Jeanie
It's January '09, and deep inside an old growth tree cavity under the Peak to Peak gondola on Blackcomb Mountain, three black bears are born. Snowbanks around the den protect the tiny cubs from the frigid air and biting wind as they nuzzle into their mom's fur and suckle her fat-rich milk. The year is 2009 and this is Jeanie's sixth litter.
At about 20 years old, Jeanie is probably Whistler's best-known bear. She has a distinctive swath of white fur across her chest mottled with darker blotches. Some say the markings on her face make her look as if she might be wearing old-fashioned spectacles. Her summer range encompasses the vast coastal hemlock-cedar forests on the north slope of Whistler Mountain and the south slope of Blackcomb.
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By spring, Jeanie and her new family emerge from their den. The cubs, no bigger than house cats, are very skittish. Even the wind rustling the branches can send the three scampering up a tree. They play with whatever they can find-sticks, rocks, pinecones, and of course, Mom. They climb all over her, bouncing off her head, jumping on her back, rolling under her legs. She occasionally grunts and huffs, just enough to keep them close. Her patience seems infinite.
While they are small, Jeanie must protect her cubs against the constant threat from coyotes, cougars and bobcats, as well as from adult male bears who sometimes kill cubs so they can mate with the mother and produce their own litters. She also has to watch out for her rival Katie, who is slowly gaining ground in the bruin hierarchy, and has been challenging the aging Jeanie for dominance.
Jeanie and her cubs live in an area that has seen increased development and recreational activities over the past decade. She now shares her territory with ATVs, Hummers, construction workers and their heavy equipment, the Whistler Bike Park, and thousands of hikers and bear-watchers each summer. She has adapted well to the constant activity, and is tolerant of humans.
However, fewer berries and increased competition for natural food has meant Jeanie has taken her cubs on some dangerous outings into Whistler Village. Each time she ventures into town and is rewarded with human food or garbage, her behavior is reinforced, increasing the risk of coming into conflict and getting killed as a human safety risk. One of her most serious infractions occurred when she climbed over the counter of Zogs, a popular outdoor fast-food restaurant in the Village and ate her fill of hotdogs and buns.
Whenever she's in town, researchers and conservation officers use non-lethal aversion techniques to scare her away. The goal is to teach Jeanie that populated areas equal pain and discomfort. She has been yelled at, shot with rubber bullets, chased by a trained Karelian bear dog and pelted with marbles from a sling shot.
It was not her interaction with humans that caused the death of Jeanie's 2009 littler. One by one, each cub disappeared; researchers suspect natural predators or adult male bears killed them; or maybe even Katie. Unfortunately, the loss of her offspring is not new to Jeanie. Most of the 12 cubs she has had since 1997 have eventually died, either by vehicle collisions, natural predators, or by being shot or relocated by officials. A bear's life can be difficult, but they must carry on. In early September of 2009, two different males, including a large boar named Slumber, were seen courting Jeanie. And so the cycle continues.
Slip
Slip was one of those bears you couldn't help but root for.
He meant no harm, but like any teenage boy, he always seemed to find trouble, and wherever he went, he usually left a mess. Originally named Max when he was born on Blackcomb Mountain in 2003, Slip, a bear who was being studied by researchers, acquired his nickname after slipping out of his radio collar three times.
Slip tagged along with his mother Marissa for about a year before expanding his home range. This is natural behaviour for a young male bear, but Slip soon found himself in some unnatural places and learned some very unnatural things. When he was in town, he figured out how to access pedestrian waste bins. When his paws were still small, he managed to squeeze them into the supposedly bear-proof latch and open the lid. Soon, his paws grew too big to fit into the handle, but Slip didn't give up. He'd test every bin he passed to see if the back door was locked-an easy score if it wasn't-or if the bin looked tippable. (If the base of the bin isn't buried in the ground, the whole thing can be quite easy for a hungry bear to tip over and smash open).
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Slip was a social fellow. He was a member of what researchers called The Fitz Creek Gang, a group of five unrelated male and female bears, all around the same age, who would hang out on the ski hill together, playing with and pulling down snow fencing and signs. They also enjoyed a good frolic in the snow. Three 'gang' members were spotted wrestling and sliding together down a patch of snow at Blackcomb Base II one spring. Although they never ventured into town together, the Fitz Creek Gang members were all spotted individually prowling for human food in the Village.
Slip was a clever bear; an expert at getting what he wanted. One hot summer day when he needed to cool off, he made his way into a hotel pool for a refreshing dip. And once he walked into the loading bay at the Westin Hotel, climbed some stairs, walked about 50 meters down a hallway and entered the hotel garbage compactor looking for food.
Conservation Officers, Bylaw Officers and RCMP repeatedly used non-lethal aversion conditioning techniques Slip was hazed 39 times in the fall of 2005 to deter him from populated areas. The following year, the Bear Aversion Research Team (BART) conducted an intense aversive conditioning program on him; for consecutive days, Slip was monitored day and night, hit with rubber bullets and moved out whenever he tried to access the Village. He was persistent and clever in his ways of getting what he wanted, but he never harmed a soul.
By the following spring there was speculation that Slip may have turned over a new leaf; he hadn't been in trouble in town since reappearing from his den. However, spring is when bears look for mates, and that's likey what he was preoccupied with in his last months.
Slip never got the chance to prove whether he'd really been 'reformed.' The endearing thug was shot by a hunter in the Soo Valley in May, 2007, when he was just four years old.
Marissa
Marissa used to be known as the bear who limped.
Exactly how she hurt herself is a mystery, but for several months she dragged her lame front right leg along beneath her without putting any weight on it.
Injuries are not uncommon among bears-hers could have occurred during a tussle with another bear, she could have fallen from a tree or simply tripped while walking along a rocky slope.
But life for a black bear in the mountains is all about survival, and the injury didn't stop Marissa from doing what her body needed to do: eat. Fall is berry season, a time when the huckleberries and blueberries growing mid-mountain and above are at their best, and bears need to bulk up for the winter.
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Lips flopping, rhythmically gulping, Marissa can't get enough of the juicy fruits. Her eyes search the bushes for more blue and purple berries before she's even swallowed her first bite. She consumes an entire bush full of berries in less than a minute, using her mouth like a vacuum, and moves to the next bush. Chewing is a waste of time; she swallows the berries whole. Marissa knows that if she doesn't gain enough weight in the fall, it's unlikely she'll give birth to any cubs this year. But she's a conscientious eater. Marissa only plucks the sweetest, juiciest berries. If they aren't ripe, she'll leave them behind, and return to check on the 'crop' later that week.
Not only is she an excellent fruit harvester, Marissa is also a highly efficient farmer. Thousands of undigested berry seeds in her scat are spread throughout her territory, creating new berry bushes for upcoming generations.
Marissa no longer limps; researchers now identify this 20 year old matriarch by her distinctly feminine facial features and the small white blaze on her chest. While she and her cubs have been known to feed on the greens at the Chateau Whistler gold course, Marissa generally stays away from people. She is a regal, aloof, shy, beautiful bear, with a tough streak humans can never quite know the depth of.
