Final field days of 2024

Canoes, old-growth forests, and appreciating the cycle of life.

In late November 2024, I had my first opportunity to canoe to one of our wildlife camera sites. This wildlife camera, along with over 30 others, is part of a research project conducted in the territory of, and in collaboration with the q̓ic̓əy̓ (Katzie) First Nation. Typically, we access our cameras by truck and hiking, but this particular site had been deployed via canoe by my colleague Chelsea Greer and two q̓ic̓əy̓ youth in November of 2023. 

Despite the cold and rainy weather, I was thrilled to practice my paddling skills and take in the stunning surroundings. I had the privilege of sharing this experience with Mike Pearson from Pearson Ecological — a senior biologist and, in my opinion, a true professional when it comes to canoe paddling. 

We began making our way down the calm slough, and I paused for a moment to listen to the rain and the soft swoosh of our paddles cutting through the water. I took in the mosaic of late-fall colours along the banks: red and brown from leaf litter, bare branches, and withered shrubs, green from coniferous trees, mosses, and ferns, and splashes of yellow from leaves and long grasses hanging over the water’s edge.

Chavon paddling down the slough.
Chavon paddling down the slough. Photo by Mike Pearson.

We made our way up the slough, passing impressive rock faces and grassy marshland. As the slough narrowed, I noticed the substrate changing — from dense vegetation, to sand and small pebbles, and eventually rounded cobble, perfect for spawning coho and chum salmon. 

Chavon Robertshaw sits in a red canoe at the base of a tall mossy cliff.
Chavon in the canoe beside a marvellous, mossy rock face. Photo by Mike Pearson.
The tip of our canoe facing the slough with a densely vegetated bottom.
The tip of our canoe facing the slough with a densely vegetated bottom. Photo by Chavon Robertshaw.
Mike standing in the narrowing sandy channel, wearing his polarized glasses to help spot and count salmon in the water.
Mike Pearson standing in the narrowing sandy channel, wearing his polarized glasses to help spot and count salmon in the water. Photo by Chavon Robertshaw.
A male coho salmon lay freshly dead at the bottom of the creek.
A male coho salmon lies freshly dead at the bottom of the creek. Photo by Mike Pearson.
A male chum salmon lay freshly dead at the bottom of the creek.
A male chum salmon lies freshly dead at the bottom of the creek. Photos by Mike Pearson.

Along the way, we stopped to service some water loggers — devices placed in the water to record dissolved oxygen levels. These measurements are key for tracking oxygen levels in prime spawning habitats in the area. After passing clusters of salmon and maneuvering the canoe over a few old beaver dams, we finally reached the camera.

Mike Pearson deploying and downloading data from water logger.
Mike Pearson downloading data from a water logger. Photo by Chavon Robertshaw.
Chavon deploying and downloading data from water loggers.
Chavon deploying a water logger. Photo by Mike Pearson.

We hopped out of the canoe and navigated to the camera, which is located beside a particularly giant stump that we use as a visual marker. We searched around for a few minutes until I called out to Mike, “It’s over here!” The forest in this area was once logged, likely over a hundred years ago, but this area is now considered old-growth, with towering and beautiful Sitka spruce and Western redcedar trees.

Chavon stands under a large old-growth Sitka spruce tree.
Chavon Robertshaw stands under a large old growth Sitka spruce tree. Photo by Mike Pearson.
Mike stands under a large old-growth Sitka spruce tree.
Mike Pearson stands under a large old growth Sitka spruce tree. Photo by Chavon Robertshaw.
Chavon servicing a wildlife camera in the rain.
Chavon servicing a wildlife camera in the rain. Photo by Mike Pearson.

After servicing the camera we stopped to take a look at what kind of footage we captured. A few highlights that had us smiling ear to ear were a video of two bull elk sparring, complementary with the sounds of their antlers clashing together, and a video of a cougar meowing (more like screaming) two feet in front of the camera. A successful deployment indeed! 

In this video, we were lucky to capture two bull elk sparring during the rutting season, which occurs around late August to mid-October. Their antlers lock and clash as they test each other’s strength, a display of dominance and competition for mating rights. It’s fascinating to hear the sharp clatter of their antlers and the deep, laboured breaths they take as they engage in this seasonal ritual.

In this video, a cougar calls out into the night, seemingly curious about their own voice echoing back. Although typically solitary and quiet, cougars can produce a wide range of sounds depending on their needs. Moments like this offer a rare glimpse into the secretive world of these elusive predators, showcasing their powerful presence and unique communication.

Once we finished with the camera work, we headed back to the creek to conduct a salmon spawner survey. We counted the live salmon as they built and guarded their redds, which are nests for their eggs to incubate in, and the dead salmon, many of which had been caught by predators and brought up onto the banks.

We made our way along the creek, and what we found was beyond anything I had ever seen during these surveys. The banks and surrounding forest were absolutely covered with salmon remains, likely fed on by bears, wolves, eagles, ravens, and more. I thought to myself, “What an amazing journey.” The salmon return from the ocean to spawn, and then feed the predators of the forest. In turn, these animals bring the carcasses onto the banks, where they nourish scavengers and, ultimately, the forest itself. As the decomposing bodies release vital marine-derived nutrients into the soil, they enrich this magnificent old-growth forest, sustaining it for generations to come. In addition to the scattered salmon remains, we also came across pieces of an elk skeleton. It was a beautiful moment to witness the cycle of life and the powerful interconnectedness of the ecosystem.

Given the evident abundance of wildlife activity in this area, I couldn’t resist deploying a new camera along a trail lined with perfectly placed salmon carcasses. We’re eager to check back on this camera and discover the fascinating activity it’s sure to capture.

A wildlife trail lined with salmon carcasses and a strategically placed camera.
A wildlife trail lined with salmon carcasses. Photo by Chavon Robertshaw.
A tree along a river with a camera trap in it.
A strategically placed camera. Photos by Chavon Robertshaw.

These final field trips are essential, as we won’t return to the cameras for several months due to limited winter access. The earliest we expect to be back is March 2025. We refer to these trips as “winterizing the cameras,” ensuring they have fresh batteries and desiccant sheets to absorb moisture and prevent condensation buildup.

This network of over 30 cameras plays a vital role in monitoring biodiversity and the resurging gray wolf population in this tributary watershed of the Fraser River. The data collected contributes to critical wolf and large carnivore research, and facilitates the integration of wildlife data into holistic watershed management plans led by the q̓ic̓əy̓ First Nation within their territory. Our goal is to support evidence-based management practices that promote positive outcomes for wildlife while emphasizing the interconnected care of the entire ecosystem.

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Coastal wolf with a salmon in its month.
Photo by Dene Rossouw.