When the foliage is gone, the structure lies bare. Undulations ripple along the mountainsides; seeps and drainages stand out. 

The rhythms of the forest are speaking in structure, not color. This gift in this landscape of open vistas is long sightlines – a dream for wildlife spotting.

The Kenow Fire ignited with a lightning strike and burned slowly until September 11, 2017, when it blew up in critically dry conditions, surging from 30,000 to 104,000 acres overnight, overtaking Waterton National Park. The Kenow Wildfire was a fire of exceptional severity exceeding every fire since the Park’s records began in 1700. In the end, half of the vegetated land and 80% of the hiking trails in the Park were burnt. 

In almost all of this burn area, most or all of the organic matter was seared away by the fire. The topsoil burned away to a depth of three feet.

Dense conifer forests are being replaced by young aspens and shrubs such as Saskatoon berry, thimbleberry, and huckleberry. It’s a bear’s delight! The conifers will come back, too. They grow relatively slowly.

Fire is necessary, natural, “normal” for these forests. Our human misunderstanding and resulting meddling have given rise to an increase in these large, catastrophic (by human standards) fires. This was a dramatic fire. The recovery is being documented and studied, providing insights into the land’s history and the resilience of nature.It’s often not what I expected, but it’s always an adventure.

If you’re interested in purchasing or licensing any images you see here, please email me at SNewenham at exploringnaturephotos.com, and I’ll make it happen.

Subscribe here to receive an email whenever a new blog posts.

The post Waterton Park and the 2017 Kenow Fire appeared first on Exploring Nature by Sheila Newenham.

Here, Kitty, Kitty. Psspsspss.

On the eve of my first day in the park, during a wildlife drive, I lamented the lack of wildlife sightings. All of the park’s communications warn visitors to be prepared for encountering wildlife while hiking. One hundred yards into any trail is this warning sign.The massive 2017 Kenow Fire razed the dense forests, resulting in extensive sightlines. And yet.

Stuck in My Head

I passed by a small gathering of photographers with their big lenses pointed at a black bear high up on a slope. He was too far away, and, honestly, I’m beyond fortunate to be spoiled by previous, intimate bear encounters.

I’d come here to help reset my head. It’d been way too long since I’d been able to wander the wilderness in this way that feeds my soul, and there’s a lot of stress at home. I craved some forest bathing!

Here’s Your Sign

I was having a hard time shedding the stress. “I’ve lost my wildlife mojo,” I said to myself. The wild is responding to my negative energy, I thought as I rounded a bend to see the unmistakable long tail of a mountain lion crossing the road. A wild, North American mountain lion!!

I stopped in the road and activated my flashers while simultaneously grabbing my binoculars. I didn’t expect to locate the ghost cat, master of camouflage, in the low aspens and serviceberry bushes. But there he was. Standing broadside. This magnificent, muscular tomcat looking back at me.

I’ve spent a lot of time in mountain lion territory. I’ve seen tracks, scat, and sign. One delightful winter day, I heard a cougar calling to her kittens. I’m sure plenty of wild cats have seen me. But, until now, I’d never seen one in North America. Ghost cats!

I quickly exchanged the binoculars for my camera. The puma made some assessment of me and turned to pad up the burnt hillside. He moseyed, moving at a relaxed walk, stopping to look around, gently wagging the tip of that long feline tail, doing all the cat things. I reveled in this magical, solitary moment. 

As I watched him disappear and reappear through trees and brush, he crouched below a boulder and scrunched his ears out to the side. The stealthy cat pose. I thought he might be stalking a hare.

It was at this moment that I heard a car approaching. I am stopped in the lane of traffic below a blind curve. I started the car and crept forward with my eyes on the rear-view mirror. In the car behind me, one of the photographers I’d passed activated her flashers, and we both stopped.

I glassed and glassed the hillside but could not find the cougar. The person behind me had their big lens out the window, focused on the slope. I scanned the area where she was looking, astonished that she had found this elusive cat so quickly, when I’d been watching him and can’t find him. Only then do I realize that she’s photographing a black bear higher up the hillside to the left. To the right, a cinnamon-phase black bear is ambling along the hillside toward the other bear. This must be what caught the mountain lion’s attention, causing him to crouch. Bears and cats don’t play well together. I’m sure “my” cat is long gone now.

