Which tour to take? The all-day ecosystem, whale and wildlife tour only happens a few times per year, with only one sailing in the spring. The coincidence that it falls during the four days of my trip removes any hesitation about which tour to book.

The Orca Behavior Institute researchers had recently posted about a trip with Maya’s Legacy, which is what brought me to their website in the first place. The Orca Behavior Institute‘s endorsement lends credibility for solid wildlife stewardship and success in finding said wildlife.

Despite the five-day forecast prediction for 50° and showers, the day of our adventure arrived warm and cloudless – a comfortable, gorgeous Pacific Northwest day!

The Adventure Begins

With three guides, two researchers and ten guests aboard, our first stop was Spieden Island, reliable for Steller sea lions basking on the rocks. Only the males haul out here. As we drift past cormorants and harlequin ducks, someone spots a family of river otters! They weren’t too comfortable with us stopping to stare, but soon settled back into whatever mischief they were up to when we spotted them porpoising along the shoreline.

Spieden Island

In 1969, Spieden Island was developed to be an exclusive hunting camp. Mouflon sheep from the Middle East, Asian Sika deer and European Fallow deer were imported. In 1970, the media were invited to tour the new posh operation. Outrage ensued. The proverbial “fish in a barrel”, stray bullets reaching inhabited San Juan Island. The business never succeeded. The sheep and deer remain.

Orcas!

Sailing north into Canadian waters, we came across a pod of six Bigg’s Orcas cruising with intention through Shingle Bay. We stayed parallel to their path, 200 yards away. Unlike so many other outfitter guides who, similarly, aren’t allowed to approach wildlife, so instead put themselves in the animals’ path, our captain and all the other whale-watching boats out here stay out of the orcas’ path. When the orca change course, so do we, always exceeding the minimum allowable distance. It’s refreshing, and in my experience, rare, to have a company practice what it preaches in this regard. There are countless individuals and entities protective of these whales, and there is always someone watching. It’s good for the whales. Also, I forgot my long lens at home.Hear the blow, see the spray, watch the dorsal fin arc out of the water and then sink straight down. The rhythm of the movement is comforting, mesmerizing. Using the unique shapes of their white saddle patches and white eye patches, our guides identified this group as T90 with her three offspring (T90B, T90C and T90D) and unrelated brothers T167A and T167B. The “T” is for transient; now, more appropriately called Biggs.

Decades ago, we thought there were resident orca pods and transient orca pods. This location-based designation didn’t hold up as our knowledge grew. Both of these orca species travel widely and can share the same waters, although they are culturally and genetically distinct. They don’t socialize, breed or intermingle at all. The number indicates the oldest known female, the matriarch, and the letters indicate her offspring in birth order.

At the Navy Channel, the orcas turn back. The captain cuts the engine, not quite sure which direction they went. They resurface a distance behind us. Based on their behavior and the lack of any sustained hunting or surface commotion during the hunt or kill, our experts suspect the pod caught a harbor seal. Bigg’s orcas are mammal specialists, feeding on seals, sealions, porpoises and whales.

And then, they play. Spy-hopping, tail-slapping, cavorting. It looks like the relief of success after hard work and an uncertain outcome.

People who live along this channel all stopped what they were doing to watch the orcas play.

They settled, then moved on past us, through the channel, passing in front of Mount Baker. We left them there to see what else the Salish Sea had to show us.

Social Structure

Orcas form matrilineal groups, called pods. Pods consist of the matriarch, the oldest living female, and her offspring. Each pod has their own dialect. Pods will temporarily join together, forming large groups of dozens of individuals.

