'I Was Struck by How Humbled and Insignificant I Felt'

An explorer says coming face-to-face in the wild with a grizzly and her cubs changed his perspective on life

- SETH SHTEIR

I LEARNED ONCE AGAIN FROM nature how to keep my preoccupation with family, work and politics in perspective.

It was the kind of fall day that you never want to end. Clear blue skies and a gentle breeze made the yellow cottonwood leaves dance as they fell to the forest floor.

My partner Natalie and I launched our canoe for a six-mile paddle on the Blackfoot River. I was excited about the trip because it would distract me from the stressors in my life.

The water was like glass and in the depths of the river's blue, sandy pools we could see large schools of Rocky Mountain whitefish swimming effortlessly under the shadow of our canoe.

Canoeing is a beautiful and reflective pastime. It allows one to forget human concerns and focus on nature: Sunlight shining on water dripping off a paddle; the river gurgling and singing as it courses downstream; and the smell of the damp earth and willows that grow along the banks and provide food and homes for wildlife.

There is something mesmerizing, soothing and ancient about the way one's body moves when canoeing, not against but with the energy of the river and the paddle. It is therapy without words, a couch or the need for anyone to affirm your feelings.

Canoeing is an ancient art and it is easy to understand why it is still popular thousands of years after the creation of the first dugout canoe.

It was noon when we stopped on a rocky bank about 25 feet downstream from a deep pool where we planned to take our last skinny dip of the season.

Natalie dove in first, as is often the case, and then I plunged in so as not to be called a chicken.