My trip into the far reaches of Alaska started in Homer. The dock buzzed with life—boats rocking gently in the harbor, gulls crying overhead, and the faint scent of salt and diesel carried on the breeze. I made my way to a small float plane and I was soon in the air above the coastline, its contours revealing a wilderness of tidal flats, braided rivers, and jagged peaks. An hour later, I was standing on the beach of one of the most remote parts of North America, tracks from the largest predator on the continent pressed deep into the sand at my feet, their size a reminder of the creatures that rule this landscape.

When you first see the brown bears of Alaska (Ursus arctos), you are immediately struck by their size and recognize the distinctive shape we associate with grizzly bears. While all grizzlies are brown bears, not all brown bears are grizzlies—a distinction based more on geography and access to food than biology. Grizzlies are a subspecies of brown bear (Ursus arctos horribilis) that live inland, away from the abundance of the coast. Coastal brown bears, like those I observed in Alaska, thrive on a diet of marine resources, including salmon, clams, and the nutrient-rich sedge grass that carpets the nearby meadows.

Alaska’s brown bears are as captivating as they are powerful. During my time in Katmai National Park and the surrounding areas, I was able to observe these massive bears digging for clams along the ocean’s edge, grazing in meadows, napping in the sun, and nursing their cubs. These quieter moments revealed a different side of their lives—one that reflected the rhythm of this untamed place. Watching a sow patiently guide her cubs through a meadow or seeing a solitary male amble along the shore gave me a new appreciation for their adaptability, grace, and intricate ways of communication.

Preservation Is Vital

Bears are very tuned to their environment through their keen sense of smell. They are also masterful observers, reading body language and subtle cues from other bears. This heightened awareness is key to their survival, allowing them to navigate an environment that is both abundant and unforgiving.

The landscape they inhabit is every bit as dynamic as the bears themselves. Areas like Hallo Bay and Lake Clark National Park are places of contrast: glaciers that groan with slow movement, volcanoes that loom over the land like ancient guardians, and endless shades of green from evergreens to grassy meadows that ripple with the wind. These ecosystems are intricately connected, each element playing a role in the bears’ lives. The tidal flats, for example, offer a bounty of clams, while the streams and rivers serve as vital arteries for salmon runs that sustain countless species, bears included.

Experiencing this environment comes with responsibility. Observing the bears requires following strict rules that protect both them and us. Visitors travel in small groups, maintain a respectful distance, and move quietly. Feeding the bears or introducing food is strictly forbidden, and running—a natural human reaction to such massive animals—is out of the question. These rules ensure that the bears remain habituated to people in a way that prioritizes their safety and natural behaviors. It’s a delicate balance, one that allows for close encounters without compromising the integrity of their world.

Up Close and Personal

One moment stands out vividly. A bear, belly-deep in a stream, walked right toward me and turned its gaze to meet mine. It wasn’t a look of aggression or curiosity but something softer—an acknowledgment, perhaps, of our shared presence in that moment. I lowered myself to the ground and remained quiet, demonstrating I was not a threat. The bear sat in the water for a moment, almost mimicking me, and then moved upstream. Moments like this remind me why being in nature matters. They’re about more than just the bears; they’re about fostering a connection to the wild and recognizing the importance of preserving it.

The preservation of these bears and their habitat is vital. The sedge meadows where they graze, the tidal flats where they dig for clams, and the rivers that carry salmon to their spawning grounds form a delicate ecosystem that supports countless species. Protecting these places ensures not only the survival of the bears but also the health of the larger landscape. It’s a responsibility we all share, one that requires both action and awareness.

I’m struck by the lessons these bears have to offer. They embody patience, adaptability, and an unyielding connection to their environment. They remind us of the rhythms of the wild—rhythms that operate on their own terms, indifferent to human timelines. It’s a world worth protecting, not just for the bears but for everything tied to their existence.