How to pick blueberries (and avoid getting mauled by bears)

The Real Wild Woman

Summer is well underway. It’s been a fiercely hot and dry season, making it feel like the inside of a sauna wherever I go outside.

It’s put a crimp in my usually busy outdoor season, but there is a bonus: berries are coming into season a little early.

The most coveted around here is the wild blueberry. These little juicy gems are at their peak from mid-July to at least late August. The heat has made them ripen faster…where they are available. A combination of a mid-June heavy frost and bugs have caused most of my usual berry patches to be sans fruit.

There is one near my home almost guaranteed to have berries every year, but it’s a hike to get to it.

No, I won’t disclose it. There is an unwritten rule here that one never reveals their blueberry honey holes, lest someone picks it before you. People are protective of their patches here, even though I’m sure most wouldn’t want to venture that far to pick a basket.

Before venturing out for the day my father gives me something rather prophetic, a training cap gun for field retriever trials.

Since I’m going out into the deep bush, he says it’s best to bring something we call “bear bangers,” noise makers in case there is an encounter. They are active this time of year as the fruit becomes available. 

Setting out it’s a mine field of marshland. Recent rains have filled dry fields and creeks. A little fancy footwork is needed to get around the mud puddles and loose rocks. My father and uncle cleared a trail for all-season recreation, making it a little easier to negotiate the notoriously thick brush.

I get about halfway there and I am stuck with the feeling I am not alone, then a noise in the trees in front of me to confirm it.

Coming down a jack pine in front of me is a tiny black bear cub.

Then it went from “awwww” to “aw, shit” real fast when momma bear appeared from behind the trees, stood up and let out a loud huff to let me know she disapproved of my presence.

My first ever direct encounter with a bear and cub.

I try to scare both off with a loud stomp and shouting, only to have the cub zip up the tree again and mom stand her ground. A couple shots from the cap gun sends her running, but not up the tree as I hoped, she bolts into the bushes across from her cub.

Now this is a worst case scenario. Mom on one side, cub on the other. Truly between mother and cub. The absolute nightmare of any outdoors person. I can hear her bellowing and stomping the ground, and I see her cub nestled in the tree. Little one isn’t going anywhere, and neither am I. All I can do is back away slowly and retreat to a safe distance about 100 metres away.
Black bears are small, about the size of a human in most cases, but they are powerful, the equivalent tackling power of a pro football linebacker, not to mention three-inch claws and a mouthful of teeth. Attacks are rare, but the protective instincts of mother bears are legendary.

Waiting isn’t an option, this could take hours before they move on.

So I put a call into dad, who offers to come get me and give me a ride on his ATV to the patch from another trial a couple kilometres away.

Sounds easy, right? It would be accept it meant driving beside a railroad track on an angle, basically hanging off the side so we don’t tip, then the actual trail is washed out from recent heavy rains. I spend about as much time running ahead to meet my dad while he negotiates what’s left of the trail, broken rocks, mud and sand.

This is the hardest I’ve ever had to work just for a couple pails of berries.

Once I get there we are sure we’ve out-maneuvered the bears, but of course to remain weary.

But it was worth it. I am greeted by hillsides and open spaces covered in bushed laden with big, juicy blueberries.

Where exactly this is I can’t say. Foragers do not give up their spots. However, you can find your own by looking out for a few aspects of the environment.

Jack pines. Blueberries thrive in acidic and sandy soil where jack pines grow.

Areas of recent burning or clearing. Blueberries are frequently the first plant to grow back after a forest fire or recent tree clearing.

The best berries are found around large rocks and boulders, which we are abundant in in northern Ontario. Radiant heat keeps the bushes warm, allowing the berries to ripen even at night, which makes them grow super big, sweet and juicy.

There is an art to picking blueberries. You want to do it in such a way where you don’t damage the bushes or the berries themselves. It is best to pick then the bushes have plenty of ripe berries, which are easy to identify as they will be plump, deep blue and have a slight wax-like coating on their surface.

The gentlest way is to get your hand under a cluster of ripe berries and with your thumb, forefinger and middle finger and carefully pinch and pull until they come off the branch. With practice you can gather a handful in this manner and hold them in your palm. Then simply pour the berries into a pail.

My father taught me this technique. I find it is the most efficient method to pick a bunch of berries at once and minimize tearing leaves, breaking branches or picking unripe berries.

You may still do that, but this makes it less likely. It is a slightly slower method than grabbing handfuls, but in the end, you will be rewarded with a bucket of clean berries with little debris to pick out later, which will make sorting and storing much easier, as well as preserving the bushes.

During the picking process you will also have to assess he quality of the berries. Not every berry will be suitable for keeping, there will always be a few that you will find overripe, partially eaten or diseased. These can be quickly discarded, but again, this is why sorting after is of utmost importance.

