Chilko Lake stretches over 65 kilometres through the heart of British Columbia’s interior plateau, bordered by jagged peaks and dense stands of pine and spruce. Formed by ancient glaciers and fed by snowmelt from the surrounding Coast Mountains, it is one of the largest high-elevation freshwater lakes in Canada, and among the most expansive and ecologically intact of its kind in North America. Remote and largely undeveloped, the lake anchors an ecosystem that supports one of the most stable populations of grizzly bears in the southern part of the province.

Estimates suggest fewer than 100 grizzlies currently roam the Chilko River Valley, a number that may sound healthy, but when placed in the context of historical First Nations accounts of bear density, represents a steep decline. Factors include climate-driven shifts in salmon migration, the encroachment of industrial interests, and the growing strain from tourism.

The most persistent long-term threat has been development. In the last two decades, major pipeline projects—including the proposed Northern Gateway pipeline—have threatened to dissect the bear's traditional habitat corridors. That project was ultimately halted in 2016 after widespread opposition from Indigenous Nations, conservationists, and the public, but it was a rare and hard-won victory. The conversation hasn’t ended. New proposals continue to surface, and with every exploratory survey, road expansion, or rights-of-way discussion, the pressure on intact wilderness increases.

Tourism adds another layer of complexity. Since 2015, visitor numbers to Chilko and the surrounding region have steadily risen, drawn by the lake’s dramatic beauty and seasonal access to one of nature’s great events—the salmon run. While responsible tourism can raise awareness and funding for conservation, the wrong kind of pressure can alter animal behaviour. Noise, proximity, overexposure, and a lack of respect for natural rhythms can disrupt feeding patterns and reduce cub survival rates.

Some organizations are actively redefining what ethical wildlife observation can look like. Bear Camp, a low-impact eco-lodge at the northern tip of the lake, has built its model around deep respect for the land and its animal inhabitants. Guides do not carry guns or bear spray. Instead, they read bear behaviour—the flick of an ear, the direction of a gaze—and follow strict viewing protocols: a 40-metre distance at all times, a 15-minute observation window, no sunrise or after-dinner excursions during peak salmon season. If a bear appears at minute 14:55, guests get five seconds—no exceptions.

This self-discipline is more than symbolic. It gives bears uninterrupted access to critical food sources without the stress of human intrusion. Cubs in this area are often observed reaching maturity, a sign that the methods are working. Yet this isn't the case across the entire region. Not all camps or tour operators adhere to these principles. Some edge too close for better photos, cross boundaries of time and space, or fail to account for the impact their presence may have.

That’s where Indigenous stewardship remains essential. The Tsilhqot’in Nation—whose unceded territories include Chilko Lake—has long protected these lands. Through programs like the Guardian Watchmen, trained rangers monitor wildlife, assess salmon runs, gather data, and uphold ecological protocols. Their work helped influence the current grizzly bear management strategy in BC, including the 2018 province-wide ban on grizzly hunting, still in place today.

Their message is simple but firm: visitors are welcome, but only if they understand they are guests. The land does not belong to us. We walk where others have walked for thousands of years—and where the bears have walked longer still.

Grizzly bears are slow to adapt to change. A single disrupted season—delayed salmon, increased boat traffic, a few careless intrusions—can ripple through a population for years. Chilko offers a model for a different kind of interaction: one that privileges patience, humility, and restraint. If more visitors and operators can learn to tread lightly, there’s still time to preserve the fragile trust between wild bears and those who come to witness their lives from a respectful distance.

The grizzlies of Chilko Lake are not just icons of wilderness. They are sentinels—visible reminders of everything we still stand to lose, and everything we still have the power to protect.