Biggs tend to travel in small family groups of three to seven individuals, consisting of immediate offspring. When a Biggs daughter has her own calf, she will then soon start her own pod. Unique in animal social structure, males stay with their mother for life. They visit other pods to breed and then return to their mother’s pod. Resident orcas live in larger family pods that can include up to four generations. These are close-knit, highly structured families. The resident orcas are fish specialists and, in the Pacific Northwest, feed almost exclusively on Chinook salmon. There are three pods of resident orcas here: J pod (27 individuals), K pod (15 individuals) and L pod (34 individuals). These Southern Resident Killer Whales were listed as endangered in 2015 largely due to declining salmon populations. This population of orcas ranges from Northern California to British Columbia. (There is a thriving Northern Resident population off the Pacific coast of Canada. These two populations of orcas are genetically distinct and do not interbreed). The J Pod winters in the Salish Sea, while K Pod and L Pod travel to the waters of Northern California. In the summers, they all meet in Puget Sound, in a superpod to reconnect and feast on Chinook salmon. That would be something to see!

On our way back toward Friday Harbor, we passed some harbor seal haulouts. These are the puppies of the sea. Just look at those eyes!

And rhinoceros auklets. They are related to puffins and, in my opinion, among the more exotic of our seabirds. This was a special encounter for me!

Heading into the Haro Strait along San Juan Island, we came upon another pod of orcas. This is T123 with her three offspring. T123, Sydney, was born in 1985 to T46, one of the last killer whales to be captured in US waters, destined for life in depressingly small marine park pools.

This capture of the Budd Inlet Six led to legislation outlawing the capture of killer whales, and these six orcas were released back into the wild. T46 lived to be at least 57 years old, wild and free. I am watching these four orcas today only because of those protections. We’ve come a long way.

There was much to see and much to learn on this sunny, warm spring day out on the Salish Sea with Maya’s Legacy.

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The post Salish Sea Orcas appeared first on Exploring Nature by Sheila Newenham.

It’s the network of the oceans, much like mycelium is the network of forests. Twenty-five percent of the ocean’s fish depend on coral reefs for food, shelter, and nurseries for their young.

It’s easy to quickly pass by corals, dismissing them as responseless vegetation, a garden that fish, rays, and marine mammals cruise through. But the “plants” are animals! It’s all alive.

Isn’t the star coral beautiful!? All of these worms will tuck into a hole and disappear when predators (and snorkelers) get too close.

Now that I know, I slowly move over the coral, looking closely. I always find something beautiful, fascinating, and new to me.

Here’s what I’ve learned.

Hard Corals

Hard coral is composed of calcium carbonate (the rock-like stuff) that forms the framework for thousands of polyp colonies. These polyps are animals with a body and a mouth that feed on plankton and tiny fish. It is these colonies of polyps that form coral. 

The healthy coral we see is a result of symbiosis with algae, a relationship that benefits both organisms. The algae live within the polyps and are what give coral its color. Algae produce carbohydrates that the polyps use for food. The coral provides a protected environment for the algae and aids in its photosynthesis.

Soft Corals

Soft corals rely on a flexible, protein-based mesoglea (jelly-like core) reinforced by sclerites, tiny, spiky calcium structures for support. Look at all those tiny polyps on the purple stalks of the sea plume!!

Sea Sponges

Another marine invertebrate that you might not associate with the animal kingdom is the sea sponge. They are filter feeders, structured with canals, chambers, and cavities that enable water to move through the sponge for feeding, gas exchange (“breathing”), and excretion. Sponge larvae are flagellated and can swim; however, adults are non-motile and remain attached to a single spot.

There are flat sponges and tube sponges. They are all so unique in structure, color, pattern, and texture. There are over 5000 known species of sponges inhabiting all of the world’s oceans.

Other Atypical Reef Animals

Some of my other favorite animals in coral reef ecosystems are anemones and sea urchins. Anemones are predatory invertebrate marine animals related to corals and jellyfish. Their mouths are surrounded by stinging tentacles that enable them to prey upon small animals such as fish, crabs, shrimp, and jellyfish. They can be found in deep seas and the intertidal zone, too, where they contract and fold their tentacles into their bodies to avoid drying out until the water returns.

There are 950 species of sea urchins, who like anemones, live from intertidal zones to deep seas. Urchins crawl along on tube feet, feeding on algae and sponges. They come in a variety of colors, long-spined and short-spined, pencil-thick and needle-thin. These dramatic creatures are usually found tucked away within a reef, making them difficult to photograph.

