Majestic eagles, ospreys, and loons with their four distinct and haunting calls; iconic Canadian geese, Great Blue Herons, owls, wood ducks, hawks, and an attack by a horde of seagulls—we-ve seen them all. Otters, beavers, bears, moose, and the occasional porcupine. I leave out the more mundane critters that proliferate widely, like foxes, chipmunks, and rabbits. There are too many to describe, but a few exploits will suffice for my chronicles of wildlife canoeing confrontations.

Mary and I have seen in the wild many of the well-known members of the Accipitridae family of feathered creatures, in particular, the famed bald eagle, the national bird of the U.S. Twice we came across one of these dark-bodied, white-headed, piercing-eyed, yellow-beaked, life-is-serious, stern-faced eagles snacking on its catch of the day in the northern Canadian wilderness, one on the ground and the other on a tree branch. Both were in a zone, oblivious to our proximity as we rounded the trail.

In the Finger Lakes region of upstate New York, an eagle swooped down not far from our canoe on the narrows of a stream, gliding quietly across the surface. At the right moment, with great precision, the bird snatched a fish with its talon, whisking it away to a far-off perch. Most of this National Geographic photo-op was seen out of the corner of our eyes, but we heard the splash and caught a spectacular view of it carrying away the reward of its effort.

When we approached an island in Canada’s Algonquin Park, the seagulls were enumerable and squawking. As we paddled out to the island, the center of their commotion, we couldn’t help noticing a Great Blue Heron nesting on the tallest tree. This horde of dive-bombers hounded us the closer we got, like they were protecting the queen in her nest. Not relishing the thought of being targeted with their bird-version of BM discharges, we beat a hasty retreat. Dangers, indeed, come in many forms when traversing in the wild.

While pursuing a closeup photo of a loon cruising offshore near another island, our approach inadvertently sent it into a frantic upheaval. It flew off a little way and began excitedly flapping its wings on the water as if to draw our attention. With its distinctive jet-black head and beady red eyes, he kept a lookout for any movement we made toward the small island. As it turned out, nestled in the weeds on the shoreline, a female lay motionless and soundless. The male was purposely drawing us away from the female. Recognizing what was happening, we respected Mr. Loon and his gestating spouse and left them in peace. It was an intimate moment, and we needed to respect their privacy.

Stopping for lunch after a long portage, our 18 campers took off boots to refresh our feet in the cool stream flowing into our new lake. We sat on rocks mid-stream and began to eat lunch, but soon our repose was interrupted by the sound of clomp, clomp, clomp. A bull moose was sauntering down the river directly for us. Such critters must be nearsighted as it appeared to have an unflinching lack of care that he was about to run through this herd of human animals. At the signal, we began to shout in unison and clang anything metal in our gear; the moose stopped, stared at us, and jaunted off into the woods.

Eleven more moose greeted us over two days in one way or another. In the shallow water of a small inlet, a cow moose and its calf munched on water lilies as we approached for a closeup photo. The better part of wisdom washed over me when we came close enough, and I realized that moose was in knee-deep water (her knees, not mine) and would be fully capable of running at us faster than we could paddle away. You never want to put a calf’s life in danger when mama is around—that would put our lives in danger!

On another occasion, things were quiet in the camp when I discovered a group of our male campers encircling a bull moose nearby in the woods. I suspect the enormous animal was quite used to humans being in his territory and, therefore, not afraid of us fellow creatures of comparatively small stature. However, the young bucks had slowly expanded into a circle around the moose, maybe a diameter of 20 yards—for whatever reason that young bucks do such things. When I arrived at the scene, my attitude toward them was of this variety, “I wouldn’t if I were you.” My experience told me that if the moose bolted, he’d have to run over top of someone. Fortunately, the group dissipated with a few photos and exited the moose’s turf. I suspect the moose was just glad he didn’t have to teach the young bucks a hard lesson!

Then there were two or three confrontations with bears. One came out into the clearing on a small peninsula where we had planned to camp. As we drew near, it appeared to be looking for scraps of human leftovers. Why forage for berries and grubs when you can chow down on exotic delicacies? While not great for a bear’s health and well-being, such treats proved tasty. We moved on to another camp spot. A cardinal rule in canoeing and camping is always to hang your food suspended in the air between two trees. For a group of 18, that was a lot of food to hoist up, so we put all our culinary resources into a canoe, tied a rope around a big rock, and paddled out a short way from the land and dropped anchor. If a bear could smell anything from the short distance and thought to swim out to the food canoe, then it was welcome to be rewarded for its ingenuity and effort. In all our travels by canoe, we never lost any food using this method.

