27 Nov To End a Bear Hunt
It’s been a watershed year for grizzly bears in British Columbia.
Whatever the final outcome – and we still don’t know the small print of what the government’s new law will say – we are pretty sure we have saved dozens and hopefully hundreds of grizzly bears a year.
The breakthrough came this summer when BC’s new government announced that, from the end of this week, all trophy hunting of grizzly bears will be outlawed in the province.
Tipped off about the new policy at a departure gate at Vancouver airport on my way to Moscow for a writing assignment, I danced and yipped, even as other passengers looked on uncomprehendingly.
The change will mean the end of a century of shooting and mounting grizzly bears as trophies, or turning them into fireside rugs. And it will send an unequivocal message that we value these animals.
The new policy, as announced, is not perfect. There will still be a provision that grizzly bears can be hunted for meat – an apparent sop to the hunters. But since this is something that almost nobody does, if that provision is not abused the numbers shot should be extremely small.
The sea change in policy followed on the heels of two years of relentless scheming and lobbying, the closest-run election in British Columbia’s recent history, and a white-water rafting trip down our river that was to prove pivotal.
And the machinations that led up to the announcement, as they played out, had all the twists and turns of a nail-biting political thriller, replete with slush funds, secret phone calls, hushed-up wilderness visits on small chartered airplanes, and backcountry stand-offs between activists and hunters.
At the end of Act Three, there was even a daring and principled stab-in-the-back that unhorsed BC’s best-known politician.
The cast of characters involved in the battle for the grizzlies was varied and colourful.
In the bears’ corner was Michelle, our feisty local MLA (BC’s provincial equivalent of an MP), a leading cosmetics company who make unusually smelly products, a criminologist, a small handful of diehard supporters, and the two of us.
Arrayed against the bears were endless ranks of self-interested bureaucrats, a coterie of hard-core trophy hunters bankrolled by some serious American money, and a bossy political leader increasingly out of touch with the voters.
Officially the banner under which Kristin and I marched into the fray was that of the Political Committee of the Commercial Bear-Viewing Association of British Columbia.
Hardly a snappy moniker, the committee was a construct, made up of only the two of us and a man who put in much of the money, the larger-than-life owner of BC’s largest bear-viewing operation called Dean.
It was Apple’s death that really put the fire in our bellies.
She was the first wild grizzly bear Kristin and I ever saw, the bear we knew the best, the bear we loved the most. And then, one day, for the measly license fee of $88, she was shot by a local trophy hunter.
We determined to take our fury from our kitchen table deep in the Canadian bush, where only the dogs were listening to our rants, to the corridors of power.
We had two distinct advantages. Ninety per cent of British Columbians opposed the trophy hunting of grizzly bears, according to polls.
And a provincial election was on the distant horizon, meaning that politicians would be held accountable for their policies by the voters.
Initially when we arrived in the provincial capital Victoria the politicians barely gave us the time of day.
The minister responsible for hunting listened to us for a few minutes, promised much, and delivered nothing. The tourism minister, who should have been our champion in government, did the same.
One grouchy MLA stormed out of a meeting when we tried to make our case, accusing me of lying about my bear facts. Another railed that grizzly bears had killed her neighbour’s cows (and therefore, presumably, deserved to die en masse.)
The province’s premier refused to even meet us until Dean ponied up a $10,000 gate fee to one of her elite fund-raising functions. Even then all we got was a photo op and a fake smile.
But slowly we beavered away. We flew politicians first to Dean’s operation, and then to the ranch. And – in an inspired move – we hired Kathy, a former dive instructor who was charming and pushy in just the right proportions.
And then, one day, our luck changed. Michelle called us to say that John Horgan, the leader of the opposition and possibly the future premier of BC, would like to visit the ranch.
He had been listening to our arguments, was impressed by what he has seen at Dean’s operation, and was thinking, she said, of making an end to the grizzly hunt one of his election pledges.
