Great Bear Rainforest - 2019
Great Bear Rainforest Expedition 2019
“Dare I send this to you?” Mary’s email read. ‘This’ being a link to a grizzly bear viewing lodge on Vancouver Island, British Columbia, built on the water’s edge of a lush rainforest.
“DAMN YOU!!!!” I replied. Bears were not back on our list of the massive or toothy critters we tend to chase and photograph. At least they hadn’t been until now.
After much debate and research, we ended up not booking at the lodge. Instead, we opted for a 9-day, 8-night, 6-guest, 4-crew, 1-photo leader, sailing & photo expedition to The Great Bear Rainforest. https://outershores.ca/
Standing here on the threshold of adventure, Mary and I are, once again, off chasing wildlife to pay homage to some long-suppressed Neanderthal craving. However, the primitive clubs and spears of our cave-dwelling ancestors have been replaced by the latest in digital camera bodies coupled to long telephoto lenses.
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During an unseasonably warm July day in 932 AD, and around the same time the Vikings were conquering portions of Europe, a seedling broke the surface of the damp and decaying forest floor in an area now known as British Columbia. After nearly being uprooted by a pair of playful bear cubs who, too, were out exploring their first summer in the forest, the seedling continued to grow. During the intervening years, the seedling, now a sapling, survived lightning strikes, floods, drought, and grazing animals as it continued its reach into the sky.
In the early 16th century and as Leonardo da Vinci sat down at his easel to put the first brushstrokes of the Mona Lisa on canvas, the seedling had grown into a nearly 200’ tree with a trunk diameter approaching 8’. Today, the same tree that began as a seedling over 1000 years ago is part of an expanse of old-growth trees protected under the Great Bear Rainforest Act signed on March 1, 2016. Before its signing, large swaths of the forest had been reduced to 2x6’s, firewood, and decorative bark for flower beds.
Also known as the Central and North Coast Forest, the Great Bear Rainforest on the Pacific coast of British Columbia is comprised of 6.4 million hectares or nearly 25,000 square miles. It is part of the larger Pacific Rainforest Eco-region, one of the most extensive remaining tracts of unspoiled temperate rainforest left in the world and made up of some of the oldest and largest trees on earth. The forest features 1,000 year-old western red cedar and 300’ Sitka spruce.
The area is also home to wolves, grizzly bears, black bears, and the Kermode, or Spirit bear, a unique subspecies of black bear, in which cubs have a rare recessive gene that causes a white colored coat. It’s these Spirit bears that we’ll be searching for and hoping to photograph, along with any other animal that happens to show us its face. The surrounding waters also support humpback and gray whales, orcas, dolphins, seals, sea lions, and a variety of fish and shorebirds.
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Dock lines cast, the Passing Cloud, a 70-foot classic 2-masted wooden schooner that will be our home for the next nine days, pulls away in slow motion. The primeval world of the rainforest takes over as the industrialized world falls away.
Previous to taking passengers on expeditions through British Columbian rainforests, Passing Cloud was a racing schooner, and quite successful at that. The wheelhouse has numerous 1st Place plaques on the wall for winning various regattas in the ’80s and early ’90s.
The interior is bright and polished, yet warm and comfortable. Though we’re too new on the boat to be relaxed, we recognize it won’t be long before she feels as comfortable and familiar as our own home.
Our private stateroom, one of three onboard, is compact, yet efficient. Bunk-style beds, a small vanity with a few drawers, a skylight, and a pair of hooks on the wall round out the amenities. The salon, also lit by a skylight, is lined with books and warmed by an ever-burning diesel-fueled fireplace. It's also the place for eating, relaxing, and the swapping of travel stories. Perpetually moving and Michelin restaurant-trained Chef Erin, is upstairs in the tiny galley preparing some portion of our next meal. Meanwhile, Capt. Jackie, with quiet confidence, sits calmly at the helm while scanning the horizon for bears, whales, and hazards.
Under sail, the Passing Cloud slips into a leisurely rhythmic cadence as imperceptible swells pass beneath its hull. Behind us, a white line of backwash stretches to the flat horizon. A stoic audience of conifers stands shoulder to shoulder as we slide by making our way north.
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It’s Day 2 and a waterfall serves as the muted background soundtrack as we stand silently in the tidal flats under a green velvet forest canopy, each with our own thoughts. Despite the presence of a pair of black bears less than 50 yards in front of us digging for clams and tubers on the shoreline, there’s a calming gentleness and tranquility as we photograph these animals in the morning drizzle.
