Invitation to the wild, reimagined

Wildlife Weekends in Southern British Columbia: Day and Multi-day Trips from Vancouver for Wildlife Viewing
by Roy Jantzen

Victoria: Rocky Mountain Books, 2024
$45 / 9781771604604

Reviewed by Amy Tucker

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Certain books meet readers exactly where they are. They do not demand credentials or prior knowledge, only a genuine interest and a willingness to step outside and pay attention. Roy Jantzen‘s Wildlife Weekends in Southern British Columbia is one such book.

At first glance, it appears to be a well-organized, beautifully photographed, and deeply informative regional guidebook. But as I read, I realized it is much more. It is an invitation to reimagine how we spend our time outdoors. It is a call to engage with nature as observers and as responsible participants in the ecosystems surrounding us. “To me,” Jantzen reflects, “this book project felt like an ecosystem of sorts, and the individuals who contributed to it represented a broad variety of scientific disciplines, from lichenology to cetology. I consider myself a generalist, focused on interpretation and education.”

For someone like me—an outdoor enthusiast who has spent countless weekends chasing bird songs, scanning tree lines for movement, and collecting quiet moments of awe on mountain trails—this book resonated deeply on a personal level. The section on black bears in Wells Gray Provincial Park stood out particularly. One striking photograph (p. 118) caught my attention—not just for its composition but for its insight. I have often watched animals from my car and taken photos, but I had never considered turning my vehicle into a blind for the day. “Use your car as a blind while you take your bear picture from inside,” Jantzen writes, “as has been done before by the photographer who took this image.” I had never considered that my vehicle could serve as a protection and observation point—an ethical, safe, and effective way to witness wildlife without disturbing it. It is that kind of grounded, field-based wisdom that makes this book not only informative but transformative for outdoor explorers like myself.

At its core, Wildlife Weekends in Southern British Columbia is written for anyone curious about the natural world and interested in observing wildlife ethically and respectfully. It appeals to families planning nature-filled weekends, educators seeking to connect students with real-world ecology, nature photographers seeking rewarding field experiences, and individuals—like myself—who feel more grounded when surrounded by moss, birdsong, and the quiet presence of wild animals.

Jantzen is an environmental educator, and it shows. His experience as a university instructor, his training in environmental communication, and his decades of fieldwork are present on every page, not in academic theory but in a tone of accessible expertise. He does not preach or patronize; he shares. There is something deeply refreshing about that approach.

Each chapter focuses on a different species or group of species—from Pacific herring and grey whales to pikas, hummingbirds, and rattlesnakes. The structure follows the seasons, guiding readers through the rhythms of spring, summer, autumn, and winter. Within each section, Jantzen offers practical advice on where and when to observe wildlife within a six-hour drive of Vancouver. He also provides context, including ecological, cultural, and ethical considerations.

This is one of the book’s greatest strengths. It does not isolate wildlife from the landscapes or communities in which they live. Instead, it situates every creature within a broader narrative of environmental and cultural context. Including Indigenous Traditional Ecological Knowledge throughout the text adds further depth, reminding readers that wildlife is not only part of natural history but also an integral part of human history.

The visual presentation of Wildlife Weekends in Southern British Columbia is truly extraordinary. The photographs are not simply beautiful—they are meaningful. Each image captures a moment of stillness, movement, or interaction that illustrates the behaviours and habitats of the species featured. These are not studio-style images or digital composites; they are field photographs taken by individuals who clearly understand and respect their subjects.

As a reader, I paused frequently to take in the visuals. There is a photograph of a Pacific Great Blue Heron standing sentinel in the morning light, its feathers catching the sun with subtle iridescence. “With patience, one can watch the stealth hunting strategy of the great blue heron and, if lucky, observe the laser speed of successful catch,” Jantzen notes. There is also a wide-angle shot of a killer whale breaching, with coastal cliffs in the background. These images are more than decoration. They are narrative tools, offering visual entry points into the ecosystems and moments Jantzen describes.

One particular image, of a bald eagle perched silently above the Chehalis Flats, evoked a memory of my own—watching an eagle circle high above the Fraser Valley, sunlight catching its wings in long, slow passes. That, I believe, is the power of this book. It offers new experiences and reminds you of those already living in your memory.

