Black bears, unless you come between a mother and her cub — or have an aromatic dark roast in hand—don’t want to harm us — For many years, every summer, my brother Chuck and I would backpack over the High Sierra for up to a week. Strong blood ties aside, we possessed diametrically opposed politics, lifestyles, and to some extent, ideas on backcountry etiquette. Yet wilderness survival is a sort of bonding ritual, even for…