Land of giants is wild at heart

On November 30 British Columbia will introduce a ban on the trophy hunting of grizzlies. Sarah Marshall ventures into the Cariboo Mountains to meet Gary Zorn, an ex-hunting guide who pioneered bear tourism in the province

W ading through waist-high devil’s club shrubs with leaves the size of dinner plates, I feel like a shrinking Alice in Wonderland. Everything around me is enormous.

Towering until they almost block out the sky, colossal cedars and hemlocks create a comforting sanctuary, securely grounded by their ancient roots. For a relatively young country celebrating 150 years since confederation this year, these 400-year-old beauties are treasured historical monuments.

In Canada everything is super-sized: distances are vast, forests are endless, and wildlife is wonderfully abundant. It’s a scale almost incomprehensible to someone from a small, European island which could probably fit neatly into the pocket of west coast province British Columbia.

And if the sights are big, the sounds are even bigger – the grumbling of a sore-head sleeping grizzly disturbed from his slumber echoes around the forest canopy like a rumbling storm about to break. Frozen to the spot, his eyes darting wildly, Gary Zorn shushes a wrinkled index finger to his appropriately ghost-white beard. A seasoned guide with 40 years’ experience trekking bears in this area, he’s not afraid, he’s simply listening and anticipating what the grumpy grizzly metres away from us might do next.

Originally a tracker for hunters, 71-year-old Gary is a master of bear behaviour, but early on he made the decision to swap guiding guns for leading wildlife tours and is one of British Columbia’s true pioneers.

On November 30 the trophy hunting of grizzly bears will be banned in the province, a decision welcomed by many and supported by the economic growth of nature tourism, proof these animals are worth far more alive than dead.

“Hunting was becoming a dirty word,” explains Gary on his initial decision to change tack. “But when I told friends ecotourism was the way forward, they laughed at me.” Firmly resolute, he carried on and was granted the wildlife guiding permit 001, the first to be issued in the province.

Based at Pyna-tee-ah Lodge at the base of the Cariboo Mountains, deep inside BC, he runs Ecotours BC with his wife Peggy, operating almost exclusively in an area the size of Switzerland. Combining boat trips along salmonfilled rivers, active treks through sub-alpine forest and even (on occasion) heli-hikes to peaks above the clouds, he promises wild, intimate but always respectful encounters, deservedly earning him the moniker Bear Whisperer – a title he’s trademarked.

A cloak of foggy drizzle sweeps across the Mitchell River, a tributary of the Quesnel, on our first outing, an 80km speedboat ride from the lodge. Birds of prey swoosh through webs of mist netting the tips of fir trees and beads of rain hang from garlands of lichen like jewels. Next summer Gary plans to launch an ambitious glamping site in this remote, peak-fringed wilderness, with smart safari-style tents pitched on a floating platform. Dawn and dusk brown bear viewing will be possible, with days spent exploring caves by kayak and hiking through ancient forest.

Thousands of sockeye salmon return here from September to October, firing upstream like silver bullets until they mutate into plump, green-gilled, devilred monsters, travelling from the Pacific Ocean before spawning and dying in the place they were born. They’re a bedrock in the food chain and provide a particularly tasty meal for bears.

Wearing waders almost up to my chin,