Still in Awe

When I got home, I checked the time stamps on my images. I spent almost five minutes with this elegant, wild cougar. FIVE MINUTES! A glimpse is a gift. I don’t even know what to call this—unreal, unbelievable, blessed, connection, becoming.

The image of that lion crossing the road when I first saw him is seared in my mind. Today, I’m the luckiest girl in the world.

If you’re interested in purchasing or licensing any images you see here, please email me at SNewenham at exploringnaturephotos.com, and I’ll make it happen.

Subscribe here to receive an email whenever a new blog posts.

The post Ghost Cat Revealed appeared first on Exploring Nature by Sheila Newenham.

If he’s wooing, he could use some pointers.

It’s dusky at the end of the day as I’m driving to my home for the night. When the mountains meet the prairie, cattle ranches and fields artfully adorned with round bales of hay become the backdrop. So, when I see a dark shape in the distance, I immediately think cow. But as I draw closer, the shape isn’t quite right for a cow. She turned broadside as I stopped at a pullout to look closer. Moose!

She steps down into the cut of the creek, a look of relaxed relief passes over her, and she stands there for a few moments, seeming to revel in it, before lowering her head to drink. It’s unseasonably hot.

A bull moose appears at the edge of the meadow, materializing out of a different cluster of willows. He stares at the cow moose. 

She climbs up out of the water and turns to leave. The bull moves forward, first at a walk, then the two of them begin to trot. She’s fleeing, and the chase becomes a full-on gallop, hooves slicing through the air, two tall, awkward-looking animals floating gracefully at racetrack speeds.

The distance between them is relatively constant, separated by a few lengths.

The cow moose crosses the creek, and they both stop. An impasse?

The pause is short-lived. The moment she takes a step, he’s after her again. First, trotting, keeping pace, then back at a full gallop.

Serious speed across the prairie. It’s dark, my shutter speed is slow, and my ISO is maxxed out at 20,000. I think maybe I can capture some artsy, motion-blur images of the chase, so I keep shooting.

This time, she stops behind some bushes. He does not continue the pursuit. I watched them a little longer while they casually browsed in separate directions, as if there had never been any issue.

I’m unsure what to make of it. It’s early for the moose rut, but someone has to go first. It was a glimpse into another world, with its own distinct customs and norms. I’m grateful for this moment of wild connection on the plains of Alberta, Canada.

If you’re interested in purchasing or licensing any images you see here, please email me at SNewenham at exploringnaturephotos.com, and I’ll make it happen.

Subscribe here to receive an email whenever a new blog posts.

The post Wooing or Shooing? A Moose Encounter appeared first on Exploring Nature by Sheila Newenham.

Last fall, I went to commune with bears and lose myself in the wilderness. I enjoy the wild locations as much as the wildlife. This trip brought something unexpected but just as valuable.

We’re watching bears from a jet boat on a crystal turquoise mountain river. The boat separates me from the immersion I crave; I feel like I’m peering at life through the bars of a cell. I am physically separated from this dramatic beauty. Detached. I want to be one with it.

The noise of the motor colors everything with its persistent mechanical sounds. I’m aware that the sounds of forceful, moist exhales of bears surfacing after snorkeling are missing. They sound just like a whale. The thought brings a smile to my face. I can’t hear the crisp crunch of fish bones and the tearing of flesh as the bears deftly pick apart a fish. I can’t listen to cubs wailing at each other in play or desperately calling for their mom, who has walked out of sight. The footfalls of enormous, padded, leathery feet plodding along the sand, rocks, and shallows are erased by the white noise of the engine. The decrescendo call of Bald Eagles is muted. The persistent quarks, gurgles, and chatter of the ravens are diminished. In my tent, in the quiet of the night, I was treated to barred owls calling back and forth, a bear splashing through the river below me, and the soft hoo-hoos of a great horned owl.

I crave immersion in the wild in addition to the company of bears. I know it’s a lot to ask, but that’s what feeds my fire. I’ve had so many amazing, intimate wilderness experiences that now I want it just so. I want to sit or walk quietly and let nature unfold.

On the ground, I see prints, sand patterns, unique rocks, aspen leaves, pine martens, and more. Let Her decide. I am here to receive.