The surrounding terrain is a maze of ridges and valleys clad in a tapestry of trees and ecosystems. Though we’re mere feet away, there’s a whole other web of life in the intricate latticework of branches above and out of sight to us, buried in a cloud of rainforest foliage.
“Bears,” says an urgent voice breaking us out of our slight meditative state.
“We know. We’re photographing them,” is the combined thought process of the half-dozen photographers fixated on the bears in front of our lenses.
“No! Turn around; there are two bears behind us.”
“Oh, shit!” Two black bears have silently padded up and are mere yards from us.
“Everybody, slowly make your way back to the Zodiac, but don’t take your eyes off the bears,” commands Liam, the 1st Mate. Fortunately, we’re far more interested in the bears than they are in us, so they continue ambling up the rocky coastline in search of food.
Back in the relative safety of the inflatable boat (used for coastal exploring and going ashore), we watch and photograph these bears. Is it that we’re secretly jealous of wild animals, and that’s why we’ve become voyeurs intruding in their lives? Or is being so close to a savage predator that’s the thrill, knowing it could rip our face off as effortlessly as the way one might swat away a fly?
Perhaps Helen Keller summed it best when she said, “Life is either a daring adventure or nothing at all.”
However, I find greater comfort in a quote by gospel singer, Laura Lee, “More people are killed each year by teddy bears than by grizzly bears.”
Either way, we spend the rest of the day puttering around in the Zodiac photographing more black bears, a few grizzlies, and bald eagles. On our way back to the Passing Cloud, we pull up a crab trap set earlier in the day and find it loaded with Dungeness crabs who sacrifice themselves for our dinner.
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Despite knowingly booking a trip to a rainforest, it’s Day 4, and the non-stop drizzle has worn out its welcome. It’s rumored the sun is on the other side of this mess, but due to the continuous moisture, we’ve become walking rainclouds as water drips off our clothing and cameras.
Though our days have a rhythm to them—wakeup, breakfast, photography, mid-morning snack, photography, lunch, more photography, afternoon snack, still more photography, dinner—nature is erratic and unpredictable. It can shift with the weather, the tides, or time of day.
Today, however, everything shifted into perfect alignment.
Our plan is to sail to a whale research station and spend a few hours with the researchers at a remote outpost built overhanging the rocky coastline.
The Passing Cloud is aimed at the open-ended horizon when our plans change after spotting a group of what we thought were about ten whales off in the distance. As we arrive in the area, our heads and cameras are on a constant swivel. A half-dozen blows here, a trio of flukes there, a breach or two off in the distance. For more than 90 minutes we revel in our front-row seats as 30+ humpback whales circle the boat and put on an incredible display of oceanic ballet!
In the past, there have been moments when I’ve lost myself in nature and opened to what’s around me. This was indeed one of those moments. I put down my camera and enjoy firsthand, not through the limited view of a camera lens, the sights and sounds of this incredible spectacle playing out before us.
Sadly, though, we had to leave the area before the whales left the stage.
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While sailing, our time is spent taking in the breathtaking scenery but keeping an eye out for whales, bears, or an occasional orca pod, depending upon the area we’re going through. One day we spot a pair of orcas hunt down a sea lion who was able to save itself by quickly exiting the water and climbing on to a large rock, escaping what would have been sure death. Another time, we spot a pair of humpbacks getting amorous. The chilly water isn’t dampening their enthusiasm.
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“We’ve been watching these three humpbacks for a few minutes,” Captain Jackie tells me one rare sunny afternoon. “They’ve been displaying an odd behavior.”
“They could be getting ready to do a bubble-net feeding,” adds Liam. “If you see all three dive down together, watch for a ring of bubbles on the surface.”
About 15 years ago, Mary and I watched a Nat Geo special on whales, and in one of the clips, the filmmakers captured a behavior called bubble-net feeding. Since that time, it has held the top spot on Mary’s list of things she wants to see and experience.
Generally done with 3-5 whales, the group will find a school of herring and one whale will swim in a tight circle around the fish while exhaling, which creates a ‘bubble-net’ around the school. Once the fish are in this ‘net,’ the lead whale emits a high-frequency pitch that stuns the fish. After they’re stunned, the whales come straight up through the center of the bubble net with mouths wide open, engulfing the fish as they hit the surface. Humpback whales’ jaws are hinged, which allows their mouths to expand to a size large enough to swallow a car, or in this case, a large school of fish.
