"It makes you want to cry": Photographer gains rare access to Canada's ghostly spirit bears.

 

They are solitary, majestic, conspicuous.

Along the rain-battered coast of British Columbia roam spirit bears.

It is estimated that there are no more than 100 of these majestic animals, also known as Kermode bears, a subspecies of black bear with ghostly white fur. They roam the Great Bear Rainforest, a 400-kilometer expanse in western Canada, larger than Sri Lanka, feeding on salmon from the cold North Pacific and living away from the public eye.

The spirit bear and its neighbors, a group of First Nations communities that includes the Kitasoo Xai'xais, Gitga'at, Heiltsuk, Metlakatla, Nuxalk, and Wuikinuxv , are culturally and virtually intertwined. There is evidence of human habitation in the Great Bear Rainforest dating back 11,000 years . The polar bear appears in First Nations totem poles, oral tales, and dances. They depend on the same land and food sources for survival.

“It is this mysterious being that lives among them,” says photographer Jack Plant, and yet, “most [Kitasoo Xai'xais] have never seen one.”

Plant has spent the last decade living, from spring to autumn, with the Kitasoo Xai'xai in Klemtu, a small community on Swindle Island, one of dozens of islands along the coastal fjords. Unlike many of the Kitasoo Xai'xai, this Briton has seen more than his fair share of spirit bears, having ventured deep into the temperate rainforest as a guide and photographer. Images of his adventures have been compiled in the new book " Spirit of the Great Bear ," which contains 90 photographs of the forest.

A spirit bear hunts salmon on a riverbank. Photo: Jack Plant/Figure 1 Publishing

The portfolio shows spirit bears peering out from the lush green forest, soaked in rivers and feasting on salmon, their jaws reddened with blood. They seem solitary, majestic, conspicuous—but at home. Also found in the forest are brown bears and wolves, and in the ocean, orcas and humpback whales. Creating a book “was never the goal,” admits Plant, who says he selected between five and ten photos from each year he spent in the forest. “Many photographers have that once-in-a-lifetime trip… I had the luxury of experiencing it,” he says. “So there was really no pressure from anyone but myself.”

Plant first visited the Great Bear Rainforest in 2014, when he was just over 20 years old, inspired by a National Geographic cover featuring a spirit bear. “I became obsessed; for years I could only talk about it,” he says. The 2010 image was taken by legendary Canadian photographer Paul Nicklen, who would later become Plant’s mentor and, in a moment of full circle, wrote the foreword to his new book.

On that initial trip, Plant spotted his first spirit bear on his birthday, “an incredible moment,” but that wasn’t the only lesson he learned. “I hadn’t realized I would connect so much with the people there. Everything fell into place perfectly. I thought, ‘I have to find a way to spend a lot of time here.’”

Thus, he dedicated himself to the activity of guiding and came under the tutelage of Douglas Neasloss, the current director of management of the Kitasoo Xai'xais Nation, and the late hereditary chief Haay-maas Ernest V. (Charlie) Mason. Plant says that Mason “had to wear glasses with lenses 2.5 cm thick, but he could spot a spirit bear before anyone else”.

“These people are different. Their knowledge is not based on science and research, but rather on knowledge and wisdom passed down from generation to generation,” he adds. “I think that’s something you can’t beat.”

During his stay, Plant witnessed a remarkable series of conservation victories driven by the Kitasoo Xai'xais. "For such a small community, they have a huge impact," he says.

In 2000, the Kitasoo Xai'xai outlined a management plan to protect natural resources, and in 2012, they were part of a group of First Nations that implemented a ban on bear hunting in the rainforest. Their success was such that they convinced the British Columbia government to introduce a province-wide ban on grizzly bear hunting in 2017, and the government reinforced this measure by banning black bear hunting in some areas of the rainforest in 2022. That same year, the Kitasoo Xai'xai also created a marine protected area in Kitasoo Bay to preserve herring populations.

Plant describes the hunting ban as a "victory for those who argued that bears are worth more alive than dead – tourism is a bigger industry than hunting, so let's keep them alive."

The Great Bear Rainforest is the largest intact coastal temperate rainforest in the world. Photo: Jack Plant/Figure 1 Publishing

Spirit bears are the result of a recessive gene inherited from both black bear parents and, despite common misconception, are not albinos.

“It’s a very difficult animal to study,” Plant admits, due to its scarcity and the vast area it occupies. There is a lack of reliable data confirming how many spirit bears exist, with estimates ranging from 100 to 500. The Spirit Bear Research Foundation estimates that no more than 100 live in the Great Bear Rainforest, although Plant believes there are “far fewer,” perhaps 50 at most.

Despite improvements in their protection, the photographer says that spirit bears are becoming more difficult to spot. "It's very difficult to tell if they are moving to areas that are harder for us to access, or if their population is declining," he explains.

If a brown bear settles in an area, black bears usually move to another location, the photographer suggests as a possibility. But if the spirit bear population is declining—as Plant believes it is—there could be several reasons.

Of all the challenges that spirit bears face, food is the greatest. "There are rivers where I once saw an abundance of salmon, and today there are almost none."

In one of the most striking photographs in his book, a spirit bear and a black bear fight over a dead salmon during a 2018 drought that prevented fish from migrating upstream—a rare occurrence in this region of the world, normally bathed in rain.

A black bear and a spirit bear fight over salmon. Plant photographed this scene after a rare drought in 2018 prevented migratory fish from migrating upstream. Photo by Jack Plant/Figure 1 Publishing

Climate change, along with overfishing, has put the biome at risk. Despite all the battles the rainforest's First Nations have won, "we continue to lose the conservation war," says Plant.

In August of this year, Douglass Neasloss will receive a hereditary chieftainship name in a potlatch — a gift-giving ceremony — in honor of the late hereditary chief Kitasoo Xai'Xais Mason, who died last year.

Neasloss, former chief advisor to the Nation, disagrees with the perception that the number of spirit bears is decreasing, stating that "the population has always been quite low".

He is also part of the “Coastal Guardian Watchmen,” a group comprised of members from seven First Nations who patrol the coastal waters around the fjords. They prevent illegal fishing and poaching, but also conduct wildlife surveys, monitor fisheries, support scientific research, and act as a response mechanism to environmental emergencies. The group was created in 2005, and currently, the rangers have authority over the British Columbia Parks, although they are not employees of the entity.

“In the 90s, before Watchmen, we had a lot of illegal activities,” says Neasloss. “Today we have none.”

The late hereditary chief Kitasoo Xai'xais, Haay-maas Ernest V. (“Charlie”) Mason, an influential figure in the life of photographer Jack Plant. Photo: Jack Plant/Figure 1 Publishing

Protecting the coast, the forest, and its spirit bears is also protecting the future of the Kitasoo Xai'Xai people. The nation has invested heavily in ecotourism infrastructure, including guide training and the Spirit Bear Lodge, where visitors stay.

Plant doesn't see the book as the end of a chapter in his life. This summer he plans to return to Klemtu for Mason's potlatch and, although he doesn't do many guided tours anymore, he will return to nature in search of spirit bears and, hopefully, some familiar faces.

“There’s one spirit bear in particular that I’ve watched grow up, from an eight-month-old cub to an eight-year-old dominant male,” he shares.

“You go back into the forest and wait for that bear to appear. You cross your fingers hoping he’s alright and has survived the winter. Then he appears and it’s almost like you feel like crying… he’s a little bigger, he looks healthy and he looks you in the eyes… it’s hard not to believe there’s some kind of connection.”