Tuesday, 24 June 2014

A grizzly in the grasslands

A grizzly in the grasslands

Looking west into the storied crest of the Livingstone Range

Arrowleaf balsams (Balsamorhiza sagittata) color southwestern Alberta's rough fescue grasslands.

A limber pine (Pinus flexilis) clings to its perch on thrust-faulted landscape. 

Grass that once gave life to this cow elk, grows from lifeless jaws.

When I walked to my living room window I didn't expect to see more than beautiful scenery bathed in late day sunlight. And for some seconds that's all I saw. But then a grizzly bear took shape, and when it did, the surrounding landscape drifted into obscurity.

I watched the bear for several minutes before realizing I was also looking at a statue-like cow elk … and discovering that she, too, was intently watching the bear. But it wasn't until the bear turned and made a quick run at an approaching raven that I connected the dots and began to grasp the full gravity of the unfolding situation. 

What I hadn't witnessed was the bear's killing of an elk calf, and what I couldn't quite see, initially, was the calf, concealed by the bear. Wheeling ravens and the sudden arrival of several magpies brought the scene into focus and, coupled with the grizzly's threatening runs toward the avian invaders (they quickly took to the air), conveyed the value of a prize that, lifeless after what may have been only hours of life, lay at the bear's feet.

Behind me, the sun hugged the western skyline. The bear was illuminated in the last light of a magical spring day, surrounded by dozens of blooming arrowleaf balsams. Between me and the feeding grizzly, Rock Creek raced through the shadows on the eastern flanks of the Livingstone Range. At water's edge, stream-invading willows, caught in the flow, danced to the discordant pulse of flowing water.

I watched the bear for more than two hours. I watched as more elk appeared and walked—it was almost as if they tiptoed—to the closest safe vantage point from which they could lean forward and look down on the feeding bear. I watched as sunlight faded and darkness crept across the land. I watched as the last raven took flight, and as a mule deer doe, barely visible, walked right past the feeding bear. I watched until night stole the last glimpse of connecting insight.

Dawn exposed the greening valley. And again, an expanse of blooming arrowleaf balsams stole the show. Less conspicuous, and more hidden in the rough fescue grassland, other wildflowers added color and depth. There were yellow splashes of buffalo beans, the cryptic sky-pointing faces of blue-eyed grass and a close-to-the-ground carpet of shooting stars, forget-me-nots, yellow and blue violets. 

Limber pines, dark, bold and shaped by hurricane-force winds, rose above the grass and wildflowers and clung to the crest of the ridge, punctuating the thrust-faulted topography, a fractured seabed thrown into the sky. 

The grizzly, a part of this landscape the previous evening, was no longer in sight. It had vanished, consumed by waves of grass, walls of rock and a forest of wind-tortured pines. But in the bear's place stood a cow elk, and at her side a newborn calf was nursing.

As the sun rose on a cloudless morning I walked to the spot where, only hours earlier, an elk calf had been eaten. Lying in the flattened grass at the base of a blooming arrowleaf balsam, I found two fractured leg bones and a few other bone fragments. There was no skull, there were no hooves, ribs or vertebrae. There was almost nothing to document the life that had been taken. More conspicuous than the calf's remains was the lack of remains. 

But there was this: a glistening pile of bear poop with conspicuous hair and bone fragments.

Is there a meaningful difference between a cutthroat trout's attack on a fluttering, egg-laying stonefly and a grizzly's consumption of a newborn elk calf? I don't know, but I feel close to the Earth whenever I see stoneflies and elk, cutthroats and grizzlies. They're part of the landscape, treasured components of the place I call home.

All around me, elk dotted a sprawling expanse of grassland and forest. The visible elk were all yearlings, animals that had just been released from their mothers' guidance and control. These young elk, fueled by green grass, were footloose and full of amped-up energy, and their actions showed that they didn't know quite what to do with themselves and their newfound freedom. Unseen, and cryptically hidden, were the mature cows who were adding new calves to the herd. 

When I turned and headed home, the rising sun was at my back. Ground-nesting sparrows flew up at my feet, an eagle and several hawks were overhead and Columbian ground squirrels were everywhere. Two ravens, in ragged flight, wove in and out of the tenacious pines. And right in front of me, almost too close to be real, I looked out at the snow-covered, knife-edged face of the Livingstone Range. 

I walked into the valley in the shadow of life and death. Beauty surrounded me, and I looked into the cerulean heart of heaven. 


David McIntyre
Crowsnest Pass, AB  T0K 0C0  Canada




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