Sharing the Wilds With Bears

It is a most unusual family portrait: The artist, the rancher and the three bear cubs strolling together across the marshy tundra, a volcano streaked with snow looming in the background.

Despite their ferocious reputation, the brown bears walk peacefully beside their human parents, grazing on plants and wildflowers. The cubs, orphaned by a hunter 21 months ago, are the same species that Americans call the grizzly bear--an animal exterminated long ago in California but thriving here in the wilds of Russia’s Kamchatka Peninsula.

The artist, Maureen Enns, and the rancher, Charles Russell, came here from Canada to prove a point: that humans can coexist with one of the world’s most feared and misunderstood creatures. The three cubs, raised by Enns and Russell since they were 4 months old, are wild in every respect--except their apparent desire to be around humans.

“Our goal is to change what people believe about bears,” Russell said. “To me, it’s only fair to the animals that someone should have a look at their true nature. If we can stop perpetuating the myth of the savage bear, we can live better and they can live better.”

Enns, 49, and Russell, 57, do not pretend to be scientists; they are advocates for the bear. They hope that their work will change the way officials in North America manage parklands and help humans learn how to share the Earth with grizzlies.

“Some say leave it for scientists,” Russell said. “But scientists would be the last people in the world to look at these questions. We don’t claim that we’re doing science. We’re studying animals in our own way.”

It is a quest that has brought them deep into a forbidding land, into an improbable association with three furry 220-pound females--Chico, Biscuit and Rosie--all destined to grow as tall as 8 feet and weigh about 800 pounds.

Close Encounter With a Grizzly

As a rancher in Canada’s Alberta province, Russell watched grizzlies walk among his cattle without disturbing them. As a wilderness guide and photographer, he spent decades seeking contact with bears. He recounts how a wild grizzly he once encountered let him touch its teeth and put his hand in its mouth. In the early 1990s, he lived on Princess Royal Island in British Columbia, where he befriended a rare white Kermode bear. He later wrote a book about the animal, “Spirit Bear,” to help stop logging on the island.

Enns, an instructor at the Alberta College of Art, began exploring wildlife as a theme for her art in the 1980s and spent years traveling in Africa and the Canadian wilderness. She was terrified of grizzlies at first but had several encounters with peaceful bears that made her question their image as killers.

She co-wrote “Grizzly Kingdom,” a book about her experience. In studying bears, she heard of Russell’s work and visited him on Princess Royal Island.

Drawn together by their fascination with bears, they began living together six years ago and planning the ultimate bear encounter. Their goal was to observe wild bears as far from humans as possible and try to develop a closeness with the animals away from the destructive influence of civilization.

They were not interested in just any bears. They wanted to get next to brown bears, the species that includes some of the biggest and most dangerous bears in the world, including the grizzly, the kodiak and the Kamchatka brown bear.

In 1994, they came to Kamchatka, which lies directly across the Pacific Ocean from Canada. Largely wild and uninhabited, the peninsula has an estimated 8,000 brown bears, one of the world’s largest populations.

Near Kamchatka’s southern tip, Enns and Russell found Kambalnoye Lake--a beautiful but inhospitable spot in the heart of the South Kamchatka Sanctuary about 90 minutes by helicopter from the regional capital, Petropavlovsk Kamchatsky. Frequent fog limits access to the roadless nature preserve, and human activity is strictly regulated. It seemed perfect for their study.

Their experiment is not one they could have tried at home. Few places in North America offer such pristine wilderness with such a large population of brown bears. And no wildlife official, Russell said, would have sanctioned their living in grizzly country and fraternizing with wild bears in an era when the prevalent management philosophy is to make the animals fear humans.

“There are too many preconceived ideas about bears,” Russell said. “To have somebody come in and build trust was not in the cards.”

Russian officials, however, were unconcerned about the purpose of their work and were willing to let them live in the sanctuary--for a price.

“They forgot to ask us what our study was about,” Russell said. “They wanted money.”

