The Ultimate Way to Spot Grizzly Bears in the Wild
Spot eagles, orcas and bears in western Canada’s wilderness.
Leaves glide along the stream, their slow drift in harmony with water burbling over a weir. A brown behemoth lumbers into view – it’s Beatrice, a grizzly bear who frequents this waterway. Her nostrils twitch as she snuffles along the banks then wades chest-deep on her hind legs like it’s a bathhouse before padding off. She’s our second grizzly sighting today, along with a hovering kingfisher, a blue heron and two bald eagles soaring past at eye level. “We went bear-watching in Europe and sat in a hide like this for four hours,” whispers Mike, a judge from London. “We only saw three pigeons.”
Arrival at remote Knight Inlet Lodge is by seaplane, a 30-minute hop across from Campbell River on Vancouver Island. The 20-room floating property is tucked in a serene cove in British Columbia’s longest inlet, surrounded by dense spruce, cedar and Douglas fir trees that look as if they could slide into the depths (and sometimes do). In this storybook-pretty part of the 6.4-million-hectare Great Bear Rainforest, bald eagles perch on vantage points like High Court justices, harbour seals mooch about and the grizzly population has been supported with careful stewardship by the lodge, owned by the Nanwakolas Council, a partnership of six First Nations.
Spring brings bears and their cubs to the estuary banks, where viewing boats keep a safe distance. Once autumn arrives, it’s all about the thousands of salmon, ready to leap a weir into the spawning channel. This fish feast makes for grizzly theatre, the audience standing on purpose-built platforms. Before we embark on the boat for the short trip across the cove, we’re briefed on the best Elmer Fudd-style approach: walk quietly and calmly in a tight cluster to the vehicle that will take us to the viewing area. Do not make eye contact with a bear, point or lift binoculars or camera. A surprised bear isn't a happy one so our guides call, “Heyo… hey, bear…”, as fair warning.
It all helps to build the thrill as we wait for furry foragers and birdlife to do their thing. The lodge also offers kayaking, hikes, a tracking tour and a marine tour down the 125-kilometre inlet with guide Harold, whose family has lived here for generations. “This is where currents meet and the bottom is hilly so there’s an upwelling of water and food,” he says as a huge number of humpback whales blow, some breaching, one trap feeding, its maw gaping above the surface. Tall black fins tell us orcas are on the scene chasing salmon. We interrupt a sea otter with its feet up, clutching a bunch of seaweed. We see Pacific white-sided dolphins, Dall’s porpoises and Steller sea lions, plus a swimming grizzly: two other waiting boats fail to spot her but we have Harold, who points out a brown head soon followed by her balayage-hued body hefting onto the rocks.
In the tiny village of Tsatsisnukwomi (Place of Eelgrass), Harold’s aunt, Liz Davidson, shows us the big house her father built, “using ropes and manpower” to raise massive cedar logs into position. It’s a privilege to learn the meanings behind the dances, masks and blankets used in the ceremonies and events that are still held here.
As the sun sets back at the lodge, the main event is aperitivo hour, when the 40 or so guests gather in the rustic dining room and on the deck, sharing tales of salmon-guzzling grizzlies over glasses of BC’s own spirits, beer or wine – including a syrah and a lovely light pinot gris – and prawns caught no more than 50 metres away. Soon we’ll tuck into a loaded buffet that includes chicken supreme or oven-baked salmon with honey Cajun glaze and a dessert of orange cheesecake with raspberry purée. But for now, it’s time to absorb the crackle of brazier flames, the chorus of burp-yells from resting harbour seals and the sky’s slow meld from blue to orange and grey then sparkling night.