I appreciate the absurdity of not fully appreciating this exceptional, extravagant, unique experience because I want more. All of my life and all of my prior experiences have brought me to this very moment. I get to watch some very mindful, generous people revel in the company of their first wild bears. I benefit from their energy and their awe. I get to connect with them in authentic ways that are mostly absent in our busy lives out in the “real world.” And yet, on the river, I feel disconnected.Whenever I use motors instead of my feet, I often feel like we’re chasing the bears. On ATVs elsewhere and boats here, we motor ahead to comply with the 50-meter separation, and we’ve put ourselves in the bear’s path. If the bear choses to come within 50 meters, that’s the bear’s choice to make. So we wait for them to approach and then pass us. We’ve left them with little choice if they want to stay on the river.
Once they pass us, we may motor ahead to do it again in an uncomfortable game of leapfrog. There are many reasons that I prefer to be on the ground with the bears, and this is just one more.Instead of the wilderness connection I sought, over the course of five days, I connected deeply with my fellow travelers and laughed more than I can convey. So. Much. Laughter. That is also part of getting out there and just letting the experience happen. I made new friends and saw bear behavior that was new to me in this stunningly gorgeous autumn landscape. That’s a successful trip!

“Life is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you’re gonna get.”

– Forrest Gump

If you’re interested in purchasing or licensing any images you see here, please email me at SNewenham at exploringnaturephotos.com, and I’ll make it happen.

Subscribe here to receive an email whenever a new blog posts.

The post Bear Viewing by Boat appeared first on Exploring Nature by Sheila Newenham.

Tsilhqot’in for “grizzly bear”

One of the greatest benefits of quietly observing wildlife is seeing their unique personalities shine through their actions and expressions. Nowhere is this more evident than in the cubs. Like a pre-adolescent child not yet shaped by societal norms and expectations, they seem to live with the joy and ease of abandon.

Cub Personalities

These two cubs have opposite personalities. One is constantly along the riverbank, cavorting and playing with rocks, sticks, fish bits, and grass. She is usually lagging further behind, comfortable in her independence.

The other is skittish and shy. He’s uncomfortable with this boat nearby. He’s watchful, stays closer to Mom, and repeatedly flees to the cover of the forest.

We saw this family most days and watched the shy cub becoming more accepting of our presence.

Another family consists of just two – a mom and a single, confident, joyous spring cub. This is an experienced mom.

While she knows where her cub is, she never looks back or waits on her short-legged, curious offspring. This cub inherited her mother’s status and roams widely, lagging behind in happy distraction.

Eating Salmon

Most of the fishing bears I watched on this river were scavenging dead salmon from the river bottom. Sometimes, that involved diving and staying under for impressively long times, but mostly, it involved snorkeling.

Bears don’t seem to like submerging their ears. What this situation lacks in running, splashing, and chasing is made up for in the close study of careful, precise disarticulation and intentional eating rituals.

Early in the salmon run, eager to pack on pounds, bears eat the whole fish. As the fish become more plentiful, the bears have the luxury of eating just the richest parts – the skin, eggs, and brain.

The rest of the carcass is left to feed the ecosystem scavengers (ravens, foxes, eagles) and nourish the soil.

We Are All One

Bears are built precisely for their survival needs: long, thick claws and muscular shoulders for digging up roots, grubs, and clams, sharp nails for holding slippery fish, and a thick, muscular body for walking long distances and swimming against the current almost faster than our boat will go.

They’re survivors in their dynamic, vast environment. When we leave them to the wild by containing our trash, keeping a clean camp, and being responsible with our livestock, we all thrive.

If you’re interested in purchasing or licensing any images you see here, please email me at SNewenham at exploringnaturephotos.com, and I’ll make it happen.

Subscribe here to receive an email whenever a new blog posts.

The post British Columbia Grizzly Bears appeared first on Exploring Nature by Sheila Newenham.

Photographers are often asked what their trip goal or dream image is. I’m not that kind of photographer. I want to be out in the wild, let nature envelop me, and embrace what comes. This trip unexpectedly brought two of my favorite things together—bears in aspens! The deep turquoise water is accented by the luminous gold aspens. It’s a landscape that is fully captivating in its own right. And there are bears!

