From the time the mother and cubs emerge from the winter den in the spring until they enter a den to hibernate the next winter, they are on the move much of the time. Only occasionally does the old bear leave the cubs behind, and this as a rule is not for long. She is constantly watchful for their safety and makes haste to place herself between the cubs and any possible danger. In retreating she usually leads the way, the cubs following closely, but if nearly cornered she is likely to act as rear guard.
Crossing the mountains one stormy spring day, I paused in a whirl of mist and wet snow to look for the trail. Peering ahead, I beheld a grizzly bear emerging from the gloom only a few yards away. Close behind her were two small cubs. Mother Grizzly, as much surprised as I, instantly retreated. With an impatient expression and a growl of anger she wheeled quickly about and boxed the cubs right and left like a nervous mother. Urged on with spanks from behind, the youngsters turned back in the direction they had come from, and all vanished in the falling snow.
Though gentle and patient, the grizzly mother uses a limited amount of cuffing and spanking with the cubs, especially if they are in danger. One day from far across a cañon I was watching two cubs walking along a wild-life trail in front of their mother, when a pack outfit appeared on my side of the cañon. The mother and the cubs saw it, and she at once turned up a gulch, pushing the cubs before her. But the youngsters were interested in the pack-animals and, standing still, forgot everything in their eager watching. The mother went from one to the other, pushing them forward. The instant she left one, the cub stopped and turned to look back in eager curiosity at the strange sight across the cañon. Without any show of temper the mother pushed one ahead a few yards and then returned to the other and urged it forward.
The mother protects her cubs at any cost. Many a grizzly mother has died in defense of her offspring, and I do not know of an instance of a mother’s running away when her cubs were exposed to danger.
At Grand Lake, Colorado, one June day, I went with a trapper on his rounds, thinking that he might have trapped a grizzly. He had a cub trapped by a fore paw. As we approached the spot, I chanced to climb over a pile of fallen timber and from the top of this I saw Mother Grizzly lying in wait a short distance in front of the cub. She had dug out a place behind a log and was lying there concealed, unmistakably waiting for the trapper.
One morning late in May, while I stood behind a tree watching two young beaver at play in the pond, a small grizzly cub, of the same brown color as the beaver, walked out to the end of a log that lay partly in the water. He was interested in the beaver. Reaching down, he touched the water with right fore paw, whimpered, but hesitated about going in. While he stood looking trustingly at them, the beaver, who had been watching him, dived into the pond.
Cubs as well as human children sometimes become separated and lost from even the most watchful of mothers. This little cub was so thin and weak that he must have been lost for some days. In the woods a trace of snow that had fallen a day or two before still lingered. This enabled me to back-track the cub to where he had probably spent a part of the night, about a quarter of a mile up stream from the pond. His tracks showed that he had wandered much.
If I left the cub in the woods it appeared improbable that his mother would find him before he starved, and it was unlikely that I should find her, even though I continued the dangerous business of searching for her. I caught the cub without effort, and, after a few feeble attempts to scratch and bite me, he calmed down, licked my hand, and then began to suck a raisin which I handed him from my pocket. He was a tiny little fellow and could not have weighed more than nine or ten pounds. I carried him to the nearest ranch. The children were glad to have him, and a letter from them some months afterwards told me that “Maverick” was happy in his new home.
From a tree-top perch I once had a good glimpse of bear life, as a mother grizzly with two young cubs stopped by a tree to dig out mice. In the midst of her digging mother grizzly caught a faint scent of me and instantly was all concentration. On tiptoe, motionless as a statue, she stood looking, listening, and gathering information with her nostrils. Then she relaxed, dropped on all fours, and for a moment seemed uncertain as to her next move. One of the cubs concluded to suckle. Instantly the mother knocked him headlong with a side swing of her left fore paw. Such thoughtlessness in the face of possible danger was evidently too much to be excused.
The little cub landed some yards away, tumbling heels over head. He showed no surprise, in fact pretended that this was a part of his plan. The instant he rolled on his feet he sniffed the earth eagerly as though he had made a remarkable discovery and started to dig. Without uncovering a thing he presently raced away to overtake mother and the other cub.