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Jeanie and the photographer who called her a friend

I t's been a year since Jeanie the bear was shot and killed by conservation officers after it was decided that she had become a threat to people.
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A year after Jeanie's death Syliva Dolson reflects on a bear who did much to educate and entertain Whistler visitors and residents. Photo by Sylvia Dolson

It's been a year since Jeanie the bear was shot and killed by conservation officers after it was decided that she had become a threat to people. There is no doubt that she pushed the limits of what was allowed last year, but when the news of her death broke the community was shocked and saddened that the bear that had taught all of us so much had died because people couldn't control their food stuffs. Dolson, of the Get Bear Smart Society, wrote this article about Jeanie before the bear's death — and on the anniversary of Jeanie's death Pique thought we should all remember Jeanie the way she was in life.

I sat in the deep wet grass, legs contorted and neck crooked, so that my camera could rest squarely on my left knee. My limbs were tingling from being awkwardly bent beneath me; monopod tucked under one leg and pushed against my body to minimize any vibration. The sun was in and out, wreaking havoc with my exposure settings. Thoughts of prioritizing my to-do list were colliding into thoughts of capturing some images before a dinner party for which I was sure to be late.

My subject, Jeanie, was being as cooperative as any bear could be. You see we had known each other for over 15 years at the time. She had come to recognize my voice and scent, and knew that I meant her no harm; often ignoring me completely. I have recorded her life history with hundreds of photographs over the years and she always posed dutifully as the magnificent icon that she is. The best and most joyous photos came in the form of family portraits. Cubs are so full of joy and wonder. I love to watch them play while they amuse themselves with whatever they can find — sticks, rocks, pinecones, and of course, mom. They climb all over mom, bouncing off her head, jumping on her back, rolling under her legs.

Often, when Jeanie had new cubs, she would grunt them down from their refuge tree to proudly show them off to me; she would stand to the side and hold her head up a little higher than normal as if to say, "Look at these little rascals; aren't they the cutest cubs you've ever seen?" When she was without cubs, as happened to be the case that year, she seemed to enjoy hanging out with me; usually sitting nearby munching on clover or dandelions, seemingly without a care in the world. On this particular day, even the passing golfers were of little interest to her.

While Jeanie did make frequent forays to the Whistler Golf Course in spring, her normal summer range encompassed the vast coastal hemlock and cedar forests on the north slope of Whistler Mountain and the south slope of Blackcomb. It's an area that has seen increased development and recreational activities over the past decade. Jeanie shared and the other bears continue to share their territory with ATVs, Hummers, construction workers and their heavy equipment, the Whistler Bike Park, and thousands of hikers and bear-watchers. Jeanie adapted well to the activity, and was very tolerant of humans. It was in part, her high tolerance that has allowed us to become well acquainted.

Jeanie was likely a young adult when we first met. I may never really know exactly how old she was, but it's likely she was about 20 when she passed to the other side; getting on for a bear. She had seven sets of cubs since we first met; one year she had a single cub, but most years she has had twins. In 2009, she had three cubs. Unfortunately she lost all of them, one by one, most likely to a predatory male bear. In September of that year, after losing her last cub, she mated again — perhaps even with the male that killed her cub. This may be very difficult for humans to understand, but that's the life of the bear; to carry on no matter what kind of curve ball life throws.

On this day, Jeanie didn't have a long to-do list or a dinner party to attend. Her job was to pack on the pounds for hibernation and be ready to care for the cubs she might produce over the winter. But her life had not been easy either. When natural foods ran out in the late fall, she sometimes found herself rummaging through garbage in the middle of Whistler Village. She had been trapped and moved out of busy urban areas and sent back onto the mountain. Biologists fitted her with a GPS radio collar and tracked her movements. Police fired rubber bullets and bear bangers at her to teach her to stay away from people.

As I pondered life's struggles, both Jeanie's and mine, I untangled my legs and straightened my neck and took a big long breath. The grasses smelled fresh and the pine scent lingered in the damp air. I took a moment to notice what a great day I was having. I lay backward on the grass and counted the things I was grateful for. It felt good to stretch out from head to toe. And it was damn good to have such a fine friend. Jeanie never asked anything of me, yet she was always willing to tolerate my photographic considerations; jostling from one position to another to ensure the sun was in the right position; the background was unimposing and there were no stray rocks or other distracting elements in the foreground.

I sat up, but my friend had left. I felt a little lonely. I missed having her nearby. Another time I thought; I guess I won't be late for my dinner party after all. I gathered my equipment and stuffed it back into my camera bag, but was distracted by a faint wheezing behind me. When I turned around, there she lay, drunk on dandelions, just metres behind me in the brush, on a small bed of pine boughs; resting before the next foraging bout and perhaps dreaming of a future with two precious little cubs.