To my left sat a biologist and a doctoral student.

To my right, three teachers having the time of their lives.

And all around us, in the river below, on the bluff on the other side, and from time to time directly behind us, several of one of the world's largest and most successful predators roamed free.

I had seen brown bears before -- I watched 15 or so feed on a beached whale carcass on a day trip on the Katmai Coast some years back, and several brownies frequent the Anchor River near my house -- but each time I watch them, I learn something new.

Most people in the Lower 48 never get the chance to see brown bears.

For that matter, many Alaskans never see brown bears, even though they live among us. Perhaps it is because of this lack of human-bear interaction that so

many misconceptions about bears exist.

I asked biologist Derek Stonorov about bear behavior during a walk one day to the falls of Chenik River.

One of the most glaring falsehoods he sees is one that is widely publicized: Bears are unpredictable.

"They're just as predictable as other animals," he said. "You just have to learn about their behavior."

I tried to wrap my mind around this answer.

Bears are predictable?

I had read the stories in the newspaper; it seems every bear mauling in this state lands on the front page.

Didn't a brown bear kill Timothy Treadwell in Katmai National Park after he spent years getting to know them?

Didn't a bear kill a couple recently on the Hulahula River in the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge, even though from all accounts they did everything right?

Don't brown bears hassle people -- and sometimes

maul them -- at the Russian River each year?

Doesn't this guy read the paper?

It's scary out here in brown bear country, at least that's what I've been told.

As we reached the falls, I settled in my chair and began to watch.

Mothers with cubs sat near us, as did big dominant males.

Several times a bear would walk aloofly by our group, then head down to the river and charge another bear to kick them out of the desired fishing hole.

As the days progressed, this behavior began to make sense.

Perhaps the bears viewed us as neither a threat, nor a food source. Perhaps they wondered why we sat in the same place so long when the fish were running.

But even if they were curious, they kept a distance that was comfortable for them.

All we had to do was respect that distance.

In a sense they treated our group like a big, 12-legged, multi-colored bear -- something that sparks curiosity, something new on the landscape, but also something that shouldn't be messed with.

Over the four days, a mutual respect developed. As humans, we knew these powerful creatures had the ability and the tools to kill us. We had read all the stories.

As bears, somehow, it seemed they knew the same thing about us.

But by our actions and theirs we communicated our intentions over and over again: We come in peace.

Most people never get a chance to see the bears. And if they do sometimes it is under sad or tragic circumstances.

Newspapers are full of such stories on bears.

I asked Stonorov if he knew what the bears thought we were.

"They probably think you are a newspaper reporter," he said.