While picking my favourite technique is to take a smaller pail, say, a small margarine or other spread container with a lid and fill it first, then dump it into a larger bucket. It makes picking go by faster and minimizes risk of spillage, or at least makes it easier to recover any lost berries.

I’ve had a few cases where I spilled the picking bucket. Nothing kills your drive to gather than seeing the literal fruits of your labour roll away into the dirt.

And while out on the land safety is of utmost importance. When I’m out that far I always carry enough water to stay hydrated, sunscreen, bug spray (they will drive you crazy) hat, sturdy shoes, and a phone. I recommend knowing if you have cell service before going.

I also suggest bringing something to sit on, like a folding stool or even a box. Picking low bush blueberries requires a lot of squatting and crouching. Save your knees the agony.

And of course, when out in the wild, keep your eyes out for wildlife. My bear companions were not far away from where I was picking, so it was no surprise to see them again on a nearby hill zigzagging their way up and down as they foraged, eventually wandering off in the opposite direction of where we met.

From a distance the sight of a mother bear and her cub is adorable, but I stopped frequently to keep an eye on where they were going. So long as you keep plenty of space between you, it should be fine. Just remember this is their home, we are just here for a visit and you have to respect them.

Another point about bears is if you see a female (sow) and cub odds are you won’t see a male (boar). Females head to places where males are not to protect their cub and mothers give each other a wide berth, so the odds of seeing another are slim and I walk on the trail again and head for home without too much worry. I’m still cautious, though, in the event I am wrong.

To make this worth my time I picked several pounds. I tend to use a lot of berries in cooking, therefore I pick a lot.

Once home I prefer to put the buckets in the refrigerator as-is to let the berries cool and firm up for a day. One of the things I love about blueberries is they are one of the easiest to freeze and last a very long time. Pour out the berries onto a wide baking tray but do not wash them as this makes them fragile and they could release their juices.

Only wash berries right before use. Pick out any unripe berries and debris like leaves and twigs. Spread them out in an even layer and lay flat in a freezer. In about two to three hours they should individually flash freeze solid. Once frozen, they can be poured into freezer-safe bags and stored for a year or more.

Me, I like to keep a few out for adding to cereal, shortcakes, pancakes, or just to snack on. They keep well in the fridge for up to three weeks in a covered dish.

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Bushes weighed down with ripe berries are exactly what you want to find when picking.

A mother black bear wan’t happy to see me while foraging with her cub.

The cub scurried up a tree while his mother had a stern talking to for me.

A gentle hand is needed to pick berries.

Foraging for berries in northern Ontario is hard work, but the workspace is beautiful and peaceful.

Once you get your berries home, pour them on trays to sort and look for debris.

Remove any twigs, under ripe berries, leaves and bugs (there will be a few hitchhikers.)

Once the berries are sorted, lay them out in a single layer on a baking tray and place in a freezer.

Once the berries are frozen, they can be easily poured into a bag and stored.

The road trip I wish I didn’t have to take

Early spring, the sun is shining bright in the early morning. The winds is calm and the road is quiet.

This is the time of year when I normally take a drive to some familiar spots to have a little peace and quiet, enjoy the beauty of the north before the throngs of tourists and seasonal residents arrive.

This time, however, it’s very different.

Everything is quiet because the world is gripped by the COVID 19 global pandemic. Shops are closed, parks are barricaded, and signs everywhere warn people about social distancing and staying home.

Yet, I’ve been told this isn’t stopping people from coming north to escape the pandemic. Rumours are flying roads are being closed and communities turning non-residents away.

How bad is it, really, and why are people insisting on leaving their homes. Do they really think it’s safer here? Since media and communications has been deemed essential, I decide to take a look for myself, keeping social distancing and precautions in mind.

So, I hop in the SUV and take a trip I really don’t want to take. I know Manitoulin is about two hours away and I am concerned about traffic for once. Hoping I don’t see long lines of traffic. Not for the inconvenience, but in the hopes people really are adhering to stay at home orders.

Along with my usual camera, I have to pack nitrile gloves and masks and identification, just in case. It’s a stark reminder this isn’t a pleasure trip.

As I drive down the highway, then connect to the Trans Canada, I think about multiple calls from communities to close off provincial roads. So far, the provincial government has said that is not necessary, but for many communities, especially ones in cottage and camping areas, they would be. They have seen an influx of seasonal residents and campers trying to get away from the hotspots in the south.

The message has been clear from many: don’t come here right now. We don’t have the resources to take in non-residents of any kind. Grocery stores cannot keep their shelves stocked, restaurants are closed, shops both year-round and seasonal are not opening, the small community hospitals have very limited resources and cannot afford to be overwhelmed by possible infections.