The Best Places Are Hardest to Get To

As is often the case with travel to remote places, plans are flexible. Plan A was to meet Barnabus at the Boundary Bay Airport in Vancouver, British Columbia. He would be piloting a white Pilatus private airplane with a tail number provided. Like Uber. But with an airplane. It turns out the pilot (and plane?) had to medivac someone to Toronto. Plan B was a small commercial propeller plane that was grounded due to high winds at Camp. Plan C had us Uber (an actual car Uber) a half hour to the South Terminal at Vancouver International Airport to catch a Central Mountain Air jet to Williams Lake, where a van would meet us. The 20-30 seat plane stopped in Quesnel, a town 80 miles north of Williams Lake, off-loaded about half of the passengers, picked up a few more, and headed back south to Williams Lake. We deplaned, the previous guests from Camp boarded, and the plane returned to Vancouver. A real airbus!

Once in Williams Lake, we stopped for dinner before our four-hour ride to Bear Camp. We arrived at nearly 10 pm under dark, star-filled skies. Our hosts offered us drinks from the open bar, ran through the morning routine, and escorted us to our tent on a platform over the river, which is just a blank black opening in the trees under the stars.

Bear Camp

It was as if we had been blindfolded for the trip. In the morning, I opened the tent flap to a stunning landscape. A fellow traveler described it best, without hyperbole: “I was in awe the moment I woke up this morning, and I’ve been in awe all day.”

Every morning at 7:30, our guide Robert left two hot cups of coffee outside our tent with a cheerful “Good Morning!” Breakfast is at 8:30, so we can be in the field by 9:30.

Bear Camp is in the Ts’ilos Provincial Park, the aboriginal lands of the Xeni Gwet’in (“honey goo-teen) people. The Camp wants to be a good steward of the environment and the bears. In agreement with the tribe, the self-imposed guidelines are to only be on the river from 9:30 am-12:30 pm and 2:30 pm – 6 pm to give the bears time to prepare for winter without human disturbance. They purposefully avoid dawn and dusk, leaving this prime time for the bears. Other operators on the river don’t necessarily adhere to these guidelines. Time spent with any individual bear is limited to twenty minutes, a rule/guideline I’ve heard on other trips. The difference here is they actually abide by it. Lastly, they don’t approach bears within fifty meters (approx 160 feet).

There are nine guests here, four guides, a world-class chef, and Michele, who does all the things. Eight wall tents on a platform above the river allow for up to 16 guests. The main lodge has a dining room with one long table, a sitting area, a coffee bar, and a kitchen. Four fully plumbed bathrooms with showers are in another building. It’s posh.

The Experience

Each day, we have the choice of hiking to a small lake, hiking to a summit, boating the lake, drift-boating, jet-boating down the river, or kayaking the river. When they got to “wet suit and helmet,” I quit thinking about kayaking.

A landslide in July temporarily dammed the Chilcotin River. This change in topography, water flow, and perpetually warmer temperatures affects the salmon run. A small percent of the “normal” run is here a month later than expected. That’s nature. A strong berry crop has also resulted in bears preferring to stay on the mountains to eat. As a result, river bears are further from Camp (still down river), leaving the jet boats as the only reliable way to see bears this week. With fewer fish, the bears tend to eat where they are. When fish are more plentiful, the bears’ population is higher, and competition drives behavior. Bears grab their fish and then run to the cover of the forest to eat. We wouldn’t be able to watch them eat, but neither would their rivals.

So, it was by jet boat that we watched bears fishing daily, bundled up against the wind. Each day, increasing schools of bright red fish came up the river. Trying to photograph through the water from a moving boat is a challenge, but that’s part of the fun!

A Unique Location

I’m stunned at the beauty of the golden aspens against the deep turquoise blue river. The colors are unreal. I think I take the same picture each day, desperate to hold onto this beauty and this feeling of awe.

A widening in the river creates a pool of slow-moving water, shallows, and captivating reflections. And, of course, there are bears.

In the aspens. In the turquoise waters.

In the rapids. In the salmon. Every bear trip is unique. I never know how that will be until it happens. This trip is unique in its backdrop/habitat. Stay tuned for bear stories!

If you’re interested in purchasing or licensing any images you see here, please email me at SNewenham at exploringnaturephotos.com, and I’ll make it happen.

Subscribe here to receive an email whenever a new blog posts.

The post Bear Camp – British Columbia appeared first on Exploring Nature by Sheila Newenham.