“There’s the bubble ring!” shouts Liam. With our cameras at the ready, the three whales break the surface, taking in huge gulps of herring, one of their primary sources of food. Seagulls circle the maelstrom, diving down to scavenge any fish that escaped the whales mouth and thought they were safe.
Today, we were fortunate enough to see this type of feeding twice!
This evening, the hull plays a quiet lullaby as the boat gently sways at anchor. The clear skies continue into the evening, and with only a small anchor light high up on the mast for illumination, the night sky is in its full star-draped intensity, including the Milky Way, showing up as a big smudge of stars and light.
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Day 6 starts out with the threat of a storm passing through the area in the afternoon. High wind and heavy rain are in the forecast as we prepare ourselves for a day under the meager shelter of a bear-blind—a tarp lashed down to a basic wooden frame. After transferring to shore, we move our way through the uneven forest floor, covering about a mile over a well-worn but narrow path. Though our expectations are tempered, our hopes are high, as this will be our best chance to see the Spirit bear during the nine-day trip. There’s an estimated 100 of these Spirit bears on this particular island, although only 14 have ever been identified.
Descending a slick wooden staircase down to the river’s edge, we spot a black bear a few yards ahead, hunting for salmon in the river.
Our excitement ticks upward.
“There’s a Spirit bear off to the right,” the guide whispers with excitement as we’re most of the way down the stairs.
Our excitement explodes!
Sure enough, just up the river, a Spirit bear, its face and front paws red with salmon blood is looking our way. Reaching the base of the stairs, everyone hurriedly jockeys for the best position to set up tripods and cameras. Behind the Spirit bear is another black bear hunting for its share of the high-fat fish. With shutters on rapid-fire, we capture numerous images of this rare sighting.
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While our attention is focused on the bears in the river, a black bear quietly makes its way down the same staircase we used minutes ago. As the bear reaches the bottom, it glances at us but realizing we’re not a threat, continues to the river. Its objective is to fatten up on salmon and not photographers, as it readies itself for the approaching winter.
During the nearly three hours we spend photographing the bears, we have no less than two, and at one time, five bears visible within 30 yds. in either direction of us, including a mother with two young cubs. We did have a bear approach a little too close so we had to gather together for protection from a possible attack. However, there's never any threatening moves or posturing from any of the animals.
With memory cards full of images and the bears moving too far off to photograph, we make our way back to the boat just before the storm hits.
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The morning of Day 7 starts off with a hint of blue skies, despite the wind and rain that battered the boat during the night. The blue skies are short-lived and replaced by thick, ugly dark clouds. The plan to go ashore and look for wolves is dashed when a shout of “Bubble-net feeding” erupts. A few hundred yards ahead, an explosion of whales crashes through the surface.
Grabbing camera bags and life jackets, we scramble into the Zodiac and head out to get a close-up view. We follow the whales for most of the morning and are gifted with nearly two dozen bubble-net feedings!! However, the feeding they’re doing is more of a lunge-feed, where they use the bubble-net to trap the fish but come at the bait with a sideways lunge rather than straight up from the depths. Everyone is ecstatic to be able to witness this uncommon behavior.
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The following morning breaks to clear skies, bitterly cold winds, ice on the deck, and new snow on the mountain tops. The weather is far better suited for staying inside with comfy sweats, a cup of hot tea, a warm fireplace, and a good book. In lieu of that, we bundle up in multiple layers of foul-weather gear, shoulder our camera bags and head out in the Zodiac for a quick morning land-based shoot.
As we approach the shoreline, we watch from the safety of the boat as a pair of young and thuggish sub-adult grizzlies stroll around in a failed attempt to antagonize a big swaggering male. In the short time we’re onshore, we have a mother and cub join the other three bears, all within a few dozen yards of us.
“Look up,” Liam says. “There are 13 bald eagles circling above us, with at least a half-dozen more in the adjacent trees.”
We wish we could spend more time with the eagles and bears, but our day has come to an end, and it is time to start packing up in preparation of heading for home.
Though we saw far more than what's listed below during our nine days at sea, the approximate animal count is:
60+ Humpback whales
40+ Bald eagles
15 Black bears/cubs
10 Grizzly bears
9 Orcas
1 Fin whale
1 Spirit bear
More photos may be viewed here: https://maryandandysphotos.zenfolio.com/p7727096?customize=3
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I've recently begun to carry with me a sense of accomplishment when I come home and rest after a vacation. Not due to age or being jet-lagged, but due to the sheer magnitude of the adventure. This was truly such an adventure.
Thanks for traveling with us, even if it was just virtually.
Mary & Andy