Next time you have the opportunity to see a reef, either below water, from a dock, or tidepooling, stop and stare. You will be amazed!

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The post The Fantastic Life of Coral appeared first on Exploring Nature by Sheila Newenham.

The snowshoe hare, on the other hand, well, I was reminded of the killer bunny scene in Monty Python’s The Holy Grail.

In 2014, on a trail in Rocky Mountain National Park, a showshoe hare charged toward me. I wondered with confusion how this was going to play out when he stopped, regarded me for a moment, and then ran off into the woods just over a yard away from me.

I had a similar experience this summer while hiking the Sherman Peak Loop Trail in eastern Washington. As the trail snaked up the mountain, I rounded a curve to see a snowshoe hare sitting on the trail. I stopped. The hare didn’t move. Suddenly, he bolted in my direction. I wasn’t sure what his intention was when he slowed and came right at me. Initially, I thought he was going to blow past me. I was simply between him and a preferred hiding spot, a warren or a family. I stomped my foot as he stopped next to me, and he startled, disappearing into the brush. I’m not quite sure whether he touched my pant leg or not. It all happened so fast!

What is it with the snowshoe hare?!? I’m reminded of an exotic animal veterinarian who remarked, “If rabbits had canine teeth, they would rule the world.”

Starting up the connector trail, I thought, “This must be the bobcat’s favorite trail,” because of the frequency of feline scat along the route. Joining the loop on the east side, the habitat is dark and wet with a few mosquitoes. Small rivulets trickle across my path.

The forest opens up to a rock slide dotted with dense stands of willows, where I talk aloud as I hike so as not to surprise wildlife – snowshoe hare or otherwise.

Elk sign becomes prevalent along the way, and the mountainside is covered with huckleberry bushes. Two people on muleback, going downhill, pass me. Mules are perfect for this rugged terrain. As I continued to climb, rounding along the south side, wildflowers began to flank the trail. Although it’s called the Sherman Peak Loop, I expected it to loop around the peak. But with all of this elevation gain, I’m beginning to wonder if the peak isn’t part of the loop!

The route levelled out at 1150 feet from where I started, 6400 feet above sea level, in an area of meadows, with lupine and pine trees. There’s mountain lion scat on the trail. I stop to look for any other signs of this beauty. I find that I’m more at ease where the trail traverses treed slopes thick with windfall. It seems like animals are less likely to hang out there, but these broad, park-like flat areas are easy-going for all of the animals that call this mountain home. It makes me a little uneasy.

From this side of the mountain, there are views southward for days. I can almost see my house from here!

Passing the Kettle Crest trail junction, I round onto the west side. I leave the forest and stop in awe at the expansive fields of wildflowers – lupine, buckwheat, paintbrush.

The ground squirrels are chastising me, chattering from their lookouts downslope. I keep stopping to marvel at the beauty.

The carpets of flowers get more dramatic with each step. I can’t afford to linger as much as I’d like because I got a late start today.

Leaving the meadows, I enter a dense stand of young trees crowding the trail. Again, I’m talking to myself, nature, no one, and everyone. My bear spray is at hand, but it’s best that I don’t need it. I’m curving around to the north side on a gentle descent, again seeing the bobcat-sized feline scat that was so common at the outset. There’s another snowshoe hare just off the path. It’s not until this moment, when I see the scat and the hare together, that it clicks.

Snowshoe hares are lynx’s favorite prey. This could be lynx scat!!

When I get back to civilization, I learn that I was hiking in the Colville National Forest Lynx Recovery Zone! My first lynx (scat) encounter!!

This loop has been a wonderful trip through a diversity of habitats. Over three hours and five-and-a-half miles, every step was a delight.

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The post Sherman Peak Loop Trail 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.

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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.

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

Antelope Island State Park

Antelope Island is a small rise of land, 4 1/2 miles wide and 15 miles long, within the salt flats and receding waters of the Great Salt Lake. It’s dusty and barren, but more comfortable than the thermometer would suggest. A light breeze is keeping the mosquitoes and brine flies at bay. The native grassland and sagebrush habitat here is perfect for nesting burrowing owls. These owls at Antelope Island are migratory, wintering in Mexico and returning here to breed each summer for eons. They share this landscape with bison, pronghorn, coyotes, badgers, and countless other bird species.