We passed a lot of fish farms where Atlantic Salmon are raised.  The Atlantic Salmon are favored for farming because they are hardier than Pacific Salmon and grow faster.  However, they escape.  Sometimes with the help of hungry sea lions and orca who break into the nets.  The escaped salmon can out-compete the local, native salmon. Speculation points to the impact of the escapees and diseases introduced by these farms and as contributing to a faltering, local, recreational fishing industry.

As we arrived at Johnstone Strait, we stopped to scan the water for dorsal fins or the spray hanging in the air after a whale blows. We listened for the sounds of the whale’s blow, which can carry for a tremendous distance.  We were at the edge of Blackfish Sound, looking across to the Robson Bight Ecological Sanctuary, a protected marine sanctuary that closed to all boat traffic.  All of the water that passes through the Georgia Strait, the waterway between Vancouver Island and mainland Canada, first comes through this relatively narrow channel changing direction every 6 hours with the tides.

We listened to radio traffic from other whale watching boats, both commercial and scientific, to know where to look for the orca.  They move around a lot and are harder to find than the humpback whales that we’ve also come to see.  Indeed, the humpback whales proved to be rather ubiquitous.  We saw some Dall’s porpoises, whose coloring is strikingly similar to that of the orcas, and a few humpback whales as we cruised north toward where the orcas had been seen.

There were marine clouds and haze from the east filtering the morning sun casting a soft, pink light across the Sound. As we passed Foster Island and entered Queen Charlotte Strait, we caught our first glimpse of the tall, dark orca dorsal fins in the distance.

There were at least four, probably five, distinct family groups swimming about.

They seemed to be on the move without much clear direction.  Several other large whale watching boats were out here on the periphery, dwarfing our small boat of three.

It was beautifully calm and comfortable on the water this morning.

The whales are used to having an audience, so they didn’t pay us much attention, going about as usual. Their blows are so loud and forceful like a sneeze, the exhalation can be heard an amazing distance away.

They move gracefully, cutting quickly through the water with hardly a wake, always staying in a tight group.  We watched them for a while as they came past our boat, occasionally relocating to get a better vantage point.  It seems these resident orcas were probably chasing salmon, hence their helter skelter paths.

According to the Telegraph Cove whale museum, there are about 740 orca in the Northern Johnstone Strait population.  The resident population, more appropriately called “fish-eaters”, has about 300 individuals.  These are the orca that people come to see.  They coordinate to hunt salmon by vocalizing, slapping the sea surface with their tales (as the series of pictures above shows), and sometimes breaching, all to disorient the fish they’re hunting.  They are also more social with each other and spend more time at the surface.   The transient population, who are not transients at all, are more appropriately called “mammal-eaters”.  They travel in small family groups of three adults.  Their prey is primarily porpoises that they sneak up on from below.  Therefore, they are usually only seen while eating or after celebrating a meal.  An impressive display to be sure.  These two distinct groups never interact and are now thought to be a separate species (it’s been more than 750,000 years since they’ve exchanged DNA).

We stopped in Telegraph Cove, a former fishing/canning town of about 20, that is now a major kick off point for kayaking, whale watching and fishing trips. It is on Vancouver Island proper and hosts a large campground and the aforementioned whale museum. As we left Telegraph Cove, our guide, looking at the navigation app on his phone, said he’d like to try a short cut.  Our guide had proven himself, time and again, to be completely lacking in all guiding skills.  We’d taken to calling him, “The Dude”.  So, I smiled and said, “Sure!” with enthusiasm.  Rob shot me a look.  We’re here for adventure after all, and I think this plan is sure to provide it!

We ended up in a small cove with islets on three sides of us.  There was a small passage between two of the islands at the back of the cove.  This was the short cut. As we headed through the cove, we saw a large flock of gulls and auklets circling and diving into the water.  A bait ball!  Our guide slowly steered our boat into the herring ball.  We could see the birds swimming through the water beneath the surface as they dove after the fish.  They were right next to the boat.  It was amazing.  Then all at once a loud rush of water suddenly demanded our attention.  A humpback whale’s enormous, open mouth was breaking the water’s surface as he scooped up fish, TWENTY feet from the bow of the boat.  A bait ball!  As his mouth closed, he let his weight slowly pull his body back under the water and he sank away. The birds continued to dive into the water in a frenzy, grabbing herring by the mouthful. We stood in amazement waiting to see where he’d surface again.  At this point, all we could do was drift and wait.  We shouldn’t be in this bait ball, but moving at this point is more dangerous than staying put.  Then the rush of water as his mouth broke the surface again.  I had my 70-300 zoom lens on my camera and only part of the whale’s head fills the frame at 70mm.  Too close!

