As a fellow junky photographer myself, I think you just earned your stripes, so to speak. Being hastled by people is part of the gig.
Several years ago I was out in the desert in a very cool place full of decreped, sandy things. Nobody around. Awesome. Or so I thought. Making my way back to the car, I was confronted by three large German Shepard’s and they were not happy to see me at all. It was sandy so I couldn’t move very fast and this particular trip I’d decided to bring my gear in a wagon so it wouldn’t be on my back. I got my tripod in one hand so I can try and beat them if I’m attacked, while pulling the wagon with the other hand, walking backward through the sand.
I’d prefer to be acosted by people, if given the choice. Now I carry some pepper spray, for both man and beast. 