There’s something quietly delightful about the surreal spectacle of a pro sports mascot, mid-fishing trip in Alaska, nearly becoming the focal point of a brown bear’s curiosity. In this case, Buoy—the Seattle Kraken’s oddball sea troll—found, perhaps for the first time, that his usual crowd-pleasing antics were a bit less effective on nature’s apex predators.
Out of the Arena, Into the Wild
As first detailed by UPI, the Seattle Kraken hockey team and their support staff were in Katmai National Park, Alaska, participating in their annual community partnership trip, which included a fly fishing excursion and youth camp involvement. Spirits were high and lines were cast, but the mood shifted when a wild brown bear wandered out of the woods and into the river, taking an immediate—and, in hindsight, understandable—interest in the collection of humans, one of whom was encased in a bright blue, big-eyed troll suit.
A video shared by the Kraken captures the uneasy moment as the group spotted the bear and began methodically moving to the riverbank. The bear, after a quick evaluation, charged through the water but veered off before making direct contact. John Hayden, the team’s forward, can be heard in the footage joking, “I want to blame it on Buoy. They were pretty interested in his whole look. We got out of it okay, but it was a close call.” The bear, perhaps more baffled than belligerent, eventually resumed its usual fishing, leaving the humans to reflect on their close brush with a truly wild audience.
A Mascot’s Worst (and Weirdest) Nature Encounter
Whiskey Riff points out that NHL mascots have grown steadily weirder in recent years—Buoy, a self-described Seattle sea troll with an unmissable hairdo, holds his own against the likes of Gritty from Philadelphia. But even in a league that prizes the bizarre, few mascot wranglers plan for sudden bear encounters in the great outdoors.
The incident, which was part of a media shoot, could have easily ended up as clickbait disaster fodder. The bear’s interest in Buoy was, as Hayden recalled in post-incident interviews, unusually intense. The Arctic-blue troll suit that inspires squeals from kids and side-eyes from adults seemed to raise only questions—and the possibility of an unconventional snack—for the bear. Crew members were audibly unsettled as the bear made its final “last little sprint” towards Buoy before reconsidering and swinging away to fish of a more familiar variety.
Russian Machine Never Breaks captures some on-the-ground reactions, including the crew’s rapid but controlled retreat: “Oh, I gotta break you off now,” the cameraman announced as filming priorities shifted to immediate survival. Hayden, in a debrief, echoed the consensus: “That last little sprint I was worried for you, Buoy… I don’t want to blame it on Buoy, they were pretty interested in his whole look… we got out of it okay but it was a close call.”
Grizzly bears—and, as the outlet notes, brown bears in general—are fiercely territorial and not shy about defending their fishing spots. The National Park Service, as cited by RMNB, cautions that while attacks are rare, anyone encountering a bear is advised to play dead rather than stand their ground. Notably absent from official guidance is any advice specific to those decked out in oversized foam suits.
Sometimes Nature Upstages the Marketer
While no harm came to Buoy, bear, or bystander, the story offers a compact morality play: mascots, no matter how outrageous, are no match for real-world wildlife. Rather than a disaster, it ended up as an amusing (in hindsight) reminder that Alaskan streams—unlike hockey arenas—are home turf for bears, not sea trolls.
It’s hard not to marvel at how this moment, meant to be a cheery bit of promo content, morphed into a lesson in environmental humility. What does a bear actually think when confronted by an unfamiliar creature with a synthetic grin and indestructible confidence? More importantly, were there any lessons Buoy picked up that day about the wisdom of blending in—at least a little—on future fishing trips?
Sometimes, the weirdness of the human world pales beside nature’s simple logic. And perhaps that’s the lesson for all parties—when the apex predator shows up, even the strangest mascot has to get in line. Does this mark a new era of wilderness wisdom for professional sports teams, or will Buoy and company be wading back in next year, just a bit further upstream? Hard to say. But you can be sure the bears won’t forget.
