Meet Łaaya
On an overcast September day last fall, I was sitting with a group of guests by a creek in the Great Bear Rainforest. Everyone was eager to see a white bear, but we were not having much luck with bears of any color. After hours of waiting that day, distant views of a black bear were all we had managed. Then a different black bear finally wandered within close range to hunt salmon. We were excited to have a bear so close and quickly got busy snapping photos. Then Marven’s voice burst from my VHF radio. “Tim, are you there?”
My body responded to Marven’s voice with an instant hit of adrenaline. After nine years of working together, the particular tone of urgent excitement in Marven’s voice immediately signaled to my adrenal glands that something amazing was happening. “Tim,” he called again, not waiting for my reply. “There’s a spirit bear on the shore!”
I was stunned. How was that possible? Didn’t we know all the white bears in the area? No one had seen a white bear on this side of the island in more than three years, not since Boss, a beloved aging white bear, had disappeared from this creek in 2020. Had Boss made a surprise reappearance? Had Strawberry or Warrior – white bears who typically haunt a different part of the island – undertaken an epic hike to a new location? Or was it a different bear? For a moment, I just stood there, with these possibilities racing through my mind.
Our guests were happily watching the black bear, oblivious to the news. Composing myself, I approached and told them as calmly as I could that we needed to pack up and leave quickly but quietly, so we would not disturb the black bear. They looked at me with puzzled expressions, wondering why we would leave when we finally had a bear right in front of us. “Marven says there’s a white bear on shore,” I explained. “We need to move now if we want a chance to see it.”
A combination of shock and excitement flashed across their faces. Visibly flustered in their excitement, the group packed up and began the one-kilometer hike back to the shoreline in record time. But would it be fast enough? My heart thumped, anticipating the moment we would lay eyes on this mysterious bear, while simultaneously imagining the profound disappointment everyone would experience if we could not find it. No guide ever wants to see a group of profoundly disappointed guests.
As we boarded Marven’s boat, the intensity of anticipation within the group was palpable. Everyone scurried around, fumbling to get their cameras ready. But we were still two long kilometers away from where the bear had been spotted by another boat operator, who had tipped Marven off. All the bear had to do was turn and take a few steps into the forest and it would be gone before we ever saw it. Marven opened up the engines to full throttle.
I was aching for our guests to see the bear and aching to see which bear it was. Was it conceivable that Boss was still alive? Which other bear could it possibly be? Adult white bears don’t just appear out of nowhere. Come on, come on, I thought, can’t this boat go any faster?
With cameras at the ready, everyone strained their eyes for a glimpse of white along the rocky shoreline. In this landscape of greens, browns, and greys nothing stands out like a white bear. And, then, there it was, an unmistakable blotch of cream-coloured fur among the barnacle-covered rocks: a spirit bear!
Marven throttled back and we slowly approached at a very respectful distance, giving the bear plenty of space in hopes it would feel comfortable, accept us, and not disappear before we could get a good look.
It did not take long to realize that this was not a bear we had ever seen before. Even Marven, who has known most of the bears in the area since they were cubs, was at a loss. My immediate disappointment that it was not Boss, morphed into overwhelming excitement that we had just spotted a white bear we had never seen before. And, what a beauty she was. Her creamy, soft white fur stood out in radiant contrast to her surroundings.
I saw my first spirit bear in 2007 and have spent time with them every year since. But after all this time, the wonder of this walking contradiction – an American black bear with white fur – has never diminished. Glancing at the people around me, I could see I was not alone. Everybody’s attention was locked on the bear, rapt. Marven and I looked at each other and shared big smiles of joy and relief – sweet, sweet, guiding relief. But we did not know if we would ever see this bear again; a bear that suddenly appears can easily disappear.
But we did see her again. Within a week, she settled into the creek that Boss had called home, and stayed. She became so comfortable with people that some groups were lucky enough to watch her hunting salmon for hours a day. After years without a white bear on this creek known for spirit bears, it felt like something set right again.
Our Gitga’at friends named her Łaaya, which means highbush cranberry in the local Sm’álgyax language. Łaaya the bear, has a pinkish nose, just like a cranberry, so the name is fitting. In English, the pronunciation of her name approximates the sound of Thlaya.
Wildlife guiding work is full of uncertainty. You can prepare fastidiously for each season, trying to stack the odds of success in your favour. But ultimately, Mother Nature always has the final say. Last fall, she had a big surprise in store for us: a new white bear!
Will Łaaya stick around and become a regular in the creek for years to come? Who knows? Even posing that question triggers a mild, familiar anxiety in my gut. It is a blend of anticipation and hope, laced with a tinge of fear – fear that the wildlife our guests yearn to witness might not cooperate. But this uncertainty is also the thing that makes the whole endeavor so exciting. Wild places and wildlife are just that: wild. But, in a place like the Great Bear Rainforest, who can say when a white bear might just appear out of nowhere?