The Owl’s Burrow

After getting distracted by horned larks (a first for me!), singing western meadowlarks, a suspicious chukar, and a photogenic lark sparrow, I turned up a short spur road.

Driving slowly, windows down, camera in my lap at the ready, I’m scanning the hills and boulders. I spot a lone owl atop a grassy mound – a dark, soda-can shape in an otherwise linear gold landscape. I slowed to a stop to look more closely through binoculars. This owl is off the right side of the road. I slowly drove past, causing him to scrunch down and hide in place. 

A second owl is closer to the road, resting at the large opening of an underground burrow. I continued past her without stopping. Still, she recedes into the safety of the burrow. Further away, I turned around to come back and position myself parked on the opposite side of the road where I’d be able to watch from the driver’s seat of the car. I drove slowly over the gravel road, hugging the shoulder to give them space. Once in position with a clear view of the burrow, I turn off the car. I don’t look back at the burrow for several minutes. I’m allowing them time to get comfortable with my presence. I’m just here, not paying any attention to them. I read my messages, checked in for my flight home, and otherwise busied myself with my back to the owls.

Burrowing Owl Monitoring

Hawk Watch International monitors twenty-four artificial burrows on the island out of concern that the weight of roaming bison were crushing the natural burrows. Burrowing owls don’t dig their own nest holes. They use abandoned dens of other animals, like badgers and prairie dogs. Each successful nest hatches two to twelve eggs. In 2023, Hawk Watch International banded 81 owlets from 63 burrows. Last year, they banded 192 owlets! 

Burrrowing owls, like many birds, pair-bond for life. They both incubate and care for the owlets, with the mother staying at the burrow and the father standing guard from further away.

The Owl Family

After some time passed, I turned back toward the burrow and gasped! Four owlets and their mother stood outside the burrow!

Typically, nestlings don’t appear above ground until mid-June. Imagine my surprise and delight to see four wide-eyed, downy-feathered youngsters on June 2nd!

They interact like all the other juvenile species I’ve been fortunate to observe – bear cubs, puppies, lion cubs, mice, people, kittens, and more. They all behave in the same ways.

They pick on each other, pulling at feathers, stealing “toys,” and chasing one another.

Their personalities are evident. The most assertive owlet ranges a bit further from the burrow, spending a lot of time hunting insects.

A couple of them test their mom’s patience, poking at her, pulling at her feathers, and grooming her. She’s stoic through it all.

I was here two evenings ago, and only one owlet was above ground. She is noticeably more confident today, no longer scurrying underground at every little rustle or movement. 

Today, she only ducked for cover once, but reappeared rather quickly. The other three are not as comfortable with their new above-ground world. They hunker down at the burrow edge, peering out at their sibling and mother, who didn’t even flinch at the supposed hazard.

Over the next hour, I watched this family live their lives. There are likely more owlets in the burrow who have yet to venture out. This nest had nine owlets that fledged last year. These kids will spend the next four weeks here learning about life, and then they’ll venture off on their own.

A Measured Approach Pays Off

A minivan with four photographers I’d seen earlier turns up the road toward me. I pull my camera in as much to protect it from the dust as conceal my subjects. All of the owls retreat underground as they roll past. They turned around, as I had, and parked behind me. All a-chatter, two of them immediately get out. The driver even opens her door and leaves it ajar as she prepares to shoot from her seat. It’s inconsiderate of the owls and detrimental to their goals, too. Some time passes before the mother peers from the burrow entrance. I waited twenty more minutes. The owlets never did come back out. This is the difference between a conscientious, measured approach and an overzealous attempt to “get the shot.” It only takes a few minutes of patience, quiet stillness, and thoughtful action to be accepted. Instead, they remained outsiders to this burrowing owl family’s fascinating life.

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The post Burrowing Owls at Antelope Island appeared first on Exploring Nature by Sheila Newenham.

