How does a bear get to the Oceanfront?

Maybe it was the darkness. Maybe it was the alcohol. Either way, few noticed him the night before his capture - a bear loping through the parking lots of Oceanfront bars at closing time.

By the next day, he'd be famous, drawing crowds as he lumbered through a nearby neighborhood. News choppers buzzed for hours - a slow-speed chase with shades of O.J., starring a black bear instead of a white Bronco.

It was the "where" more than the bear that caused such excitement. Black bears occasionally wander into suburbia, but this far into town?

"That's the most urban area I've ever seen one in," said Aaron Proctor, the state wildlife biologist who led the bear's capture two weeks ago. "Everything we did was on live TV. That's the first time in our department's history that's ever happened."

There will likely be more chances. The species is bouncing back, and the Great Dismal Swamp - a virtual bear factory - is in our backyard, with the bulk of it in Suffolk and Chesapeake.

"Virginia has more bears now than we've had in the last 100 years," said Jaime Sajecki, head of bear management for the department of game and inland fisheries.

The department hopes humans can adapt as much as the bears.

"I know it's hard for people to accept," Proctor said, "but bears are just like big raccoons. Ninety percent of their diet is berries, nuts and plant matter."

Still, folks are alarmed when a bear appears in town, a visit that usually occurs in the spring, when young males are on their own for the first time.

"Junior's been kicked out of the nest and he's looking for food, looking for love," Proctor said. "The swamp is less than 25 miles from the Oceanfront. That's nothing for a bear."

Following marshes and creeks, sticking to thin corridors of green space, a bear could easily make his way to just about anywhere in South Hampton Roads.

"They try to stay in cover," Sajecki said. "You wouldn't necessarily know they're even around."

That's probably how "Shadow" - nicknamed for the Shadowlawn neighborhood where he was captured - seemed to pop up out of nowhere near the beach.

Odds are, he was as surprised as the residents. When bears reach the asphalt, "they don't realize they're on the outskirts of a city," Sajecki said. "They're thinking about getting past all this creepy stuff. They don't realize they're actually going deeper into it."

Propelled along by barking dogs and zooming cars, spooked by the sight of two-legged creatures, they often do what Shadow did: Climb a tree.

"I'd been getting sighting reports for a few days," Proctor said, "and there's this perception that something needs to be done. But there's not much you can do with a free-ranging bear. You don't shoot to kill if he hasn't done anything wrong. The best thing is to leave him alone and hope he finds his way out of town."

When Proctor heard Shadow was up a tree, "I knew he wasn't coming down - not with the circus that was going on around him."

Neighbors had pulled up lawn chairs. Police had cordoned off the area, posting guards at a nearby elementary school. Rotors beat overhead and camera lights flashed.

Proctor found Shadow - a 2- or 3-year-old male - about 20 feet up in the crook of a backyard tree, just six blocks from the Boardwalk.

The only option was tranquilizing, a tricky business. Sedated bears can die from overdoses or be killed falling out of trees, as happened in Portsmouth in the 1980s. If an animal is too panicked, the drug might not work at all - unable to combat the flood of adrenaline.

Proctor judged Shadow to be around 175 pounds. With dusk closing in, he filled two darts with a best-guess dose of an immobilizing drug, loaded them into a special rife and fired at the bear.

"You're trying to launch a syringe through the air at a black bear up in a dark tree," Proctor said. "It's not as easy as it looks on TV."

Both darts lodged in Shadow's rump. Within minutes, he was slumped face-first against the trunk of the tree.

"Now we had to figure out how to get him down safely," Proctor said.

The city's fire department offered a ladder truck. Proctor and a game department colleague climbed up to the sleeping bear.

"I poked him with a finger to make sure he was asleep," he said. "I thought about my mom. I knew that if she was watching this on TV, she'd be on pins and needles."

Cautiously, Proctor slid a rope under Shadow's forearms, stretched it around his chest and tied a knot.

"I had no idea what to do from there," he said.

Luckily, the firefighters did.

"We're trained in certain skill sets and adapt them to the situation," said Tim Riley, a fire department spokesman. "I can say with certainty, though, that this is the first time we've used them on a bear. Yes, we were a little apprehensive. I mean, how asleep is he?"

An expert in rope rescues went up to work with Proctor. Time was tight. The tranquilizer lasts only about 45 minutes, and Proctor had already injected the bear with a repeat dose.

Using an overhead tree limb, they rigged a harness-and-pulley system used in mountain rescues.

"We were worried about pressure on his chest," Proctor said, "making sure he could breathe."

With firefighters manning one rope from below, Shadow was lowered to the ground, where his bulk was muscled into a transport cage. He was driven to a secret location - Proctor doesn't want people bugging his captured bears - and kept in the cage overnight for observation.

"He had a little bit of a hangover the next morning," Proctor said. "We fed him half a dozen apples and a cup of strawberry jam. He scarfed it up."

Shadow was released back into the swamp, where, hopefully, he'll stay.

While in town, he did exhibit one bit of troubling behavior. Video shows Shadow venturing onto a porch to peer into a window - an indication that somewhere in his travels, he learned that food and houses go together.

"That's a bad sign," Proctor said. "Once a bear learns that, he usually must be dealt with."

No one likes the sound of that. Shadow's no Yogi or Smokey, but he did pick up a few fans in this urban jungle. The neighborhood where he was captured now boasts at least one "bear crossing" sign. He has surfaced on Facebook, where more than 2,000 people have indicated they "like" the page of the Shadowlawn Bear.

They've used it to swap bear jokes, poke fun at the city or high-five the rescuers. Some posts are short, simple and directed to the critter we couldn't wait to get rid of but some now seem to miss.

"Good night, SB," says one. "Be safe."

Joanne Kimberlin, (757) 446-2338, joanne.kimberlin@pilotonline.com