The most compelling aspect of this book is its ethical foundation. Jantzen is clear: wildlife viewing is a privilege, not a right. Every encounter with a wild animal is an invitation, not a performance. He urges readers to approach the experience with humility, responsibility, and awareness of our impact. “Watching wildlife is not just about the end goal of viewing a particular animal,” he writes. “It is also about the journey getting there.” 

He expands on this with practical guidelines for ethical observation: staying on marked trails, avoiding loud noises, respecting nesting and feeding areas, and resisting the urge to get closer for a better photograph. The book strongly emphasizes minimizing our carbon footprint while engaging with nature. It advocates for shore-based whale watching over boat-based excursions, for example, and highlights the environmental costs associated with travel.

This sense of environmental stewardship is not presented as a burden. Still, as a value—a way of aligning personal joy with collective responsibility. As an outdoor adventurer, I found that message inspiring and empowering. It aligned with my desire to move through natural spaces gently, leaving no trace beyond a sense of gratitude.

Jantzen’s writing is full of moments that encourage reflection. These are not poetic indulgences. They are reminders that the beauty of nature lies not only in spectacle but in subtleties. Reading this book reminded me why I lace up my boots, even on grey mornings, why I pause at the sound of rustling underbrush, and why I carry binoculars in my car and keep a bird guide on my phone. The book does not urge the reader to go far or fast. Instead, it suggests that we go thoughtfully and with intention.

For me, that is the greatest inspiration the book offers. It affirms that outdoor adventure is not always about reaching the highest peak or covering the longest trail. Sometimes, it’s about sitting quietly on a shoreline, watching a seal bobbing in the current. Sometimes, it is about recognizing the return of a bird whose call you first heard as a child. Sometimes, it is about returning to a place you thought you knew—and seeing it again, this time with attention.

Without hesitation, Wildlife Weekends in Southern British Columbia is one of the most thoughtful and practical books I have read in recent years. It combines accessibility with depth, visual beauty with ethical insight, and personal narrative with scientific grounding. It is a book that belongs in backpacks, classrooms, libraries, and family homes and a book to read before a trip, to carry during an outing, and to reflect upon afterward. Most importantly, it is a book that invites us back into our relationship with the land, its creatures, and our sense of wonder.

For me, that invitation is always worth accepting.

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Amy Tucker is an educator and researcher with more than two decades of experience in post-secondary education. Since 2001, she has worked as a University Instructor and Open Learning Faculty Member at Thompson Rivers University (TRU). Her primary areas of focus include education, training, recruitment, career development, and management. Her research emphasizes decolonizing education, promoting reconciliation, and advancing principles of equity, diversity, and inclusion (EDI) in both academic and community settings. In addition to her academic work, Amy enjoys outdoor activities such as running, swimming, cycling, hiking, and kayaking. Her adventurous spirit shines through in her participation in various athletic events and her passion for exploring the natural beauty of British Columbia. Amy shares her experiences as an athlete in her newspaper column, “The Accidental Athlete,” which appears in the Kamloops Chronicle. Kukwstsétsemc. [Editor’s Note: Amy Tucker has reviewed books by Murray Mollard, Steve Tersmette, Steve Tersmette, Janice Strong, Carol Anne Hilton, and Melissa Hafting, for The British Columbia Review.]

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The British Columbia Review

Interim Editors, 2023-26: Trevor Marc Hughes (non-fiction), Brett Josef Grubisic (fiction)
Publisher: Richard Mackie

Formerly The Ormsby Review, The British Columbia Review is an on-line book review and journal service for BC writers and readers. The Advisory Board now consists of Jean Barman, Wade Davis, Robin Fisher, Barry Gough, Hugh Johnston, Kathy Mezei, Patricia Roy, and Graeme Wynn. Provincial Government Patron (since September 2018): Creative BC. Honorary Patron: Yosef Wosk. Scholarly Patron: SFU Graduate Liberal Studies. The British Columbia Review was founded in 2016 by Richard Mackie and Alan Twigg.

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