However, we did have one incident where a bear roamed right into our camp the day before we set out for our ten-day trip. Our food was locked in the trunks of our vehicles until we set out the next day. Arriving late, we hastily threw up our tents, cooked a quick meal, and settled in for one night of bivouac in Whitefish group campground. Generally, campers who stayed there more than one night weren’t hardy or game enough for paddling and portaging into the wilderness with die-hard voyageurs like us, where the glory of God’s nature is at its best. Once our group was down for the night, with three people in each of our six tents, the “fun” soon began.

In my tent with two others, we were lying on our stomachs propped up by our elbows, watching the dying embers of the campfire, around which we were all pitched. Suddenly, the embers went completely dark which I thought to be odd. Then they started to glow again. There was an awful stench and a low-volume, muttering growl sound. Another tent noticed the same thing and called out, “Was that a bear?” Another tent responded, “Did you say bear?” Then the outline of the creature became discernable. Did I mention the smell? Bears are unhygienic, living in the woods, rarely bathing, and never gargling with Listerine. His breath about killed me.

While trying to avert any panic (by the bear or our campers), I went into damage control by shushing the guys in the two tents beside mine. But the other three tents realized something concerning was happening: “What’s going on out there?” I was trying to keep everyone in their tents and not overreact, with the hopes that silence and inactivity would encourage the bear to wander off. Then someone shouted excitedly, “There’s a bear in our camp!” With two campers in her tent, my wife Mary began to anxiously ask, “Chuck, are you guys playing a joke on us?” Then one of the guys bellowed, “It’s a big one!” When one is lying on the ground, a bear of any size looks humongous, but such bellowing will make the matter worse. I quickly retorted, “It’s only just a small one.” At that point, the bear had wandered over to Mary’s tent and the smell hit them hard. They scrunched back to the rear of the tent, away from the opening, as if that would keep them safe. In reality, a bear of the smallest size could easily tear through the rip-stop nylon fabric with even a casual swipe of its claw. Again, I said it was just a small one, nothing to fear.

I called out that on the count of three, we would all start yelling, which is standard camping practice when confronted with a bear. And sure enough, the ruckus nudged the bear away to look for food in some other less bothersome place. After another staff member and I went out to check the area, we gave the all-clear and the others emerged from their tents. Some were nervously shaking, but the guys set out looking for paw prints in the ground and proclaimed, “Man, look at the size of those—that thing was huge!” Mary was a bit upset with me, “You said it was a small one.”

The only other encounter with a member of the Ursus family came when a loner snuck into camp one night while we were sleeping in the backcountry. It tore into one of the backpacks. An inattentive camper had not heeded our warning to remove ALL foodstuff (including candy bars still sealed in their store-bought wrappings) from packs and put everything into the food canoe. The bear left everything else in camp untouched but sniffed out and ripped open the errant backpack, excising the delicious human-made delicacy. That poor individual thought he knew better than our instruction and that a bear would never smell the offending candy bar. Among many other talents, bears live by their olfactory capability, which is superior to that of dogs. They can detect a scent from several miles away and have great memories of human campsites that often hold a treasure trove for feasting.

 Wilderness guides run into things like this all the time. They are prepared for the wildest situations. Mountain guides need to be trained to counter mountain lion or cougar interactions. River guides in Africa are prepared to deal with deadly hippopotamus attacks. For guides in the Bayou, they must be trained in dealing with crocodile assaults. Airline pilots need extensive preparation for terrorists and unruly passengers. For canoe-tripping guides in the north country, we are ready for many different assaults on our comfort, well-being, and at times our very lives.

But, there is one creature to be feared more than anything else, one that endangers us every day of our lives. We need to be alert and prepared, for when it attacks, it is an unmerciful and unrelenting danger to our souls. The Bible warns us of this danger, “Be of sober spirit, be on the alert. Your adversary, the devil, prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour” (1 Peter 5:8). The devil (aka Satan) is working to draw people away from God and into sin, so we need to be alert. His primary weapons are subtle, and he’s not looking for candy bars, but souls. He is stealthy and is quite happy if we believe he doesn’t exist. And he will use whatever temptation necessary to catch us at our weak points. So, as we traverse this journey of life, we need to be constantly alert to spiritual dangers that can capsize and engulf us. As for me, my preparation is spending time daily reading the Bible, which is my map and handbook for trekking through the spiritual wilderness of this world.