We needed no persuading. I called Thierry, a local charter pilot, and he said that he could make the logistics work. He would deliver Horgan to nearby Kaslo and pick him up again a few hours later for onward movement to the Rockies.
That beautiful September afternoon I took the NDP leader (pictured in the front left of the boat above) and a few of his aides rafting down our blue-green river.
I explained the economic value of bear viewing over bear hunting to British Columbia. I talked about the ethics of trophy hunting, about public opinion.
In the car as I drove Horgan back to Kaslo he was thoughtful for a while. Then he promised that, if he became premier, he would ban grizzly bear trophy hunting. Six months later he publicly announced his pledge in Vancouver.
In the event the election was as close-run as any that BC had seen. Watching the results come in at Michelle’s election night do in our local town it was clear that no party would have an outright majority.
Horgan’s NDP needed support from the tiny Green Party – which inexplicably and, in my view, inexcusably had not come out for a ban on grizzly bear hunting. After some wrangling it got the support.
But, thanks to BC’s complicated parliamentary procedures, it also needed an MLA from the opposition party to take the position of Speaker of the House if it was to have a workable majority.
I thought I might know just such a man. A former criminologist, he was an MLA with the opposing party, but a man of principle. And he hated grizzly bear hunting.
We had met Darryl several times during our lobbying efforts. At one meeting, after a few whiskies, he had berated his colleagues who were pussyfooting around what he saw as a black-and-white moral issue.
“It’s just f…ing wrong to shoot grizzly bears,” he had cried out with passion. “Why can’t you see that?”
So now I dropped him a line suggesting he might take up the post of Speaker. It would mean betraying his colleagues. But…. If it meant saving grizzly bears…
At first he brushed me off. But then, just as I was about to give up hope, he turned on the leader of his own party, our fund-raising foe, and ousted her.
And only weeks later he announced he would be the new Speaker, giving the NDP a solid chance to govern.
The two moves changed politics in BC overnight. And they won Darryl an instant spot in the pantheon of grizzly bear champions of the ages.
So who are the other protagonists who will be with him on the roll of honour when the history of British Columbia’s grizzly bear is written?
Lush Cosmetics was the company that gave us tens of thousands of dollars to conduct polling deep in rural British Columbia that proved decisive in changing political opinions. Carleen and Tricia made that happen.
Dean Wyatt was the owner of the large bear-viewing lodge that put up tens of thousands of dollars of his own money to try and end grizzly bear hunting, although it was not even in his commercial interest.
There was Michelle, of course. The support of the Grizzly Bear Foundation was important, and the efforts of First Nations leaders who fought long and hard against the hunt was crucial.
John Marriott, an old friend and wildlife photographer, was both vocal and persuasive. Charlie Russell campaigned for decades for an end to the hunt, speaking all over western Canada to those who would listen.
And our role in all this chicanery? We just schemed and plotted and cajoled.
I was once a political officer in southern Afghanistan making deals with Pashtun tribal leaders on behalf of the British government. Dealing with politicians in BC was not really any different.
But without you – our guests, friends and supporters – who have contributed so generously to our grizzly bear fund over the years, none of this could ever have happened.
It took money to fly to Victoria, money to go to the far-flung fundraisers and get ourselves on the political map, and money to charter Thierry’s plane to bring John Horgan up to the ranch.
Kristin and I have contributed hundreds of unpaid hours a year to try and end grizzly bear hunting in BC. We will continue to do so.
The ban on hunting is not yet complete. And, even when it is, much conservation work will have to be done if grizzlies are to thrive and prosper again in Canada’s West.
But we are only a small operation. In good times we have a wafer-thin profit margin. In bad times we don’t even have that. It is only your contributions that have allowed us to punch above our weight.
Later this week we should know the exact details of the government’s new policy on grizzly hunting. It will represent an imperfect victory, but a victory nevertheless.
It may even mean that, when the annals of the Canadian grizzly bear are written, Apple’s death will be judged to have not been in vain.
And that is thanks to all of you.