JACKSON (AP) - It's Monday, and up Pilgrim Creek, in an outfitter camp just south of the Teton Wilderness, a 600-pound eating machine with a nose 2,000 times more powerful than a human's is lurking in the bushes.

Sometime after 11 p.m., when the hunting guides have all gone to bed, the big bear will stalk around camp, looking to ransack tents in search for a snack of human food or horse feed.

As owner of Shoal Creek Outfitters, Scott Millward is used to grizzly bear intrusions. The Pilgrim Creek hunting camp is just a stone's throw north of the Grand Teton National Park territory where bear No. 399 raised her famous brood. Millward's hunting guides say the creek itself acts as a natural funnel, channeling grizzly bears back and forth from the wilderness to the park.

To fend off these roving omnivores, the guides lock human food and feed in 55-gallon steel drums with special locks, clean dinner dishes with bleach, and burn their trash.

Despite these precautions, the bear raids continue.

Soon Millward will have a little surprise for this ursine usurper: a flimsy, white mesh fence that encircles the campsite and is attached to a small solar panel. When the snout of an inquisitive bear pokes through the mesh, completing the circuit, he'll get 7,000 volts across his nerve endings.

The electric barrier is part of a new Wyoming Game and Fish program to explore how well these fences perform under the rigors of an outfitter camp. Millward is one of four outfitters, two on the Bridger-Teton and two on the Shoshone, participating in the program.

"Outfitter camps provide some unique concerns," says Mark Bruscino, grizzly bear management officer for Game and Fish. "There's a large number of livestock and a relatively large number of people over a long period, and it's all in one spot. They have to store a large amount of human food, garbage and livestock feed. Then there's the smells associated with cooking and the carcasses they harvest."

Bruscino also says that outfitters, more so than local hunters, host clients from out of state who might not have experience with bears.

"These outfitters are looking for ways to coexist," he said. "It's to no advantage for them to have bear problems. It leads to property damage and scares clients."

The system itself costs about $500 and is relatively easy to install. The mesh fence is attached to pointed stakes that get pushed into the earth. The fence is charged by a small solar panel. For comparison, the bear fence's 7,000 volts is more than the 660 volts typically used in electric fences for dogs but much less than the 50,000 volts sent through the wires of a Taser.

Unlike some systems, the fence at Millward's camp has two types of wires: one that carries the current and another that acts as the "ground." That way, dry snow or dry earth won't act as an insulator that would prevent the bear from getting shocked.

Wildlife managers and outfitters have used similar systems in Alaska and Canada for years to protect man camps and hunting camps from grizzly bears, black bears and polar bears. "It's been used for years around beehives with great success," Bruscino explains.

Still, the fence isn't without it's problems. It requires some maintenance. Excess snow or vegetation could short out the fence if it's allowed to build up around the base. And, if one of the wires breaks, the fence could be rendered useless.

Second, if a bear does penetrate the barrier, it might be reluctant to leave. "The thing that scares me about this is getting a bear inside with a bunch of dudes running around and screaming," says Bruscino.

When Bruscino and Jackson bear management specialist Mike Boyce arrive at Millward's outfitter camp, camp manager Gary Burge greets them near the mess tent.

"I'm glad you guys are here," he says. "We had one come through last night. We've got one out here that's being a real pain. We've had the cook tent damaged and the tack tent damaged. That's where he likes to go."

Millward says the problem has gotten worse in the last five years. "I used to leave this (camp) unattended for three to four days at a time and nothing would be touched," he says. "Anything we can do to keep them out of things. It means they might stay alive."

The hunting guides spend the next half an hour with a weed whacker and a chainsaw constructing a path for the fence around the camp as Bruscino and Boyce erect the fence. When it's complete, Boyce hooks up the solar panel and Bruscino tests the fence with an electronic device that measures the voltage.

Sure enough, it measures between 6,500 volts and 7,500 volts at various points around the camp, a fact one of the camp dogs, Linus, discovers firsthand when he wanders over for a too close sniff at the camp's new addition. The second his nose touches the wire, he lets out a yelp and then backs up 10 yards away. Then he runs into camp for attention from the hunting guides.