Wildlife on the Tay

I am afraid of bears.

Not just your average oh, there's a bear in the distance: let's avoid it afraid. I'm heart-racing, pee-your-pants-if-you-see-one-in-the-woods afraid of bears.

I was once bitten by a bear cub at a zoo. Granted, it was my fault for sticking my fingers through the fence, but really the park should have had a better barrier between the young humans and the young beasts.

The bear didn't break any fingers but it sure felt like it. The skin was broken on one finger and I had raised lacerations on a couple more. I was going to survive but it scared the hell out of me.

Years later, when my family lived in the Gatineau Hills, a bear came to the side of our house and got into our garbage bins. I tried to scare the bear away by opening the door and growling, but the bear stood tall on his hind quarters, raised both arms in the air (though, he was missing one paw) and hissed so loud that I almost pissed myself.

I slammed the door closed and hoped that the bear wouldn't try to break through it.

In the years that we lived in that Gatineau Hills house, I babysat local kids and would sometimes walk home in the dark, my ears attuned to every sound in the forest. I could hear the snapping of twigs and I would try to determine what creature would make that sound, and my pace would quicken. I'd sing songs of encouragement and hoped that my voice would keep whatever animal was nearby not-so nearby.

Even today, if I drive through a provincial park and see a bear at the side of the road, my heart races, even though I know that I'm safe in my vehicle.

This weekend, DW and I decided to take our kayaks for a paddle along the Tay River. We put our crafts in at Last Duel Park, in Perth, and made our way toward the Beveridges Dam, as we had a few years ago. We didn't want to repeat the paddle of 2020, all the way to the canal locks, but we thought we'd at least make it to where the lake opens to the Tay Marshes.

The water level was much higher than it was in 2020 and there was a noticeable current, but what we also discovered were a series of inlets that used to be marshy areas, full of reeds and lily pads, that could now be accessed in out kayaks.

At the first inlet, we turned in to see how far it went. It didn't go far—maybe 400 metres or so—but we went to the end, quietly paddling the shallow water.

There was a slight rustling in the bushes at the end of the inlet and DW thought it might be a moose (she had moose on the brain since the previous weekend's kayaking trip) but I must have had a better view of it.

"That's a bear!" I exclaimed. We were less than 50 metres from it.

The exact moment that I realized we were looking at a bear, caught on video.

The bear was startled at the sound of our voices and scampered away. I started paddling backwards. "Let's hope he's well fed and doesn't feel tempted to go for a swim," I added, but it was clear that he was gone.

My heart was pounding.

My video camera was recording but because the bear was far and hidden mostly by bush, there's not much to see. Zooming in at the maximum magnification, the video became pixelated. The bear only looks like shadows in the green foliage.

Trust me, it's there.

Examining the two other inlets that we encountered, I made sure to make noise as we entered them and kept a conversation going with DW. For the rest of our paddle, we only saw a mink, a beaver, lots of turtles and many varieties of birds, but no other bears. Which was fine with me.

I'll share some more images of our paddle, tomorrow, for Wordless Wednesday.