One night in 1987, Jeff and Kim Kann were watching television and came across this riveting show about the "river of bears" at Alaska's McNeil River.

Chum salmon on a spawning run get held up at a gushing falls. Grizzly bears emerge from the surrounding brush from miles around to feast on this splashing horn of plenty.

It's the greatest concentration of brown bears in the world — up to 72 have been seen at one time — and a wildlife spectacle as inspiring as any in the world.

Let's drive to Alaska and see it, agreed the Conestoga couple, then childless.

Only, the McNeil River State Game Sanctuary and Refuge only allows 10 people a day to witness the thrilling scene on a riverbank. The salmon run lasts from early June to late August.

In 2009, some 11,000 people applied for about 250 four-day permits and 60 standby permits. Some people have applied for decades and never been drawn in the lottery.

The Kanns found out about the lottery two days before the drawing. No matter, they sent in their applications by overnight delivery.

And were drawn.

That visit lived up to all the advance hype and expectations. This year, the Kanns wanted their twin 17-year-old sons, Kevin and Kyle, seniors at Penn Manor High School, to see what their parents had been gushing about all these years.

Doubly blessed, Kim drew the maximum three permits, for July 1-4.

On the last day in June, the three left Homer on a float plane — the only way to reach the roadless McNeil River sanctuary in southwestern Alaska — from Homer.

SLIDESHOW: Kann family adventure to Alaska's McNeil River
VIDEO: 'River of bears' trip documented in home video

Jeff and youngest son Jesse, 12, stayed in Homer. Don't be too disappointed for them. They fished for halibut and salmon, went sea kayaking and took an aerial tour of a glacier.

When the float plane landed on the beach of remote Cook Inlet at McNeil River, six grizzly bears were planted along the shoreline. The newest arrivals had to walk around them.

"Their eyes were just popping out of their heads," recalls Kim of her sons' reaction.

For the next four days, the Kanns watched grizzly bears — some as close as 10 feet away — perform just about every form of grizzly behavior as they accumulated on the river.

The bears fished, they played, they stole from and bullied each other, they mated and occasionally beat each other up.

But mostly they postured, Kim reports.

With so many bears of various ages and sexes, and limited food, there was a lot of posturing. Kim, 49, a tech ed teacher at Martin Meylin Middle School, couldn't help but view the growling, showing-off male bears as a bunch of teen boys trying to be tough guys.

Rarely did it come to blows, but sometimes it did.

"We saw a couple wicked fights," says Kim. "I could see blood and gashes."

In one encounter that had the 10 onlookers holding their breaths, a smaller bear nabbed a salmon. A larger bear took off in pursuit, overtook the bear and grabbed its shoulder, flipping the bear over a bank, where it plummeted 20 feet into the river.

"He left without his fish and pride, but he was OK," Kim reports.

The most bears the Kanns observed at one time: 28.

Each bear had its own technique for catching salmon.

Some plunged and dove into the river. Some grabbed or bit the leaping fish. One bear repeatedly sat with its back to the onrushing water and when a salmon hit its shoulder, the bear reached around and snagged it.

Another bear, a young male known as Private Beggar, never fished himself. Instead, he'd get on his belly and would grovel over to a bear with a fish and swipe it.

After a night in a tent, the Kanns would spend the entire day on a designated observation area at the falls. It's merely a bank with one level at river's edge and a higher area looking down on the river.

There are no barriers and the bears sometimes walk by almost close enough to touch. Not that you are allowed to.

No one has ever been injured by a grizzly at McNeil. But years ago, before the area was regulated, bears were shot by onlookers who felt uncomfortable.

As the area gained worldwide fame, it was made a state-controlled refuge in 1967 to protect the bears. A limit to visitors has been in place since 1973. (For details on how to apply to visit McNeil River, go online to http://www.wildlife.alaska..... .

The 10 visitors at a time are accompanied by an armed state Fish and Game official and must stay in a group.

Campers are fitted with air horns. If a bear wanders into camp, you blow it. It probably won't scare the bear, but it will summon a technician.

During the Kanns' stay in 1987, a young bear did explore the camping spot. The first time, a technician scattered it with an air horn. The bear returned again and was chased away with firecrackers. The third visit it got a sore butt after being shot with a rubber bullet.

But despite the close proximity of bears and humans to each other, uncomfortable incidents are rare.

That's because the bears have learned over years of conditioning that the humans staring at them mostly stay in one spot and don't harm them.

Similarly, visitors may, and often do, cross paths with bears on the move, including many sows with cubs, and not fear attack.

It's a delicate balance of trust that has worked at McNeil River for decades.

You're not there gawking at caged zoo animals. This is real and on the bears' terms.

"When you're sitting there with that going on, you're part of it," is how Kim explains the McNeil experience.

"It's not like these humans passing through. It's more of like you're a rock on the bluff."

One day, the group of 10 walked a couple miles to Mikfik Creek. Since there are no spraying falls here and the water is shallower, it's quieter.

That means fewer bears but it provides a more intimate experience when one does show up to catch salmon stranded in pools.

You can hear the mothers communicating with their cubs, which can take the form of jaw popping and a huffing that sounds a lot like a muffled dog bark.

"You could hear water running off their hair," marvels Kim. "You hear them crunching salmon."

In one memorable encounter at this spot on the 1987 trip, a large female bear came out and plopped down not 10 feet away from Kim and her husband.

"You could smell her and hear the bugs on her," Kim recalls.

On the most recent visit, it was cold, windy and sometimes rainy. The Kanns, sitting in chairs, would sometimes nap, but remain glued to the ever-changing scene all day.

"I was never bored," Kim says. "I can't wait to go back."

acrable@lnpnews.com