As of March 26, there were two confirmed cases of COVID 19 on the island.

It’s quiet for a Saturday on a good weather day, but I can’t help but notice a few trailers and RV’s on the highway with me. It’s apparent people are on the move when they shouldn’t be.

From here, it’s the drive south on Highway 6 to the island

This route has been the sight of a lot of tension between the province and the communities on it. Earlier in the month there were calls from communities to close it off to all non-essential travel to stop seasonal residents and tourists, including the swing bridge connecting Manitoulin Island to the mainland. The provincial government has said no, citing current measures are working. Communities don’t have the authority to close provincial highways.

With that, several First Nation communities are barring all non-residents from entering their communities, without blocking the highway. Whitefish River First Nation has posted numerous and large signs at points of entry and road entrances the community is closed. It’s eerie to see signs telling people to stay away, when normally this time of year they are encouraging visitor and advertising future community events. At Birch Island the normally busy harbour is vacant, still packed with boats covered in blue shrink wrap plastic. It’s a preview of what the island looks like.

Upon arriving at the swing bridge there is a green light and I drive through. Normally this is great, no waiting to get through. This time, I take a look to see any signs of a checkpoint, police, or anyone.

But it is very quiet in Little Current. Unusual considering this is normally the time when the island is gearing up for another tourist season. No signs of shops opening, no boats in the water. The only activity is the grocery store.
The waterside parks and harbour are taped off and the gates closed. Sailing ships and yachts still dry-docked when normally this should be a hive of activity as people prepare for another boating season.

I head south on Highway 6 to see what the situation is, since it has been deemed to be essential. . The only time I have to slow down is for a pair of Mennonite ladies in their horse-drawn buggy.

I think about how this is going to operate since the Cheecheemun Ferry has been delayed, effectively cutting off the southern entrance. Along the way I see a few spots I am surprised to see not blocked. The High Falls turnout and picnic area is unimpeded, but the restrooms are closed. Even then, the road is almost barren.

Driving past Manitouwaning, I see the signs for Wikwemikong Unceded Territory advising of their travel ban, no non-essential travel into, or out of the territory is permitted. Another community usually happy to see visitors closing its doors to safeguard its residents.

I keep going south until I make it to South Baymouth. This community is normally preparing for the early season tourists due to start arriving in two weeks on the ferry.

Nothing. The boat launch is taped off, the park and bridge to a popular walking trail and lookout is covered in caution tape. I get out to take a few pictures, and on the way back I see the first two people, an elderly couple walking down a street heading back to their truck. We greet each other from a distance, and comment on what a lovely day it is, despite the circumstances.

The brief conversation turns serious.

“This town survives on the ferry,” the man says. “I don’t know what’s going to happen here.”

Neither do I, I say, beyond lifting some restrictions in time to have a shorter tourist season.

I head back, and turn west into Tehkummah, with a plan to see the state of affairs in New Providence, another town that thrives on tourism. Driving down Government Road, I and surprised to see people walking along the side. Residents taking in the sunny day. Once I arrive at the turnoff to the town it’s clear life has also ground to a halt. The strong winds are whipping the water in the cove into whitecaps, but no one is around to take in the majestic sight.

There’s nowhere for them to walk. The famous boardwalk is taped off, with signage stating the Municipality of Central Manitoulin has closed them as per emergency declarations by the province. The famous sandy beach is bereft of any human activity, with dunes piling up at the museum, park and outdoor exercise area. Behind me, the main street is completely quiet. The famous mural at the usually packed café the only colour. On the way out I am greeted by a couple doing some hard work, who smile and give a friendly wave as I drive by.

Going west to Gore Bay, it’s the same. Sparse traffic, quiet roads, more signs and taped off entrances to public parks, although a few are not blocked off, but really no reason to stop. Facilities are closed.

A closed harbour, empty docks and berths and boats on dry land still shrink-wrapped with no signs of anyone coming to get them. Oddly enough, the open sign at Split Rail Brewing Company is flashing. The sign says bottle service at the window only. The window opens to reveal Jason Quinlan, the cheery assistant operations manager, manning the cash and cooler. He’s happy to pick out a few bottles and ring me through, debit only to minimize contact with any suspected contamination.

We chat briefly over the state of affairs, and how unsettling the whole thing is. He mentions that M’Chigeeng First Nation is still running their checkpoint.

“Everyone is concerned over what they are doing,” he says, but adds people understand. Others aren’t heeding the stay at home orders. I point out I’ve seen some rest stops open, and groups moving around.

Above the town is the popular lookout. Sure enough, I find it still open, and four people standing there taking pictures of the view. They are really the first real group I’ve seen, but still a bit concerning.

I think I should go see what this checkpoint looks like.

It has been running since April 8.