She and her two 15-month-old kittens are taking turns feeding on a guanaco kill. When one cat moves off to groom and nap, another moves in.

Petaka is another of Rupestre’s offspring from the same litter as Dania. Female kittens often stay around, sharing overlapping territories with their mother and sisters. Males disperse widely, leaving their relatives behind. This is how nature ensures genetic diversity.

The 15-month-old male was feeding when Petaka returned to eat. They fed together until there was some unseen infraction.

Petaka hissed. The kitten paused. Feeding soon resumed.

Moments later, Petaka cuffed him on the head with her paw. He shrank down low and did not move a muscle for several minutes in deference.

From over the hill out of sight, the sounds of arguing guanacos fill the air. It catches the kitten’s attention. They perk up, heads raised, alert, ears forward. They pause a moment as if to process what’s happening and then slink silently to the top of the hill and disappear from sight.

When Petaka leaves the kill this time, she does not cover it. They are done. She moves off to the right along the ridge, calling, calling, calling for her kids to follow. 

She can see the kittens who are out of my sight, off to the left, and down the ravine. Yet, they don’t respond.

After thirty minutes of persistent calling, she turns back to retrieve them. By the time I get to the edge where I can see them, the greetings – rubbing, head-bunting, purring – are over. I knelt down to watch.

Suddenly, Petaka, trailed by her two grown kittens, began coming right toward me. As she casually closed the distance. I lowered my camera to be fully in this moment. She never held eye contact, but she kept coming, making me wonder if she would brush past me or how this would play out.

At the last moment, she stepped off the trail and walked through our group, with her kittens in tow. All three of them indifferent to our small crowd.

It is the most intimate experience to be accepted and, simultaneously, ignored by wildlife. In their eyes, I’m not good or bad, not something to be sought out or avoided, just another part of their world. As it should be. Human beings are not separate from nature. We are nature.

The family moved to a seasonal stream for a drink, grooming, and a nap. It’s a distinct, lush, green oasis amid the brown landscape of fall.

The caracaras are chattering as they feed at the abandoned carcass. Even though she’s done with it, Petaka cannot help herself and goes back to shoo them off.

She pauses for the iconic “puma in front of the towers” photo. Of course, she does; she’s a superstar.

Then Petaka turns 90° and once again comes right at me. This time, she’s staring me in the eye as she pads toward me. “Nobody move”, the guide softly instructs. She gets to make all the decisions here. The last thing we want to do is startle her or become unpredictable in her mind.

Her posture is relaxed, her eyes soft, her movement fluid. So, despite her eye contact, it’s not unnerving like when a bear looks me in the eye, but it’s decidedly different than the previous encounter.

Again, she steps around us, uttering the softest of churs after she passes by. Oh! My! God!

Our guide, Diego,  jokingly asks to check my pockets for meat. I said, “My friend Jane Goodall told me they sense my spirit.”

“Ah, you come by it honestly, then,” Diego replied. “She smells your heart.” He gestured, inhaling deeply as he drew his hand from his chest towards his nose and outward.

I love that! She smells my heart.

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The post The Puma Petaka appeared first on Exploring Nature by Sheila Newenham.

Elephant seals are not adept – or effective, really – in locomotion on land. They ride the surf, patiently letting the waves carry them as far onto the beach as possible until each successive wave ceases to buoy them forward.

Then, the hard work begins. They shimmy—each effort sending a ripple through their blubber from head to toe. In the fifteen feet between the surf line and the seal pile, this one stopped to rest FIVE times!

At times, they are remarkably tolerant of another 2000 – 3000 pound animal joining the heap. Is it the price to pay for warmth on this chilly day? Other times, some small slight results in the ostracizing of one of the (relatively) smaller ones.

Their impressive roars rise above the blustering surf. A flotilla of harbor seals with their innocent puppy dog eyes lingers offshore, bobbing in the waves.I’m watching in the rain from the elephant seal overlook at Chimney Rock. I took an unexpected detour on my bobcat search (cats don’t like to be out in the rain) to see if the seals were here yet. I’d never seen one – or heard one – before. Their chatter is even more impressive than their size and comical facial features.