Poachers Endanger Man and Bear

The couple agreed to pay the salary of Kamchatka’s leading bear expert, give the regional government an ultralight plane like one Russell flies and pay other fees.

In the spring of 1996, they built a one-room cabin in the preserve more than a day’s walk from the nearest settlement. They subsisted on provisions they flew in and fish they caught. Their biggest enemies were the weather, isolation and poachers.

Walking through the sanctuary, Russell came across bear carcasses left by poachers and in one case a howling bear snared in a trap.

They also found that even here in one of the wildest places on the planet, the bears had learned to be wary of people. The following spring, they decided to change their approach: They would try to adopt an orphan bear.

They learned of three young cubs at the tiny Petropavlovsk zoo that had been brought there by the hunter who killed their mother.

The zoo director was happy to send the cubs to the preserve; he did not have food or room for three growing bears and planned to kill them. Yet the sanctuary was reluctant to approve the Canadians’ proposal to return the cubs to the wild.

Enns and Russell were not to be deterred. They put the cubs in a crate and trucked them to a small heliport near Petropavlovsk. They were loading the bears on a helicopter when Tatiana Gordienko, a sanctuary official, unexpectedly arrived. Unaware of the cubs, she planned to hitch a ride with the couple to inspect their project.

Before anyone could board, Enns persuaded the pilot to start the engine and drown out the noise of the cubs whining in back. Only after they landed did Gordienko realize that the bears were on board. As the cubs scampered from their crate, she told Enns and Russell they were crazy--but ultimately agreed to OK their plan.

Gordienko has since become one of the project’s strongest supporters in Kamchatka, but she still warns that the cubs could turn violent. A wildlife photographer was killed by a bear in the sanctuary in 1996, she noted.

“People should not forget they are truly wild animals,” she said. “They’re predators.”

Enns and Russell knew that they had less than six months to prepare the cubs for their first winter hibernation. From the start, they vowed they would not treat them as pets but would teach them to survive in the wild. The most difficult issue would be food, because the bears would have to consume enough in six months to last the whole year.

They built a small wooden house for the cubs near the cabin and fed them porridge, milk and sunflower seeds. To keep the bears from associating food with humans, they never fed the cubs by hand or let the bears see them put food in their bowls. They did not want the cubs to become like park bears, begging for food and turning aggressive when it was denied.

While mainly vegetarian, brown bears are skillful hunters and opportunistic feeders who will eat anything from birds and rodents to insects and dead animals. As the cubs grew, they began finding food for themselves with an instinct for what was safe and nutritious.

“We thought we could be heroes and we could teach them,” Russell said. “But they explored and taught themselves.”

The most valuable lesson Enns and Russell gave the cubs was how to fish. First, they caught and killed local trout called char, put them in a pool in a stream and showed the cubs where they were. The bears were enthusiastic. Then they put live char in the pool for the cubs to chase. By the end of the summer, the cubs could catch spawning salmon in the lake--at a much younger age than most bears.

There was little the humans could do, however, to help the cubs hibernate. Most cubs stay with their mothers for three years, sleeping in the same den in the winter. With no one to dig a den for the cubs, Russell and Enns were uncertain what the bears would do. Enns had to return to Canada, but Russell stayed to see what would happen.

In early November, the cubs became lethargic. After a big snowfall, the three sisters climbed a slope near the cabin, dug a hole in the ground and crawled in together for the winter. Satisfied, Russell left for home.

The following spring, shortly before it was time for the couple to return to Kamchatka, doctors discovered an aneurysm in Russell’s leg. Despite the danger that it could burst and kill him, he would not stay behind to have surgery. He was determined to see if the cubs had survived.

Cubs and Russell Reunite in Spring

Russell arrived first at the cabin last May and found three thin but healthy bears on a hillside nearby. When the cubs recognized Russell, they ran to greet him, Chico leading the way and sliding down the snow-covered slope into Russell’s shins.

The cubs’ ability to survive the winter was proof of the couple’s triumph: They had succeeded in returning the bears to the wild.