With a mouth full of herring, the whale sank back into the water again.  Then he began to move across the cove.  The birds were a beacon to the herring ball and whale below.  The whale brought his show to some kayakers traversing the far side of the cove.

We think this whale is bubble feeding.  It’s a common behavior seen in individuals here, and in coordinated groups up in Alaska.  The whales dive deep and then swim in a circle, releasing bubbles as they go.  They ring the fish in these bubble nets and then charge through the column of trapped fish, mouth agape to scoop them up.  Of course, the birds take advantage of this cluster of trapped fish, too.

Even eagles will fish this way.  One of the other groups at our lodge saw an eagle grab 5 fish, 3 in one foot and 2 in the other, out of a herring ball.  It’s an amazing coordination of effort that feeds so many.

After our gray whale experiences in Baja, I thought I was ruined for whale watching forever.  I should’ve known better.  Mother Nature always has something new in store for those who stop, look and listen.

The post A Whale of a Surprise appeared first on Exploring Nature by Sheila Newenham.

The covered upper deck, behind the wheelhouse, is open to the air and was crowded when we boarded.  As we set sail, cruising westward into the wind at 12 knots, the deck quickly cleared as people went inside to escapoe the wind and cold.  Few people, and three well-traveled dogs, remained on the quiet, outside deck.  Some coffee from the ship’s café helped to keep us warm.

We passed fishing camps, curious Steller sea lions, and a couple of colonies of harbor seals hauled out on the rocks.

Two and a half hours later, we docked in Friendly Cove on Nootka Island.  Westward, there is nothing but sea from Nootka Island to Japan.  A free-ranging island dog met the boat and was very excited to find canine visitors aboard.  He howled and howled on the pier waiting for us to tie up and attach the ramp so he could welcome them.

Nootka Island is owned and inhabited by the First Nations people.  There is a modern lighthouse, a historic church, a few subsistence residences – including a master carver, and a half dozen rustic, dry cabins.

We made our way down a mulched, forested path toward the far end of the Pacific coast beach.

As most of the people stayed near the pier, we felt like we had the island to ourselves.  We passed an inland lake, a small cemetery, and the cabins before the trail ended at the beach.  We found this big log on the edge of the rocky beach, a perfect bench for our lunch.  Given the amount of bear scat near it, we weren’t the only ones who thought this was a good spot!

After lunch, Rob read the Nootka Sounder newspaper and I walked the beach.  Unbeknownst to each other at the time,  we each took pictures of the other enjoying our adventure in our own way!

The tide had just started to recede.  You never know what it will leave behind.  I could have spent the whole afternoon wandering this small stretch of beach.  There were beautiful rocks in so many colors, jellyfish, driftwood, kelp, mussels, crab shells and more.

On this big, exposed rock lives one tree and an active hornet’s nest.  It seems like a tough place for either of them to survive.

On the way back to the ship, we encountered a noisy flock of cedar waxwings and then stopped to watch a sea otter feeding on crab in the Cove.

Back at the ship, some reluctant kayakers loaded and then we cruised back to Gold River.

In this direction, we were going 12 knots with the wind.  The net effect made for calm air.  The deck was quite comfortable and the sun was even starting to break through the smoky haze.

It was a wonderful day of adventure on Vancouver Island’s rugged west coast.

The post Nootka Island Day Cruise appeared first on Exploring Nature by Sheila Newenham.

Seabirds glided over the surface of the water as an occasional harbor seal, with their puppy dog face, would pop up to watch us pass.

Along the way, we saw a large colony of harbor seals with pups hauled out on a large rock.

We also stopped to watch two black bears feeding on the barnacles and mussels exposed by the low tide.  One bear was on the beach, alternatively rubbing on a newly exposed log and eating from it.

The other bear was on the rocks at the water line. As we drifted in the water, alone in the Sound, the scraping of bear teeth against the rocks and shells pierced the silence.  The grinding of his teeth chewing on those sharp shells made us cringe.  What a harsh way to get a meal.  Literally.

The bears were focused on their food and paid little attention to us.  We watched these bears for a little bit before continuing on to our destination.

As we arrived at Rick’s dock, we were greeted by 60-something Rick and his apprentice, Felix (read about Felix here).