I am motivated to drive around and down to Drake’s Beach, the hot spot for elephant seal viewing in January and February, to see if there are any hauled out there yet. Although the beach will be closed to give the elephant seals the space they need and to protect people from themselves, I would still be much, much closer to these fascinating blubbery sea beasts.

Alas, the beach is open and empty. In the cold, windy December rain, I am alone. I have to come back this way one day to coincide with the peak viewing to get a closer look at the behavior and personality of these unique California Elephant seals.

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The post California Elephant Seals appeared first on Exploring Nature by Sheila Newenham.

For over twenty years, I’ve been watching and photographing bears in the wild as a benign part of the landscape, largely ignored by these impressive animals going about their lives. The two following videos illustrate that. These two bears couldn’t be concerned less about the people in their environment. I did not approach these bears. I was sitting or standing in place when they came along. It is not safe for anyone to approach any bear this close.  This is only okay only because it was the bear’s choice.

Below: We yielded the creekside path to his bear when we saw her approaching.  She wanted to graze in the meadow where we stood. We slowly backed out of her way as she led her cubs to graze in front of us (anglers can be seen on the opposite side of the water).

This year, I saw the other side—the dangerous side—the bear of media, TV, and movies—the one that most people think is every bear.

Bears that haven’t been hunted or persecuted view people as just another part of the landscape unless they have something to defend—food, family, space. And they don’t like to be surprised in close spaces. Today, I safely watched a large boar aggressively defend a fresh carcass.

As the jet boat slowly moved up the river, I saw a bear along the far shoreline. We were heading back to camp at the end of the day. As the boat drew closer, the bear started jaw-popping – a classic sign of stress. I said to the guide, “He’s stressed about us. Let’s not go over there.” Just as the words left my mouth, a bright red object caught my eye. My first thought was trash. It’s such a pristine environment, though. I pulled my binoculars to my eyes to see an exposed, bloody ribcage next to the bear. The bear was now standing squared up, in a wide stance, facing directly toward us, head hung low, saliva covering his lips. He is staring intently. Intimidatingly. Daring us to come closer. This wasn’t a shy bear concerned about some people in a boat. He was assertively defending his food cache! 

The reality of the situation unfolded within a minute of the first sight of the bear. I exclaimed, ” This is how people die!” He would have charged if we were on foot at this distance or had surprised him hiking along a winding willowy trail. What might amount to a reprimand from an 800-pound bear with six-inch claws to another bear tends to be a fatal blow to our soft human bodies.The guide was now concerned about our location. We were in the middle of a wide river, but it was shallow —very shallow. The bear could quickly run out to us without being substantially slowed by the need to swim. Yet, we were 80 yards away with a gas-powered engine. This is the effect of the intimidation of a dangerous bear. The bear settled onto his cache, still on full alert. At this distance, we are not threatening enough to risk him leaving his carcass. I grabbed a few quick photos to analyze the scene once we were back at camp. Then, we left this bear with his much-needed calories. The whole encounter lasted 5 minutes.

The next day, not much remained of the carcass, and the bear was nowhere to be seen. Of course, no one was volunteering to take a closer look!

It was a different side of bear behavior and an amazing thing to witness. Every trip and every experience gives me more insight into the lives of these charismatic animals. It took me twenty years and countless interactions with wild bears before I saw any sign of real aggression toward a person. That speaks to how rare bear attacks are.

In all of North America, for all of the people recreating, living, and working in bear country, there are, on average, eleven bear attacks per year. Bears’ success in putting on a solid threat display, along with sensational stories and cultural lore, makes us overestimate their danger. Bears would rather avoid people; most of the time, they do just that without us ever knowing we’ve crossed paths.

“Remove humans as a threat to survival, i.e., no hunting or trapping, give it a couple of generations, and you generally find an ecosystem content to look at you like any other animal in their world.” -Jared Lloyd, naturalist & photographer

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.

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The post A Dangerous Bear 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.

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