“It was one of the biggest thrills of my life,” Russell said.

Enns, who has untamed, curly red hair, is articulate, determined and passionate about the cubs and her painting. Russell, whose laid-back manner and gray hair belie his daredevil nature, flies around Kamchatka landing on lakes and meadows in an ultralight seaplane he built himself.

Enns believes that bears have emotions and can appreciate beauty; Russell craves close contact with wild bears.

“I’m trying to figure out how a bear feels and what a bear thinks about,” she said. “Charlie’s more personal goal is pushing the extreme limit of trust between man and bear.”

Both hope to educate the public about bears: Russell through a book he plans to write and Enns through art inspired by the cubs. She already has exhibited some of her Kambalnoye Lake work in Canada and Russia.

Their avant-garde approach to life and their willingness to test the limits of conventional thinking have earned them financial backing from dozens of individual and corporate sponsors, including Sun Microsystems, Parallax Film Production Inc. and Microsoft Corp.

Thanks to their donors, they were able to install solar panels at the cabin soon after arriving last year, giving them enough power to operate a computer, send e-mail by satellite phone and post dispatches to their own Web site: www.norquay.com/grizzlies.

After awakening from hibernating last spring, the cubs were so hungry that the couple resumed supplemental feedings with sunflower seeds--but moved the bowl each day to mimic natural conditions. Later, at times when food was plentiful, they stopped feeding the bears altogether.

By midsummer, the cubs had grown so large that when they stood on their hind legs they were as tall as Enns. But the greatest harm they caused was to boots: Given the chance, they would try to chew on the toes of shoes--whether someone’s feet were in them or not.

While Enns and Russell spent much of the first summer helping the cubs learn how to survive, they devoted much of last summer to wandering with them through the tundra, observing how bears behave in the wild.

“They follow us for a while, and then they go off on their own and we follow them for a while,” Enns said as Rosie nibbled at sedge grass by their feet. “Nobody thought this was possible. Everybody thought they would be violent by now.”

Eating plants and flowers, the cubs look more like broad-shouldered sheep than vicious predators. The bears do not seek physical contact but will let their foster parents touch them; Chico, the big sister of the three, lets Russell lean against her while they rest.

Since the cubs were young, they have been free to go wherever they want except into the couple’s cabin, a yard and the outhouse. They respond to their names and the word “no,” but Enns and Russell say the cubs are more mannerly and intelligent than dogs.

When the bears go for a walk, they always travel in the same order: Chico leads, then Biscuit, with Rosie bringing up the rear--all of them on the alert for danger, including large male bears that sometimes attack and eat cubs. Enns and Russell have learned to walk in the middle of the line so they do not interfere with Rosie’s duties as rear guard.

3 Siblings Protect One Another

Startled easily by unexpected noises, the cubs run off at the slightest threat. Yet on three occasions, Chico has appeared to protect Enns by placing herself between her adopted mother and a wild bear, then chasing it away. When one of the cubs gets in trouble--as when Chico fell through ice on the lake--the others rush over to offer support.

If Chico is the leader, Biscuit is “the caregiver,” Enns said. From her post in the middle, Biscuit makes sure the cubs stay together. When they stop to rest, she lets Rosie suck on her hair--a habit Chico will not indulge.

Rosie, Enns said, exhibits more curiosity than the others.

“I call her the artist of the group,” Enns said. “She savors each bite.”

Enns came to the conclusion that the bears appreciate beauty after watching them gaze one day at the spectacular view from a resting place on a hillside above Kambalnoye Lake. Sitting at the bears’ eye level, she produced a series of paintings titled “Views from Nesting Sites.”

In her work, Enns has tried to capture what she perceives as the bears’ emotions. Some are easy to see in the cubs’ behavior: anger, anxiety and fear. But she believes that they also have feelings that are harder to observe, including affection for others.

“They display feelings people don’t realize bears have,” she said. “They have tremendous care for one another. We also think they care for us.”

