Where Curiosity Wins
The grizzly bear has the most curiosity of any animal that I have watched. As curiosity arises from the desire to know, it appears that the superior mentality of the grizzly may be largely due to the alertness which curiosity sustains.
Although the grizzly has learned the extreme danger of exposing himself near man, yet, at times, all his vigilant senses are temporarily hypnotized by curiosity. On rare occasions it betrays him into trouble, or lands a cub in a trap. In old bears curiosity is accompanied with a keenness of observation and a caution that enable him to satisfy his desire for information without exposure to danger. Often it enables him to anticipate a concealed danger—to penetrate the camouflage of something dangerous. Curiosity prevents oncoming events from being thrust on the curious. It is an effort to obtain advance information instead of taking things as they come.
In 1826 Drummond, the botanist, collected plants in the Rocky Mountains. In stopping to examine, to gather, and to press them he was doing the unusual. He thus attracted the attention of numerous grizzlies, who even came close to watch him. They showed no inclination to attack. Bears are “chock-full of curiosity” and will sometimes forget to eat in trying to understand at once the new or the unusual.
Lewis and Clark tell of a bear on a sand-bar who showed interest in their boat as it passed. He raised himself on hind feet and looked after them, and then plunged into the river and swam toward the boat. This novel outfit should have attracted the attention of any living thing, and a curious grizzly must have been almost overcome with wonder. Yet the explorers erroneously assumed that this intense curiosity and consequent attempt for closer inspection was evidence of ferocity. During the first fifty years of the white man’s contact with the grizzly, the bear frequently came close to a man or a camp for a better look; most frontiersmen thought this near approach was ferocity in the bear. Often the bear was greeted with bullets, and in due time he learned to satisfy his curiosity by stealth instead of by direct approach. But inquisitive he still is.
JOHNNY
In crossing the mountains in northern New Mexico I was overtaken by a Swede on his way to a lumber-camp. He carried a pack, and a part of it was an accordion. We made camp that night near the head of a gulch. Across from us a treeless mountain rose a thousand feet.
After supper the Swede played on his accordion and was soon lost in music. Pausing in my note-making to enjoy his contented expression, I saw an old grizzly watching us from across the mountain. Standing upon a bowlder, he was looking over the tops of the spruce trees that thrust up out of the gulch. Through my field-glasses he appeared even more lost in wonder at the music than the enthusiastic, emotional player. When the refrain died away, the grizzly climbed down off the bowlder, and then, as another piece was begun, at once rose to remount, but instead stood with fore paws against the bowlder, listening. By and by he started up the mountain, pausing every few steps to turn and listen. He either stood broadside, his head tilted sideways, or raised himself on tiptoe, fascinated. A loud, lively, clashing close to one piece started him off on a gallop, but as soon as the music stopped the bear paused. He appeared puzzled and fidgeted about while the player sat silent, listening to my description of the bear’s movements. A soft and melodious piece was next played. The bear, as the first strain sounded on the evening air, seated himself on his haunches facing us, and thus remained until the piece was finished. Then he climbed higher up the mountain and, on reaching the sky-line, walked lingering along in the last rays of the sun, looking down on us now and then as though wanting more music.