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“Hold your hands out,” says Fred firmly. I obey, slightly tentatively – well, we’ve only just met - and he snaps a bud from a bush on the riverbank and proceeds to rub it on my hands, covering them with a sticky, toffee-brown sap. “It’s black cottonwood,” he explains, as I look down at my gummy fingers in surprise. “It’ll help cover our scent.” He breaks off another bud and smears it on himself and the others in our group. “A bear,” he continues, with relish “can smell a drop of blood from 2 miles away.” I gulp and check myself for paper-cuts. Not scaring bears away with eau-de-human is one thing- attracting them by smelling like dinner is quite another.

Fred Seiler’s a cheery Canadian who runs bear-watching trips in a remote corner of the Great Bear Rainforest in British Columbia on Canada’s western coast. BC’s capital, Vancouver, has a strong Pacific influence and oozes laid back sophistication, with cool eastern eateries and shiny skyscrapers. But the rest of the province is about as wild as Canada gets – even Vancouver Island has a healthy population of black bears and whales. Once you reach the remote northern area you’re into serious wilderness – the sort of place where men are MEN, and bears are – well, everywhere. The Great Bear Rainforest is a primal temperate rainforest on BC’s northern coast – the largest area of such rainforest in the world. It’s home to Canada’s largest population of grizzlies – as well as black bears and rare white Kermode – or Spirit - bears.

Fred’s spent years photographing these powerful mammals and, as we board the jet boat that’s going to be our viewing platform, he chats enthusiastically about them. “If you’re walking in bear country and want to be safe, make a lot of noise,” he says. “Bears don’t like to be surprised – and they don’t have very good hearing. You’re safest with the wind at your back, as then they’ll smell you and run away. Most bears avoid people if possible.” He continues, warming to his subject: “They’re devoted mothers, so never come between a bear and its cubs – or its food. That’s when they’re really dangerous – and black bears will fight to the death.” Thanks for that Fred – er, can we get we get this boat moving?

Soon we’re skimming along a shallow tributary of the Skeena River, a bald eagle soaring lazily overhead. This is Canada’s outback – Prince Rupert, where I’m staying, is a 2 hour flight north of Vancouver – and the bears share their precious wilderness with wolves, moose, deer and even the odd cougar. Sadly, the bears are still hunted and their habitat’s increasingly under threat, especially from industrial logging: estimates vary from 17,000 to only 14,000 grizzlies left in the whole of British Columbia. There’s still a macho, pioneering feel to many of the communities here.

Fred stops the engine and we drift to one of the sandy coves that punctuate the rocky riverbank. We get out and examine a thick tree trunk. The bark’s been lacerated - by some very sharp claws - and in the sand there’s a large, fresh, paw print. Fred plucks a coarse, rippled hair from the wood. “That’s a grizzly’s hair,” he says, handing it to me. “The ‘grizzled’ appearance gives them their name.” Their Latin name, I remember with a pleasurable shiver, is the evocative Ursus arctos horribilis.

It’s early September and the bears have been catching the last of the salmon, which return to spawn here every year. Peak viewing season is August when the river practically foams with fish and hungry bears thunder into the water to gorge themselves. Another good time to see them is in the Spring, when they emerge from hibernation and feed on the sedge that grows on the slopes.

Further on we stop again, as Fred wants to show everyone a nearby waterfall. The path’s so slippy that I have to stop and let the others go on. “It’s only another few minutes,” says Fred. “I’ll be back soon.” The minute they disappear from view my imagination goes into overload. What if a bear comes past? Should I sing to let it know I’m there? I can’t decide what to sing – perhaps I should just clear my throat loudly. I try to remember what I’m meant to do if I meet one. What was it? Back away, make yourself look bigger and talk to it calmly. Don’t run. Mmm. And if a grizzly attacks you, play dead – if it’s a black bear fight back. But will I be able to spot the difference? Fred comes back. Phew.

Although we spend hours on the water, sitting quietly in the boat and straining our eyes for any tell-tale signs, we don’t see any bears – though there are plenty more prints. It’s very disappointing. But a couple of days later I’m on the Skeena train, chugging slowly through the Rockies on my way to Jasper. It’s a stunning ride, through scenery that simply screams ‘Canada’. When we stop at the isolated community of Penny, to drop off mail, it’s obviously the main event of the week. Everyone we’ve met in BC seems to have a bear story – most of the ‘I was that close’ kind. Terry, the train conductor is no exception. He tells me about a friend of his who went down to her kitchen, to find a bear happily polishing off a freshly baked apple pie. “She was annoyed’, he grinned. “It was a great pie.” He continues chatting, then casually announces. “We’ve seen bears every days this week. A black bear with two cubs. They’ve been feeding on grain that’s spilled from a freight train. It ferments and the bears love it.” Er, you mean they get drunk? “Oh yes,” he laughs, “they stagger about beside the track.” Sure enough, the bears are there. The train slows down, I lean out of the window and see a furry black face in a tree. Its eyes look glassy. My first bear – and it’s got a hangover.

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