Enns and Russell constantly worry that their cubs will become the victims of poachers who hunt brown bears for their gallbladders, a prized ingredient in some traditional Asian medicines. Usually, a poacher will cut out a bear’s gallbladder, slice off a few choice cuts of meat and leave the rest of the animal to rot.

Russell was flying his ultralight in August 1997 when he noticed an all-terrain vehicle driving in the sanctuary not far from the cabin. These heavy vehicles are strictly prohibited in the preserve because their tanklike tracks tear up the fragile tundra. He was certain it carried poachers.

Russell reported the sighting to sanctuary officials by satellite phone. When authorities stopped the vehicle, they found seven armed men inside and arrested them for poaching. Among them was Valentin Golovin, the sanctuary director. He is on unpaid leave until the case goes to court.

In the vehicle, authorities discovered a videotape the hunters had made of Russell flying overhead. One could be heard on the tape saying, “If he circles one more time, I’m going to shoot him down.”

Last summer, Enns and Russell gave the regional government enough money to hire and arm three antipoaching officers to patrol the sanctuary.

“The cubs have propelled us into something we don’t want to stop,” Russell said. “We don’t want to just leave them up to their luck.”

Not surprisingly, Enns and Russell feel safer around bears than poachers. Still, as a precaution, they carry an antibear pepper spray, though they have not had to use it to protect themselves. The best tactic when encountering a wild bear, Russell said, is to speak to it calmly and reassuringly.

“I’ve practiced it often in lots of different situations, including a mother with cubs charging,” he said. “Talking calms them down.”

To protect their cabin, outhouse and plane, the couple installed an electric fence. It is only about 3 feet high, but bears do not try to climb it. They touch it only once.

To test the idea that electric fences could be used more widely, Russell persuaded Russians living at the Kurilskoye Lake salmon research station, about 20 miles from their cabin, to let him build a similar fence there.

For decades, the community had lived in conflict with bears that came down to the shore to fish. The bears would wander through the settlement of 25 people, tear up gardens, eat garbage and pull apart the weir used for counting salmon. Over the years, residents had killed hundreds of problem bears.

Russell designed the solar-powered fence so that it encircles the settlement’s 10 buildings, weir and gardens but does not cut off the bears’ access to the lake. After two seasons, Russell said, the experiment has been a success. The only problem came when bears burrowed under the fence in places where it was too high off the ground.

Now, Enns and Russell are helping to develop lightweight, battery-operated electric fences that backpackers can carry and set up around their tents.

Enns and Russell note that brown bears rarely kill people and suggest that the way people treat them--not the animals’ nature--is responsible for most attacks on humans.

Brown bears can live for 30 years, and Russell believes that they remember harm suffered at the hands of people.

“Wardens [in North America] are trained to shoot them with rubber bullets if they are eating dandelions by the side of the road,” he said. “If bears want to be around people, they drug them and take them away. We are being quite forceful and mean to them in some circumstances, and then we wonder why they attack some Joe Blow on the trail.”

Bears that have learned to get food from people can become aggressive if the supply is cut off. To minimize the danger, Enns suggested that parks could provide food at carefully controlled locations and create grizzly viewing areas using electric fences. “Why not have special vehicles like in Africa?” she asked.

By the end of the 1998 season, Chico, Biscuit and Rosie were roaming farther from the cabin and staying away up to five days at a time. With the cubs able to take care of themselves--and Russell in need of surgery on his leg--the couple decided to depart for Canada in September.

In November, a researcher from the Kurilskoye Lake settlement flew over the cabin and reported that he saw the cubs high on a ridge near the site of their first den.

Enns and Russell plan to return ,to Kambalnoye Lake in May after the cubs emerge from hibernation and resume their life together. They dream that one day the Russian orphans will have cubs of their own and bring them to meet their human grandparents.

“The possibility of them being totally independent, raising their own families and still being on good terms with us is an exciting prospect,” Russell said. “I would just love to see how they would act around us with their cubs.”