A downtown bar owner breathes new life into the bear-and-bull fights of Monterey’s past.

When Monterey city officials welcomed California Governor Vicente de Sola in 1815, they presented him with the finer things: olives from San Diego, oranges from San Gabriel and wines from San Fernando. They entertained him with shows of horsemanship. And a bear-and-bull fight.

Juan Bautista Alvarado, who would become governor himself, was present that August day 200 years ago. “The vaqueros prodded the bull, and with a roar of pain he rushed upon his adversary,” he writes (as translated by Nellie Sanchez in California and Californians, Vol. 1). “The bear, with a quickness and agility astonishing in a body so apparently unwieldy… threw himself with a grasp around the bull’s neck, and both rolled over… in a desperate struggle. The noise was terrific and dust rose in clouds, while the onlookers shouted and yelled as they… witnessed the flow of blood.”

Scores of bear-and-bull fights were held in Monterey in the 1800s, but old newspaper articles report the last physical remnant of their existence – a decaying adobe wall at the intersection of Tyler and Pearl streets, the edge of an old arena – was demolished in the 1950s.

Anthony Buich, who co-owns the Alvarado Street bar formerly known as The Mucky Duck, is bringing bull-and-bear fights back into our collective memory. He recently renamed his spot Bull and Bear Whiskey Bar and Taphouse.

Standing in the bar’s parking lot, he produces a photo of an old drawing of the arena. “We’re standing probably right where [the artist was] standing,” Buich says. “Isn’t that cool, dude?”

Susan Miller, a volunteer and board member for Monterey State Historic Park Association, says the tradition stems from the culture of early Spanish settlers. “They thought bullfighting was a lot of fun, and they figured bear fighting would be, too,” she says.

Grizzlies have vanished from the Central Coast, but Miller estimates 10,000 existed in Spanish colonial times. Settlers built high adobe walls around their buildings to keep bears away from their livestock.

“THE ONLOOKERS SHOUTED AND YELLED AS THEY…WITNESSED THE FLOW OF BLOOD.”

Vaqueros (cowboys), and later hunters, captured bears in Carmel Valley two ways: lassoes and traps.

Frenchman Jean-Nicolas Perlot, who described bear trapping in his 1897 book Vie et Aventures d’un Enfant de l’Ardenne, writes that bears were left for days in the traps without food or water, then given a salted ham and several liters of water mixed with brandy. After they passed out, they were put in a mobile cage and wheeled to town.

Buich was turned on to that history a few years back, when a customer brought him some old articles. He has done more research since then, and he joined me on a trip to the California History Room in the Monterey Library.

Monterey librarian Kim Smith led us upstairs to the history room. There we found a stack of documents, articles and bookmarked texts prepared by archives chief Dennis Copeland.

The history they present is rich. From the early 1800s to the 1860s, townspeople or promoters put on the fights in Monterey, often on Sundays after religious services. They usually took place at two locations in the city: near what is now the intersection of Tyler and Pearl streets, and at what is now the Memory Garden of the Pacific House Museum. Admission was spendy for the times, usually a dollar.

“The people shouted on all sides, making bets as to which would be the conqueror in this battle of giants,” Alvarado writes. “The native musicians played on their instruments – violins, flutes and drums. The bears and bulls, which were not accustomed to this kind of noise, bellowed in a terrifying way.”

The bull and bear were connected by a rope or chain. By all accounts, it was the bear that most often prevailed.

Buich gravitates to the legend of bear hunter Augustin Escobar, who, according to a 1903 edition of the Overland Monthly, killed a bear in the Del Monte Forest with a knife. He later agreed to fight one in the arena.

“With only a knife, he rolled… a heavy cloak around his left arm and shoulder as a shield from the terrible claws,” journalist Richard Sandwick writes. “The crowd got the worth of their money; for not only was the bear killed, but Escobar carried to the end of his days, two ugly claw marks down face and chest that made him interesting, if not hideous.”

Buich lights up: “That’s badass. That would have been insane to watch.”

He’s creating a new drink to honor the legend: the Cloak of Escobar ($11), a mix of Hornitos and La Pinta tequilas, fresh lime juice, ginger beer and a float of fresh berry puree, which is meant to evoke blood.

BULL AND BEAR WHISKEY BAR & TAP HOUSE, M-F 11:30am-2am, Sat-Sun 10am-2am, 479 Alvarado St., Monterey, 655-3031, www.bullandbearca.com