We walked from the dock down a trail, over a rock slide, and through a dry creek bed to the truck.  The four of us, Felix, Kevin (our guide), Rob and I, packed ourselves into the tiny pickup and slowly rocked and rolled over an old, long-since-used, logging road.  We stopped for a bear in the “road” who didn’t seem to know what to make of us and didn’t care either, which meant he stayed on the road.  When he started walking towards us, Felix easily shooed him with the horn.  It’s never good to let bears get too comfortable around people.  On we went to where to road ended at the river.  Then we got out and walked a short trail to two boats tied up at the shore.

These boats are old, metal and “sort of leak”.  Felix bailed the boat enough that we could get in without the water overtopping our boots.

Kevin stood on the bow of the closer boat and Felix stood at the back of the second boat.  Rob stepped onto the tree root that anchored the shore and then into the first boat.  The wave from his weight as the boat pushed lower into the water caused the boat to pull away from the line that Kevin was holding.  The result was that Kevin’s feet on the boat were going out from underneath him as he did a backbend to maintain his grasp on the rope.  I thought for sure that he was going to fall into the cold river. Rob reflexively grabbed Kevin by his vest, allowing him to stabilize as the boat stopped moving.  Rob then stepped into the second boat and sat down. “OK, Sheila, get in”, Felix said.  “I am not excited about this”, I replied.  With Kevin in one boat and Rob in the other providing counterweights to my movement, I was able to step off the root down onto the bow of the first boat and then onto the seat of the second boat without any tottering.  Whew!  Once we were all in the boat, Felix pulled us across the river using the overhead lines strung across it.  The far side landing was on a nice sandy beach. Easy!

From there we walked a narrow, rustic trail through a beautiful, lichen-covered alder forest to Trapper Rick’s cabin.

There used to be a car bridge that crossed the river here and Rick used to rent the cabin. The bridge has long been impassible.  It’s too hard to keep up the cabin without that kind of access.  It has a great porch, but the inside belongs to the mice now.  The cabin sits atop a bend in the river at a waterfall.  The view downriver is extraordinary.

There is an old cement fish ladder along this side of the falls.  When the salmon run later in the month, the bears will pick them out of the pools in the fish ladder like shopping at a grocery store.  We hung out here taking in the peace and beauty of this place.

A couple of helicopters broke the silence, flying low overhead.  They bring people out here to fish, which causes a lot of friction with Rick, who no longer traps but instead hosts these bear viewing tours.  (I’m helping to save pine martens by bear watching. Win-win!).

Since there wasn’t any bear activity here, we hiked a little further down the river.  We started in the alder forest which quickly gave way to mixed woods with thorny devil’s club and berries lining the meager trail.  Because the trail is so narrow through dense woods, and we are, after all, looking for bears, Felix cautioned us to stay together in a tight group.  Our hike took us into an old cedar and fir forest, with an open, moss-carpeted floor that feels spongy under foot.  It looks like something from a fairy tale.  We emerged at the river’s edge and climbed up to sit on top of a large boulder.  There are quiet, babbling riffles right here.  The sound of the falls we just left can be heard faintly in the distance, like the wind rustling through trees.  The sun is warm in the cloudless sky.  Spring salmon are launching themselves fully out of the water as they make their way upstream.  These are Chinook or King salmon, also known as spring salmon for the way they spring into the air like this.  This is such a beautiful spot.

Suddenly, a tall, lanky, skinny bear appeared out of the bushes across the river and immediately turned up along the riverbank.

He is walking the river’s edge with purpose, crossing fallen trees and ambling over boulders.  He is only in view for a minute or two before he disappears around a bend.  He is so lean that he looks more like a black bear than a grizzly.  We lingered here a while longer, hoping for some more activity and then hiked back to the cabin for a picnic lunch.

When we arrived back at the cabin, Felix went down the side trail for a safety check of the fish ladder and lower falls.  If there were a bear down there, we wouldn’t be able to see it from the cabin.  Felix reappeared, gesturing wildly and silently.  We hurried behind him.  There was a bear walking along the edge of the cement fish ladder, checking the pools for fish. He was coming up river towards us.

Felix calmly said, “Hey, bear” just to let him know we were here and that we are just people.  The bear turned and went to the bottom of the falls.