I head through Kagawong to find it just as quiet, with the parking lot for the famous Bridal Veil Falls completely blocked off. On the way there are no signs of the checkpoint heading east, or driving through M’Chigeeng itself. It is at the top of the hill at the eastern entrance, a trailer, whiteboard with provincial and national statistics on the virus’ spread, pylons and signs directing traffic. Outbound traffic is not being checked. I have to ask what is going on, so I turn around and get in line.

As soon as I get up to the checkpoint I am greeted by a masked and gloved, but friendly man with a clipboard. Once I identify myself They usher me in to get some information. There are four volunteers, including Chief Linda Debassige, manning the checkpoint, and are happy to talk about what they are doing and why.

Chief Debassige is clear, and the concern and frustration is apparent in her voice: they are vulnerable and they are trying to protect their community and the island as a whole.

“Normally we welcome visitors from all over with open arms, but we can’t this time because of the threat this virus brings,” she said. “We are in the middle of a global pandemic, but people keep coming.”

M’Chigeeng is in a precarious situation for many reasons: it’s location at the nexus point of highways 540, the main east-west link on the island and 551, the north-south link to Mindemoya, the main route of travelers coming to the island.

The volunteers stressed they are not turning anyone away. This is to demonstrate how many non-residents are coming to the island, increasing the risk of bringing the virus to their already vulnerable community.

“We (First Nations) are already at risk because of the lower quality of life,” Chief Debassige explained. “We have lower quality housing, more health problems per capita, children, our elderly. The Elderly are our language and knowledge keepers, we cannot afford to lose them to this virus. It is attacking seniors.

“We are very worried if travelers keep coming, they will bring the virus to the island and our community and it will eradicate us.”

She pointed out among the volunteers was a paramedic who also worked at Wikwemikong, who was there to help gather numbers and give information and offer advice to the others.

Another, a young man said he had a friend who worked in utilities hookups for seasonal camps and sites. In the past week they had received about 1,000 requests for hookups, telling him the people coming were here for an extended period.

While there, several travelers were coming through. Among them two motorcyclists who claimed to be from Ottawa out for a drive. Another was a local, who was sure to tell the volunteers he appreciated everything they were doing.

Of the people who were coming through, Chief Debassige said the majority (about 75 per cent) were polite and understanding, about 20 per cent more were annoyed with the inconvenience, and the rest being rude and racist.

“We don’t want to be here, but we have to do something, the province won’t close the roads.

They keep a running tally of people, writing down origin of traveler, date, destination, number of occupants, vehicle make, plate number and any notes.

The statistics have been telling. When the checkpoint was opened on midnight, April 8, within 24 hours they had recorded 91 per cent of the travelers coming through were not permanent island residents.

And that is just at the eastern entrance. They do not have statistics on travelers on other parts of the island, or the other two entrances to the reserve. Their sample size, however, is demonstrating outsiders are not staying away.

A few have told them that since they own property on the island, they are residents, even if they are only there for short periods. The Federal and provincial governments have been clear that people stay in their primary residence.

With an exchange of thanks and stay safe wishes, I get back on the road and head back to Little Current. I see the Three Cows and a Cone is open for takeout. I feel I should stop and support the business, but with caution. I take an ice cream and take what used to be a relaxing walk to the river. The only sound I hear is the wind and the distant hum of cars on the road and the bridge behind me. Oddly enough the path down to the water to a dock isn’t blocked off, but I stay up top as I see a couple coming. We exchange quick smiles and waves but stay far away from each other.

This pandemic hasn’t destroyed the friendly nature of the island, but it cannot afford to risk its own existence and encourage visitors. No one us sure what the new reality will look like, but they want to be there to welcome visitors back once circumstances are safer.

The normally popular Kagawong Bridal Veil Falls parking and picnic area is blocked off as per emergency measures for COVID 19 the province enacted to stop the spread of the virus.

Jason Quinlan, assistant operations manager at Split Rail Brewing Company in Gore Bay, was manning the window side service on a very quiet April 18 afternoon.

At the M’Chigeeng First Nation checkpoint there is a whiteboard keeping a tally of COVID 19 cases in the province and the nation.

The M’Chigeen First Nation checkpoint was seeing a steady stream of traffic on April 18, where volunteers are taking information of where travelers are coming from and why.

The beachside park in Providence Bay is completely devoid of human activity except for the closure signs and caution tape.

The bridge to the shoreline walkway in South Baymouth is taped off, as well as the park and access to the boat launch.

Yachts and sailboats sit on the shore in Gore Bay, many still covered in shrinkwrap and the marina is empty.

Coming soon: Featured gallery images for sale.

Allyship 101

Coming soon: I sit down with Indigenous and Metis leaders to talk about decolonization and ongoing issues facing First Nations and what non-Indigenous can do to becomes better allies.