AS SOON AS we heard the growl, Hans released the safety on his rifle and, in the same motion, swung it from its cradled position across his chest and aimed toward the bushes. ‘Step back…slowly,’ he cautioned. We took two backward paces. Behind us, the creek bubbled towards the inlet. Sandbars and shallows had slowed its flow, giving the salmon, who fought frantically to reach their spawning grounds further up river, a brief respite.

‘Let’s go,’ he said, after only a moment, and we moved into the bushes. The bear had left. Only a swathe of flattened grass, a blob of excrement and a smell that reminded me of wet pine needles marked its passing.