Beavers and Bears

Wild childhoods in the Rockies

Back when we were young(ger… much, younger), kids growing up in Banff, Alberta, we spent a lot of time outside doing … kid things. I was reminded of just how footloose and fancy free we were when I listened to the inaugural podcast by Max Wilkie (Wilkie’s World: check it out). In it, he relates an incident that involves kids and a beaver lodge (in Banff)… Take a listen. I thought I knew a thing or two about beavers but it turns out there was plenty more to learn…

The beaver lodge in question is one I gazed at as a kid, longing to make the swim across the stream, dive down into the chilly water and then emerge in the tunnel leading into a place I imagined to be warm and cozy… Alas, I was too wimpy (sensible?) to take the plunge and it wasn’t until I listened to the podcast that I remembered the longing to explore this hidden world of a beaver clan’s home.

The kids in the story weren’t old (or, perhaps, they would have known better than to embark on their explorations), but they enjoyed a kind of wild, unfettered, less-supervised existence than many (most?) kids today.

While I didn’t go diving for beavers, I had my share of excitement for much the same reason - I was lucky enough to be turned loose into our mountain playground backyard with few restrictions beyond being told to be home in time for dinner.

In my case, this generally meant I packed a sandwich and an apple in a small rucksack and headed for the stables down near the recreation grounds. To this day, tourists arrive in droves (wearing shorts, flip-flops, sun dresses - not exactly the most sensible riding apparel) to climb aboard mellow-natured trail horses to enjoy a peek at mountain vistas from astride a horse.

The stables in Banff haven’t changed much since the days when I spent long hours hanging out in what I considered to be heaven on earth. [Photo: Nikki Tate]

I was lucky enough to have a horse we kept down at the stables during the summer. I rode my bike down there in the morning and then proceeded to entertain myself for hours at a time. There weren’t a lot of kids around, so I’d sometimes tag along at the end of a trail ride, though they tended to move too slowly for my exuberant taste.

More often, I’d just climb aboard my horse and head for the hills. There were a couple of trails I loved - shady on hot summer days, one that led partway up Sulfur Mountain to a great lookout point and another that wound past the golf course behind the Banff Springs Hotel. This trail was particularly fun as it involved a river crossing that was always exciting and cooled off both me and my horse on hot summer days.

While those days had their share of breathtaking gallops (the horse’s mane whipping across my cheeks as we bolted along familiar trails), just as lovely were the quieter rides where squirrels, chipmunks, jays, magpies, ravens, gophers, and occasionally deer, elk, moose, coyotes, and hares crossed our path as we ambled along in a state of total bliss. There was nothing to worry about - the horse knew the trails as well as I did and we happily relaxed into our wanderings with little more to think about than how long my sandwich might stave off starvation and inevitable return home.

Forgive the truly awful drawing… I will blame my tools - I am really not in control of Procreate… or my hand-eye coordination, apparently. I was attempting to capture the sheer exuberant joy of galloping bareback, the wind flowing through my hair and all that… Best you continue to scroll and not dwell on that image… [Not eager to take credit for that… so, I won’t.]

What was absent at all was any kind of safety equipment. No helmet. Half the time no saddle (I was short, the horse was tall, it was a pain to get that saddle on). No supervision. And, of course, no In-reach or cell phones and though I had learned how to wave out SOS with semaphore flags at Brownies, I certainly didn’t carry anything vaguely resembling a signalling device when I disappeared for hours on end into the wilderness.

Yes, Banff National Park sees a lot (millions) of visitors each year, but most don’t venture far from the parking lots located near scenic viewpoints. (I'm not being facetious - there are stats showing the minuscule distances - feet, not miles - that the average visitor ventures from their vehicle while visiting the park). As a result, you don’t need to go too far to get away from the crowds, even today. Back in the 70’s, it was even easier to spend hours out of sight or earshot of anyone.

Solitude was all fine and dandy until…

One afternoon, I was plodding along on my elderly gelding, moseying along a trail we’d been on many times before. Up ahead in the shady underbrush at the side of the trail I saw something moving. At first, I thought it was a large boulder, more or less the size of a washing machine, rolling. I slowed my horse, trying to register what I was seeing? The tail end of a landslide?

But then, the boulder lifted her head and spotted us. In the same moment, I realized that there were two baby boulders on the opposite side of the trail to their mama, scampering up a tree.

A lot of things happened all at once. Boulder transformed into BEAR and bear into mother bear and cubs. My horse must have been doing similar recalibrations because he froze in place just as the sow lifted up onto her back legs and huffed, doing her own set of calculations regarding the intruders into her space.

In the same moment that she started her charge, I clutched the saddle horn (thankfully, this was a saddle day) as my horse did a pivot worthy of a very fancy cutting horse, and bolted off down the trail. Turns out, an angry bear can keep up with an old horse no matter how fast he gallops and it was only because her cubs were still behind us in a tree somewhere that she didn’t pursue us for too long before turning back and returning to her offspring.

The story could have had so many other endings. I could easily have flown off the horse and been knocked unconscious (a mercy, no doubt, if the bear had then decided to eat me). The bear could have been a more aggressive grizzly rather than a black bear. We could have been just a few steps closer before we all realized we were invading each other’s spaces. My horse could have stumbled. Could have bolted off the trail and into the dense brush.

But none of that happened. We slowed down after we reached a wider part of the trail lower down the mountain and it was clear we were no longer being followed. I felt a little foolish, but didn’t feel it necessary to mention the incident to anyone, particularly not my parents.

Now, when I look back, yes, I feel lucky - not so much that I survived the bear incident (and a few other close calls I’ll save for another day), but rather that I was blessed with so much freedom during that period of my childhood. What have our children lost by keeping them so closely supervised? How do kids today learn to problem solve and entertain themselves when distractions, scheduled events, screens, and constant obligations keep them tied up? Tied down? Not that I’m suggesting it’s a great idea to let your 8 year-old head into the mountains bareback on a horse with no way of calling for help, but should we be allowing the next generation a little more slack than we do?

Or are there just as many dangers in our world today but they just look a little different and have different consequences when things go sideways?

Online predators and scams, social anxiety fuelled by social media, isolation, depression, deadly drugs far more dangerous than the Mary-Jane that so terrified my mother… are these contemporary perils actually more harmful to more kids than the occasional bear (or beaver) encounter?

You tell me - were the wild days of our youths a privilege or reckless and irresponsible?

Footnote: I haven’t had a chance to listen yet, but it looks like a new Wilkie’s World episode mentions bears… Must have a listen!!