and it will be online at douglascounty247.com.

More importantly, it’s the straw that broke the camel’s back. By the end of the year, I’m going to find a bear to set my own eyes upon.

In the meantime, send me cool photos you happen to come across and I’ll considering running them, no matter how jealous I get.

Jeremy Bangs is the managing editor of Colorado Community Newspapers.