Living on the Edge: Coexisting with Bears in Northern Ontario
I open the door to head outside, but pause and look both ways, not for cars, but for bears. For over a decade, I lived where the pavement met the pines in Sault Ste. Marie, Ontario, on the edge of a forest. Bears were common sightings in spring and fall as they were emerging from or preparing for hibernation. Ursus americanus were our neighbours… sometimes nosy ones.
I taught my kids how to tie their shoes, ride bicycles and to check for bears and signs of wildlife as they headed to the bus stop. It was important that my kids knew that bears were there first in the neighbourhood and that we didn’t need to fear them, but respect them.
My kids’ backpacks jingled with large bear bells that they despised. I couldn’t blame them; nobody wants to sound like Santa and his reindeer on their way to school, but those bells gave me peace of mind on their 500 metre walk down the road to the bus.
We’d seen cubs up our trees, yearlings in our garbage and glossy-furred adults sauntering through our neighbourhood like they owned the place (which, really, they did…). I preferred that their cubs not mess with my cubs.
We tend to forget that we’re the intruders. Every new housing development, roadway, mountain-biking trail or subdivision carves into what was once bear habitat.
I bought a property with a wire fence around the yard to give us a little more warning if a bear was approaching. Off-leash dogs are a big source of human-bear conflict. Bears don’t know that dogs aren’t wolves or coyotes. Dogs run back to the owner with a bear in tow, or the owner catches up to a quarrel and tries to break it up.
I stopped wearing earbuds when gardening, because no one wants to be splitting a Hosta and be surprised by a bear behind them. Instead, I played my music on a portable Bluetooth speaker so that the bear could avoid my yard thanks to warnings of my presence from Taylor Swift or AC/DC (depending on my mood).
When I’d head out at the trailhead near my house, I carried bear spray with me. If I didn’t have a companion to chat with, I’d call out periodically: “Hey bears, coming through.” I saw it as no different than when I walk into a human neighbour’s backyard; if I don’t see them, I announce my presence.
Most days, the only thing I startled was a squirrel. But one afternoon, a black shadow crossed the trail ahead of me.
“Hey bear!” I shouted, “I’m right here.” My voice was louder than I meant it to be, and it quivered more than I expected. It was the one time I had forgotten my bear spray; it was sitting on the back counter beside my water bottle. The bear froze, then strode into the forest. My heart didn’t slow for 10 minutes.
Retired wildlife biologist Dr. Martyn Obbard,says that if you encounter a bear coming towards you, there’s no need to panic. “First, stop. Grab your bear spray, which should be on your belt, not in a pack, back off the trail slowly, and be prepared to use the bear spray. The bear will probably turn around and walk away or walk past you on the trail and keep going.”
Obbard says one of his favourite things about bears is “the strength of the bond between a female bear and her cubs, and how they respond to her and her vocalizations.” Never get between a mother and her cubs.
Know the Bear Necessities
Hailing from Ottawa, I was not raised to know about bear attractants, so I learned a few lessons the hard way and taught my own kids.
Leaving garbage outside in a regular bin was a rookie mistake. Before we started storing it in the garage, I’d wake to find banana peels and plastic bags and wrappers scattered across the lawn. Bears are opportunists. If it smells remotely edible, and particularly rancid, they’ll check it out.
Forgetting to bring my bird feeders in in early spring was another beginner’s error. The shepherd’s hook that held my suet feeder was wildly bent, the suet basket was dragged, pried open and emptied. The flower bed that once surrounded the base of the hook was collateral damage.
Another food-related encounter happened because I hadn’t removed the grease trap from the back of the barbecue. A very large black bear walked up onto my back deck and then stood, sniffing the air. I froze, praying the patio doors would hold if they approached closer, then snapped to attention and ran to get my bear spray. I banged a pot lid on a pot several times, which made the bear retreat.
“Roughly two-thirds of human-bear conflicts are tied to garbage, whether residential bins, restaurant dumpsters or landfills,” said Obbard, an Emeritus research scientist with the Ministry of Natural Resources. “Bears don’t want trouble. They want calories. They are intelligent and driven by their stomachs, and they will remember where they found food, sometimes for years.”
One neighbour down the street thought that feeding the bears was ‘helping them.’ Not so, said Obbard. “Feeding bears teaches them to associate people with food, which usually ends with bear relocation. Relocation isn’t always effective if bears get too familiar with humans because bears have good memories and navigation skills and will return to a rewarding food source.”
So instead of moving bears, we need to remove temptation. Ontario’s Bear Wise program offers simple advice: clean barbecue grease traps, remove bird feeders when bears are active and secure pet food and garbage.
The upside of my bear blunders was getting to see the bears and/or cubs quite close up through the windows and snap some great pictures. It’s quite something to marvel at their teddy-bear qualities one moment and razor-sharp claws the next.
Eventually, our neighbours formed a group chat for bear alerts: ‘Mom with two cubs heading toward the road.’ ‘Big bear near the trailhead.’ We weren’t afraid, just cautious.
Many communities, like the Sault, also have helpful Facebook groups where people can alert others to a bear sighting.
Once, I accused my kids of kicking or moving the large decorative rocks around my garden. When they staunchly denied any involvement, I looked closer and saw claw marks. Having written a book on tracking, I let the sign tell the story, and it was clear that a bear must have been flipping them to find grubs or other insects.
More obvious signs of a bear in the area were paw prints in the mud, and even sometimes in the spring snow. There is no mistaking a bear track. Claw marks on trees, fur tufts on branches and, of course, giant piles of berry-laden scat round out signs of bears in the area.
Coexistence means accepting that bears belong. It means trading convenience for caution: by moving attractants from your property, scanning for bears, fresh tracks and scat, leashing dogs, clipping bear spray on your belt, not wearing headphones and making noise while hiking or biking in bear country. Some call that a nuisance. I call it the price of living where nature still thrives.
Obbard, who is also an adjunct professor at Trent University said, “Most human-bear conflicts are caused by people’s behaviour. Sharing space responsibly means humans changing their behaviour and not expecting bears to change theirs. Bears have adapted to living near people, including some bears even becoming nocturnal to avoid us. Now it’s up to us to adapt to living near bears. If we can get people to accept that, we can start changing outcomes.”
When a black bear ambles through the yard or cubs wrestle at the forest’s edge, I’m reminded that we don’t just live on the edge of the wilderness; we live with it, cautiously and respectfully… And that’s a privilege worth protecting.
