Ephraim Heller sent us a passel of lovely brown bear photos (and, oddly, one of an elephant), all save the pachyderm taken in Alaska. (They are of course also known as “grizzly bears”.) Ephraim’s notes are indented, and you can enlarge the photos by clicking on them.
I traveled to Lake Clark National Park in Alaska to photograph its famous coastal brown bears (Ursus arctos horribilis) as they clammed and fished along the coast of Cook Inlet. I stayed at a remote lodge on the coast. It was a mixed experience. During the week I was there I saw only a few individual sows and cubs, far fewer than expected (the boars tend to stay inland at this time of year). However, the sows loitered in the area, so there was plenty of time with them. When it was just the bears, the guide, and a few other guests, the photography was spectacular. Unfortunately, that was seldom the case. The few bears were more often mobbed by folks on bear-watching tours arriving from other lodges, small planes, and boats. At times, I counted up to 35 people watching a single bear. In crowds that large, you put your camera down and just enjoy watching the animal.
Now that I’m done with the kvetching, let’s get to the photos. For those who care about such things, all the photos were taken with a Nikon Z8 or Z9 camera and either a Nikon Z 70-200 lens + 1.4X teleconverter or a Nikon Z 24-120 lens.
When there were no crowds and I saw a bear approaching from afar, I made my first attempts at using a remote trigger. This involved: putting my camera and wide-angle lens on a low tripod at a location where I thought the bear was likely to pass; stepping away to a distance of about 30 feet; and triggering the camera with a remote shutter release. Most of these attempts ended in failure, as the bruin chose a different path. But occasionally, it worked:
Brown Bear at Lake Clark:
At other times, I just lay down in the mud and hoped that an approaching bear would walk nearby. It was quite safe, as there are so many clams and salmon to eat that they aren’t interested in eating me. I would certainly not do so with bears from the interior, who are typically hungrier and more aggressive:
A sow out for a stroll on the beach:
Ninety percent of the shoreline is made up of salt marsh, sand, and mud. Multiple rivers flow into Cook Inlet, creating a habitat containing three distinct food sources: protein-rich salt-marsh sedges, intertidal clams, and late-summer salmon. Park biologists have counted as many as 219 brown bears in a 54-square-mile coastal block. Those densities are possible because the food is concentrated and the bears have learned to tolerate one another.
Here’s a sow patrolling along a salmon stream. These two shots were taken with a remote trigger:
Taking a load off her feet:
Coastal and inland bears in the park are the same subspecies, but they live different lives. Inland animals travel farther for scarcer resources and remain more solitary. Coastal bears grow larger because marine-derived protein is available for months.
Another shot taken with a remote trigger:
This bear is looking for salmon at a river mouth at low tide. The following photos were taken as I in the mud flats. My waders kept me mostly dry, albeit mud-covered:
After den emergence in April–May, lean bears head first to salt marshes. These wetlands occupy less than 1 percent of the park yet supply Ramensk’s sedge (Carex ramenskii), an early-season protein source. Bears graze for hours like cattle.
When the sow spots a fish at the river mouth, she rushes over to seize her prey:
A few yards seaward, the intertidal flats hold clams, particularly Pacific razor clams (Siliqua patula). These are a year-round protein source that bridges the gap between spring vegetation and summer salmon. The tides were over 20 feet when I visited, and at low tide the exposed mud flat stretched out for hundreds of yards:
Clamming is a learned skill. Cubs watch their mothers. Novices dig randomly, excavating large, unproductive craters and then crunching whole shells. Experienced bears read siphon holes and slight depressions, work specific slope and sand textures at the lowest tides, and extract dozens of clams in a single low-tide window. The most efficient animals pry shells open with claws rather than crushing them and slurp the meat. Different individuals invent slightly different techniques.
Here’s a sow digging for clams in the mud flats. I don’t include many photos of bears clamming because photos of bears with their noses stuck in the mud just aren’t that interesting or pretty:
The Jesus bear subspecies walks on water. Or, perhaps, the mud flats extend for hundreds of yards at low tide:
By July and August the rivers fill with sockeye and other salmon. Park-wide sockeye salmon (Oncorhynchus nerka) runs have ranged from 150,000 to more than 3 million fish. Bears shift from meadows and flats to stream mouths and shallow riffles. Techniques range from patient standing to explosive pounces. Experienced animals may catch dozens of fish a day and often eat only the most energy-dense parts (brain, roe, skin) before discarding the rest. This sow has caught silver or coho salmon (Oncorhynchus kisutch):
I’ve written Ephraim for a replacement photo, but in the meantime enjoy this elephant picture:
If you visit, remember to carry bear spray. Bears like the pepper flavor:
Note: That was not my bear spray!