He seemed like he wanted to cross the river but was hesitant.  He looked across and then back several times.  Then he sat on the shore and scratched his neck.  He sat here, facing the opposite shore, for a little bit looking longingly to the other side.  Then he stood up and started across the river.  He stepped from rock to rock until he was near the middle.

He stopped and scratched again, then yawned.  These are classic signs of conflict in dogs – conflict between what they want and the situation they are in.  It is amazing to be able to read these same behaviors in a wild grizzly.  Anyone watching could see that this bear wanted to be on the other side without swimming across. Then he lowered himself into the river and swam confidently across.

He lingered in a small pool in the middle of the falls on the other side.  It’s a good spot to find resting fish who are fighting their way up the falls.  No luck today.  He moved slowly down the far shore of the river, wading in the shallows, looking for an easy fish.  Having no success fishing that side, he decided to cross back to our side.  Again, he reluctantly moved from rock to rock until he got to mid-river.  Then he paused, scratched and placed his four feet together underneath his body.

He was gathering up his courage.  I thought he was going to leap over this stretch of water!  He hopped forward onto a submerged rock and swam the rest of the way.  Once back to our side of the river, he continued moseying downstream until a river bend took him out of sight.

We headed back up to the cabin to enjoy our lunch on the porch and while away the rest of the afternoon.   We talked about living in the wilds here, about wildlife conservation, about people who live peacefully among predators (bears, cougars, African lions, etc), travel, photography, dogs and more.  There wasn’t a lot of bear activity here, which is to be expected this time of year.  When the salmon run at the end of August, the river will be busy with bears. But it is a beautiful, serene place that will make you see more clearly than ever before.

The river crossing on the way back was uneventful.  The leak was slow enough that Felix didn’t even need to bail again.  When we arrived back at the dock, we surprised a momma merganser and her 6 ducklings.  She startled and immediately dove.  When she surfaced, she began calling frantically for her ducklings to follow.  They are too young to dive and paddled madly to keep up with her as they all swam away.  She should talk to the bears to know that we don’t mean them any harm.

We were an hour late returning to the lodge, an hour spent gloriously along the Kakweikan River.

The post Looking for Grizzlies along the Kakweikan River appeared first on Exploring Nature by Sheila Newenham.

We flew about 45 minutes northwest over the archipelago of small islands that mark the ends of the fjords along Canada’s wild west coast.  I thought we were headed out to a remote wilderness lodge. It’s all relative, I suppose.  All of the lands that we flew over had evidence of logging.  Every isolated island.

There is regular boat traffic through the strait and the many channels that hold the islands– we even flew over a huge cruise ship and this successful whale watching tour.

We flew over our destination on Minstrel Island as we corkscrewed down from our cruising altitude of 4500 feet to prepare to land on the water.  I thought we were coming in hot as we hit the water headed right for the lodge.  Once the floats hit the water we slowed,  and as they sank into the water a little bit we abruptly came to a crawl.  The water really stops the momentum in a hurry!  We pulled up to the dock and were greeted by the staff of the lodge.

We spent three nights here, each day a different adventure.  We were lucky to stay in a one room cabin hanging on the edge of the island looking across the channel to the fjord.

Standing at the cabin door the windows only reveal water and mountains; the land tucked underneath is hidden from view.

I took this sunrise picture from bed one morning.  That’s my kind of dawn photography!

We shared our time at the lodge with two couples from Brussels, a family of five from the UK, and a pine marten who lives next to/under our cabin.  At the family style dinners, all gathered around a large table we shared our different experiences, customs, perspectives, and lifestyles.  The Brits and Belgians were particularly amused by the phrase, “Pardon my reach” and used it with a giggle as often as possible.  I expanded my culinary horizons and tried marmite spread, the British version of vegemite (although they don’t appreciate the comparison).  It’s difficult to describe.  You’ll have to try it yourself!

The now dilapidated property next door to the lodge was once a bustling hotel in the heydays of logging and salmon-canning. It also housed a bar and a brothel that attracted men from miles around. As the canning factories closed, so did the compound here.  Now it is government owned and provides a rare opportunity for free mooring as long as you don’t require any services such as fuel or power.  We took a walk through the mossy cedar forest over to the docks to explore one evening.

This was a great home base for our adventures in and around Knight Inlet.

The post Minstrel Island, British Columbia appeared first on Exploring Nature by Sheila Newenham.