Photos and text by Mary L. Peachin and David Lovitt
Vol. 12. No. 5
Lucy, matriarch of the Khutzeymateen Sanctuary grizzlies, reigns supreme in a very exclusive wilderness. Along British Columbia’s rocky Coastal mountain range between Portland Inlet and Work Channel, Lucy lives in a valley of ancient old growth rain forest. Unknown and unheralded, she is probably the most photographed grizzly in the world. The area has the highest density of healthy, stable grizzlies in British Columbia.
Some twenty plus years ago, Barney, the Valley’s dominant male, sired Lucy’s first offspring. According to Dan Wakeman, one of two guides licensed to operate in the Sanctuary, “Barney, one of the ‘Barnacle Brothers’ is a half-ton gentle giant.” Barney’s absent twin probably wandered away to another valley. Motley, a second dominate male, and Barney will typically mate each year with three females. Grizzlies are solitary animals the rest of the year.
Early fall is a “time of feasting” for wildlife, one that is determined by migration patterns of spawning pink and chum salmon who struggle through the final throes of death while fighting the upstream currents of Khutzeymateen estuary.
Helen Blake, Lorna Butzs, my husband David and I have joined bear expert, Dan Wakeman, on a three day grizzly viewing expedition. We are fortunate to join a privileged group of less than two hundred annual visitors who visit the sanctuary, one that is neither advertised nor considered a tourist attraction.
A grizzly sanctuary in its purest sense, it is located on Gitsi’is land, a tribe related to the Tsimshian First Nation people. They refer to the land as K’tzim-a-Deen, or “a long inlet in a steep valley.”
This stunning landscape differs from sanctuaries in Alaska or Yellowstone because it is not part of a national park. Hunting, fishing, camping, logging, and mining are prohibited. 200,000 acres exist solely for the protection of 50 grizzly bears. The Sanctuary is unique because the bears, which have not been hunted for more than 20 years, don’t see humans as a threat.
Today, the Khutzeymateen is substantially larger than the original 100,000 acres explored and studied 20 years ago, by biologist Wayne McCrory and Dan Wakeman. The reserve was dedicated in 1984 by HRH Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh, who, at the time, was president of the World Wildlife Federation. The Prince donated $150,000 of seed money for McCrory to do his first independent study.
Dan waited for us dockside in Prince Rupert on his 40-foot sloop, the Sunchaser. Heading north to northeast for several hours, we motored along British Columbia’s mainland before turning east into the interior Coastal mountain area of the Khutzeymateen valley, a distance of 50 miles.
Sun Chaser was hand built by Dan from teak wood. It has two forward twin beds, a small galley and dining table, and two aft bunks with privacy curtains. There is a single combined bath/shower. It’s very cozy.
Dundas Island shielded us from gale winds and pounding waves of the open Pacific Ocean. We cruised through the waters of Chatham Sound passing Fort Simpson, the second largest (population 1000) First Nation village along the coast.
Diving grebes, migrating from the Arctic to Mexico, “worked” the area consuming bait fish. Along the shore, a black bear peered curiously. In Work Channel, we trolled several fishing lines hoping to catch a coho salmon for dinner. Not a nibble.
We admired the sun setting over the mountain peaks of south Alaska’s panhandle, five miles in the distance. The typical six to seven hour trip had taken an additional three hours in the windy, choppy seas. We would later pass on an offer of a spaghetti dinner to quickly gobble a Caesar salad before collapsing into our bunks. It was close to midnight when Dan finally dropped anchor.
To Dan, “the putrid smell of rotting, dying salmon symbolizes the ending and beginning of another life cycle.”
He knows the bears well, and in their presence, he exercises caution. Dan packs bear spray, but has never used it. He approaches the bears by zodiac, never on foot.
Some bears are skittish, while Lucy and Blondie, 19 year old females, will hang out eating or sleeping, giving viewers great photo ops. A third female, Gracie, who is approximately eight years old will probably have her first set of cubs next spring. Her mother, “Big Momma”, a big muscular bear with the physique of a male, has not been seen in recent years. While these three females hang out in the same proximity, bears typically don’t like one other. Constantly moving, each requires more than 1000 acres of wilderness.
Sub adults are more inclined to make a bluff charge, either hissing or huffing to show their annoyance, a signal for the viewer to beat it. “Grizzlies are masters of intimidation.”
We caught a brief glimpse of a bear crossing upstream. A sub adult stood on his haunches eyeing us then continued tearing the skin off a salmon. As darkness descended, another sub-adult, one of the fifty bears roaming the valley fed along the shore. He searched for salmon then stopped to chomp on grass. Dan thought he might be a two-year old weaned by Lucy or Blondie. Both females gave birth last spring to three cubs by the same male.
