My friend Clive is hard to keep up with. He fishes lots, hunts a bit, travels, writes, does projects around the house and enjoys the outdoors. He’s a detail guy, from the books and articles he writes to pike flies he ties to the photos he shoots. Regardless of what he’s doing, his Sony DSLR is with him.

Our approach to the outdoors is similar in that respect: if the fishing isn’t what it could be, infinite subjects await to be photographed. Dropping off a bear-proof garbage bin at the Oldman Trout Unlimited Hillcrest lease in the Pass? Crowsnest Mountain or the Burmis tree beckon, even though they are among the most-photographed features in this part of the world.

A couple of times during the fall, we drove to Waterton Lakes National Park simply to photograph wildlife. Anything would do, but, the first time, we targeted elk. Clive had this vision of a bugling bull, steam streaming from its nostrils.

We covered the usual places, like Red Rock Canyon, Cameron Creek, the stable flats. We figured the most likely place was east of the stables later in the day. That’s when we found them, but they were in the distance, toward an aspen grove and beyond the range of our 300 mm lenses for crisp close-ups. Clive calls those record shots – basically an image that proves you were there.

A couple of serious-looking photographers stood on the same road beside their pick-up, both dressed in camo and with 500 mm lens-equipped Nikons atop sturdy tripods. They offered that photographing elk was pretty much like hunting: the best way to get good close-ups was to stalk them.

Clive frames a scenic More Clive photos

We tried to get closer down a dried-up streambed, but since Waterton elk move in an out of the park, they are hunter shy and get restless. They started to move back into the aspens, likely prompted by a group of equestrians advancing from the southwest. So, Clive and I went farther up the road, toward the Middle Waterton Lake outfall to the lower lake, thinking the elk might move in that direction or that others would be in the vicinity. We leisurely assembled our gear and walked to the water’s edge. Lots of tracks, no elk. We thought we could hear them off a ways. As we moved south along the water, I heard what sounded like a grunt.

“Did you hear that?” I asked Clive. “Don’t do that. I hate being close to bears.” Not two minutes and 20 metres later, Clive saw it in the bush.

You’ve heard that the best way to travel in bear country is to take someone slower than you?  I had clearly underestimated Clive.

The next week, our target was bears, from a comfortable distance. Clive had lucked out a few days earlier up the Red Rock Canyon Road and had a few nice shots of a standing black bear. This day, we didn’t see one, but talked to a few people who had seen eight the previous day.

That’s the way it goes sometimes. No loss. Lots of breathtaking scenery.

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