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Words and images by Jens Bille
In the remote stillness of Khutzeymateen, British Columbia, grizzly bears rule over a landscape shaped by tides and ancient forests. With a presence both gentle and commanding, they move through their domain undisturbed, and we are fortunate to witness the quiet rhythm of their days.
In the summer of 2022, I journeyed to Khutzeymateen Provincial Park, a place deeply rooted in the heritage of the First Nations tribes who have lived here for thousands of years. The park is a sanctuary, home to a thriving population of grizzly bears. What makes it unique is the balance of respect and distance. The bears here are not hunted, and strict access limits ensure minimal human impact. Visitors arrive only by boat and move quietly across the waters. This sense of stewardship shapes the experience, allowing for encounters where bears remain undisturbed, unthreatened, and surprisingly indifferent to human presence.
Staying in a lodge on the water, each day began by setting out in small Zodiacs, scanning the shoreline for movement. The engine would cut and silence would settle. Floating among the sedge grass, we became part of the landscape, watching as the bears fed and moved, the quiet only broken by the rustle of grass or the screech of an eagle in the distance.
In July, before the salmon run, the bears rely on sedge grass and clams to sustain them. Sedge is rich in protein, and a bear can consume up to thirty kilos a day, wading into the grasses during low tide. On one of these small sedge islands, I watched as a bear swam out and began to feed. There was no rush, just methodical grazing. Occasionally, it would glance our way, acknowledging but unconcerned, before returning to its meal. It was a moment that defined the rhythm of the place—slow, deliberate, and without fear.
At times, the closeness of these encounters was striking. Observing a mother bear resting while her cub played nearby, I was reminded of the power that lay beneath her calm. Even in repose, there was strength in every line of her body. There was a pulse of adrenaline in being so near, but it felt natural, a shared understanding within the moment. Her eyes would open, watch, and close again. A reminder that while we were welcome, it was on her terms.
Even in repose, there was strength in every line of her body—a quiet reminder of the power that lay just beneath the surface.
The landscape itself tells its own story. The tide carves its mark, retreating to reveal a world of roots and mussels, only to erase it again hours later. It is during these windows that bears come to feast, digging among the exposed shoreline. The ease of their gathering, the way they move with the tide, speaks to an ancient knowledge of this place. When the water returns, so do the forests' shadows, and the bears vanish until the next low tide.
This is what Khutzeymateen offers: not just sightings, but an immersion into the bears' world, shaped by tide and time. It is a place where presence is measured not by proximity but by respect, where the true gift is to witness without intrusion. To be still and to watch, letting the landscape speak, letting the bears remain as they are—wild and unbothered.