A flock of mergansers skimmed the water. A territorial dipper chased another from its turf. Kingfishers flitted between the river banks. We watched the wake of harbor seals following the inbound tide. Seals swam upside down when fishing for salmon. They slap the lethargic salmon on the surface before consuming it.
Waterfalls plunged from cliffs, and the rise of the tide in the river created a fishing frenzy among gold and bald eagles. Viewing bears as they gorge on salmon to bulk up for winter hibernation varies from their springtime emergence with cubs and males eager to mate with females in esterase.
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The following summer we met Dan by flying into the Valley in a Beaver float plane. Joyce and Gary Follman, David Lovitt, Lorraine Mackstaller and I were welcomed by the vibrancy of life in the Khutzeymateen. Females would be bringing their newborn cubs out of hibernation dens, males searched for mates, and other males prowl the Sanctuary in hopes of becoming a dominant male.
The estuary was rich and fertile. Bears gorged on sedge grass and savored the tasty roots of the beautiful, but odiferous chocolate lily. The temperate rain forest was lush with Sitka spruce, hemlock, and cedar. Leafy alders, willows, and crabapple trees lined the water’s edge. Khutzeymateen inlet, river, and estuary, approximately 10 miles long, has steep cliffs rising to 6,500 feet. A few barren areas had been leveled by avalanches. Cow parsnips, skunk cabbage, huckleberries, and fireweed filled meadows. Sharing the Sanctuary were wolf, wolverine, mountain goat, porcupine, and river otter.
Glaciers were melting, waterfalls rushed over granite cliffs, and lichen hung from trees. Whenever the tide exposed the muddy bottom of the stream, nitrogen nutrients form gas-like dollops of foam that floated like shampoo suds.
Blue and yellow lupine was in its prime. Cow parsnip, yellow and red Indian paintbrush line banks scattered with small chocolate lilies. Harbor seals nursed pups, while merganser ducks protected their newborn chicks. Harlequin ducks, brilliantly colored with a slate blue body, brown flanks and bold white markings outlined in black, swam casually by us. A lone black and white loon seemed attracted to the sloop. The valley glistened.
A day on the inlet is dictated by “time and tide”, or the rise and fall of the estuary. Dan motors his guests when the depth of the tide permits. This is usually for about four hours in the morning, and an hour after dinner. Before turning in, we listened to the weather forecast. Gale force winds and heavy rain were predicted, we were going to “experience the true rainforest.” The ‘mood’ of the mountain surrounded us, low lying fog-like mist tucked between or layered in curtains in the estuary. During the night, two spruces fell in the water. “Windfall, one tree fell and took down the other.”
Barney, the dominate male of the Khutzemateen prowled the shoreline. Perhaps he was looking for Lucy, who had not yet appeared. Golden bear, a five year old, chewed on sedge between naps. Glaring at us when we invaded “her space”, Dan quickly backed up the zodiac. Suddenly Golden ran into the temperate Great Bear Rainforest. Twigs snapped and a bear that Dan had never seen rambled out of the woods. “He’s not a dominant male, but at 800-900 pounds, he will become one in the next few years.” He probably came over from the next valley to “check things out.” That first afternoon we would observe eight bears.
A small movement in the sedge grass first appeared to be a tree stump. Taking a closer look we discovered a rarely sighted grey timber wolf. Ravens squawk overhead. Dan commented “they must be protecting their nests.” It’s rare to sight a wolf and not have it run away. Pacing casually across the grass, the wolf ambled into the forest.
During those three early days of summer, the five of us observed 15 different bears, at least 25 to 30 intimate or close sightings. We observe what bears eat, see, their moods, the life of grizzly bears in the Khutzeymateen-this fortress of the grizzlies, where each can roam 1000 acres.
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By early fall, the chocolate lilies will be long gone, with only a few scattered purple asters remaining. Golden eagles, some boasting a six foot wing span, and bald eagles soar from tree to tree. Squawking flocks of Canada geese prepare for their southerly migration. Seagulls gathered on sand spits pick at the remains of pink salmon left by bears. Coho, unlike pinks, flash like “silver bullets” to spawn further upstream.
The Khutzeymateen is the only place in the world where a grizzly can grow old. Lucy has provided three sets of cubs and her offspring have had cubs. She appeared late this summer with a pair of twins. When the time comes, only in the Khutzeymateen will she wander off and die on her own terms.
If you go: Contact Dan Wakeman at Sun Chaser Charters, [email protected] or www2.citytel.net/sunchaser