“Two spots opened up on that Alaskan Brown Bear trip with the Wildlife Collective,” I casually mentioned to my wife, Michele.
“When?” she asked, looking up from her work laptop.
“I’d have to be in King Salmon, Alaska, in 48 hours,” I replied while frantically checking flights from Edmonton, Alberta, to King Salmon.
“Is it doable with flights?” she questioned.
I sent her a screenshot from Expedia.
“Edmonton to Minneapolis, then a 10-hour red-eye to Anchorage… That’s like 18 hours of travel,” she noted. Then, without hesitation, she added, “You should go.”
Growing up, I had a National Geographic VHS on brown bears that I wore out from watching it so much. Despite that, I hesitated.
“I don’t know,” I muttered, already waffling about the cost and the time away.
Michele cut me off. “When was the last time you did something adventurous on your own? Me and our son aren’t going on a trip like this with you anytime soon. You should do it. I’d say you need this trip.”
I paused and thought back over the past 13 years since I left the Army and became a stay-at-home dad. Her words hit me.
At the 36-hour mark before departure, I checked flights again.
“Yeah, I’ll totally do it,” I said, emailing the trip organizer, Zac, to confirm I’d take the available spot.
Rain fell intermittently as we hiked along Tunnel Creek, the water sloshing around in my leaky wader bootie, chilling my toes. We crested a hill and stopped at the edge of a steep ridge. Below us, a bear was sunning itself on the riverbank, while a highway of red sockeye salmon streamed upriver.
One of the most fascinating things I learned in Katmai is that bears develop different fishing techniques. Some use the snorkel method, swimming with their faces underwater to hunt. A bear nicknamed Joker would crouch in overhanging bushes, ambushing fish that ventured too close.
As incredible as the trip had been, watching a bear catch some sun wasn’t the highlight.
“If you have a polarizer, definitely put it on,” Zac called out to the line of photographers.
Fumbling with cold fingers and dodging the occasional raindrop, I screwed the 72mm filter onto my 70-200mm lens. Adjusting the collar to reduce the glare, I raised the viewfinder to my eye just in time to see the bear rise and head for the river.
F/3.5 at this distance should work, I thought as I locked autofocus. The bear dove into the water with a dramatic belly flop, scattering spawning salmon. I pressed the shutter, capturing the moment. A quick check of the monitor told me I had something special.
As the rain came and went, we sat on the ridge, watching the bear’s impressive fishing display.
Back at camp, I transferred a few photos to my phone and began editing with Lightroom Mobile. One photo of the bear fishing kept drawing me back. The outstretched claws, the tension in the frame—it had everything.
I leaned over to show one of the guides.
“Whoa, you got claws stretched out. You gotta share that,” he exclaimed.
When someone who’s likely seen 10,000 bear photos in the past three weeks gives you a compliment like that, you know you’ve captured something truly remarkable.
