The Grizzly, Our Greatest Wild Animal

by Enos A. Mills

The snow went to pieces on a nearly hidden rock-point and spilled the coaster. He rolled, then slid, first on his stomach head first, then on his back feet first, but collected himself at the bottom. Rising and bearing away from the deep snow, he climbed up again and appeared to look with interest at the gully he had made in the slope as he coasted and also at the scattered marks where he was spilled.

Just beneath the cornice he waded into the snow. He shook himself, kicked the snow, went through swimming motions but still did not start to slide. The slope was not steep enough. Wallowing down a short distance, he rose, then rolled forward over and over—cartwheeled. After three or four turns he began to slide. This stirred up so much snow-dust that I could get only dim glimpses of him and could not tell whether he was sliding head first or tail first. On the thin snow at the bottom the dust-fog cleared, and the grizzly rolled over and over down the slope like a log. Getting on his feet, he walked away and disappeared behind the storm-battered trees at timber-line.

I took pains to track the bear. Down in the woods, more than three miles from his coasting-place, he had made a meal the evening before off the smelly old carcass of a deer. He spent the night by the bones. In the morning he climbed to the top of a ridge that rose above the tree-tops. His tracks showed that he had walked about here and stopped at three or four places to look down on scenes below.

Then he had followed his tracks back close to where he had spent the night. Here he had tramped about in the snow as though having nothing in particular to do. But a coyote was trying to find something on the bones and the bear may have been threatening him. He finally started off, plainly with coasting in his mind, for without stopping he went directly to the snow cornice. From tracks which I saw in this and other cañons I realized that a grizzly sometimes goes out of his way in order to coast down steep snowy places.

A grizzly that I was following one November morning was evidently well fed, for he traveled slowly along with apparently nothing to do. Descending the ridge on which he had been walking, he came upon the side of a steep southern slope, across the ravine from where I had paused to watch him. Occasionally a bush or weed sprang up as the warm sun released it from its little burden of snow. If it was close to him, he reached out one paw and stroked or boxed it daintily and playfully as a kitten; or, if a few feet away, he stopped, turned his head to one side, and looked at it with lazy, curious interest. He turned for a better glimpse of a tall willow springing up as if inviting him to play and appeared just ready to respond when he caught sight of his moving dark-blue shadow against the white slope. Instantly, reaching out lightly with one fore paw, he commenced to play with the shadow. As it dodged, he tried to reach it with the other paw, then stopped to look at it. He sat down and watched it intently, ready to strike it if it moved; he pushed his nose closer to it. Keeping his eyes on the shadow, with a sudden leap he threw both fore paws forward and brought them down where the shadow had been before his move. For several seconds he leaped and struck right and left in his vain efforts to catch it. Then, seated on his haunches, he watched the shadow out of one eye. He turned his head, possibly wondering what the shadow would do. He seemed surprised to find that it was not behind him, and turned back quickly to see where it was. Did the grizzly know what this shadow-thing was, and was all this just jolly make-believe? In any case, he was playing and playing merrily. When I first watched him he reminded me of a kitten, but the longer he played the more his actions resembled those of a puppy and finally those of dog.

As the grizzly backed slowly down the slope, he watched the shadow following him, and made a feint as though about to grab it, but stopped. Slowly he started after the shadow up the slope, then pursued it with a rush. Then, backing away along the side of the slope, he watched the shadow out of the corner of his eye. He suddenly stopped and stood as though thinking; then wheeled, faced down the slope, and looked off into the distance. After a second he slowly turned his head and looked over first one shoulder, then the other, for the shadow. Finally, rising, he looked between his legs.

Leisurely he lay down with head toward the sun and put fore paws over his eyes as though starting a game of hide-and-seek and expected the shadow to hide. But this may have been to shut the dazzling sun-glare from his eyes, for presently he moved his head to one side to watch the shadow.

Abruptly he ended, rose to his feet, and started off briskly in the direction he was traveling in when the blue shadow upon the snow coaxed him to stop and play.

Generally the grizzly plays alone. Most animals play with one or many others of their species. Three or four times I have seen a lone grizzly playing much after the manner of a dog—playing with himself as it were. He ran round and round in a small circle, alternating this with leaping into the air and dodging about, and rolling on his back with feet waving in the air. He ended the play with a lively and enthusiastic chase of his tail.

The two cubs that I raised were always eager for play. They played with each other, they were ready at all times to play with me, and occasionally one of them played with my dog Scotch. Grizzlies in captivity will sometimes play with their keeper. Perhaps they would do so more frequently if they liked the keeper. Sometimes pet bears will play with strangers. They are ready to seize an opportunity for brief play and in this, as with the man who was impersonating bears, they often show a sense of humor; and they sometimes imitate or mock the actions of some other animal.