Our Camp among the Cottonwoods
The next morning, just as soon as the regular routine of getting breakfast was over, we again started up the mountains in search of the quarry. The hunting was the hardest I have ever experienced, the mountains being a series of peaks and hollows, at the base covered with a dense growth of alder and underbrush, the rocks and crevices hidden beneath moss, dry ferns, and leaves. As we ascended we found less moss and alder and more long grass. The snow had packed the latter flat on the earth and it was as slippery as ice. At each step we were sure to slide if the greatest effort and care were not taken. When we reached the snowy top, as far as the eye could see, peak after peak pushed its head above the clouds, looking like huge sentries, standing guard over an untrodden domain. We scrutinized every suspicious-looking object with the field-glasses in the hope of descrying a bear. Working our way down over the snow, occasionally sliding “hunker” fashion or dropping into a hole between the rocks, greeting with a quiet “damn” an alder switch in the eye or a devil’s club jagger in the hand, we finally reached the valley.
Along the shore of the stream I observed the beaten paths that the bear had worn to a depth of twenty inches at places, evidently where they had been travelling up and down the stream fishing for many years. Each morning as soon as we opened our eyes we reached for the field-glasses and carefully scanned the mountain-sides for fresh signs. One morning the guide, after looking long and carefully, called my attention to three bears circling up the mountain. We watched them climb higher and higher until they finally disappeared over the backbone of the ridge just about the time we were ready to follow. The foothills were covered at least a third of the way with dense alder and other tangled underbrush that made it very difficult to get through. By the time we reached the snow-line we were tired out and stopped a short time for a rest. Occasionally a ptarmigan would start up, uttering its plaintive, croaking notes as it took to wing. Some were all white in their winter coats, others were partly in their brown summer plumage. Again we plowed our way up through the soft snow, sinking deeper and deeper as we ascended the mountain, a hot sun adding to our discomfort. The guide was in advance and I followed, stepping in his tracks. Even with our snow glasses it was almost impossible to see. The glitter of the snow affected the eyes, though the eyelids, heavy and red, were almost closed and the tears trickled down our cheeks. Half the time I could not see at all. Sometimes the guide would go into the snow up to his knees and again to his waist into a crevice, which could then be avoided by his follower. Plodding along we reached almost the top of the snowy peak, now enveloped in a canopy of fog, and there we were in the midst of a snowstorm that was so dense we could scarcely see, and all that I could distinguish was a black object about three feet in advance. Finally the guide called out that it was foolishness for us to track the bear under present conditions, and suggested that we circle around the peak and catch their trail on the other side. In a short time we were out of the snowstorm and, tramping around the cone of the mountain, struck the trail, which went straight down the other side toward the valley. Occasionally one of the bear would take a notion to sit down and slide many yards. This habit rubs the hair off rapidly, and if they are not killed shortly after they leave winter quarters the hide is practically ruined. When we got down below the snow-line the bear took to the alder, where we found it was much more difficult to follow the trail. About noon we took off our shoes, wrung out our socks, now soaking wet with snow water, and hung them up to dry while we slept for about three hours on the bare ground. Then we took the trail again across the opposite mountain, but finally had to give up, for we were unable to overtake the game.
An Extinct Crater where the Bear Hibernate
Two days afterwards we started up the valley, when the guide happened to look back and pointed out a large bear ascending the mountain about half a mile behind us. Through the field-glasses we watched him climbing; frequently he would look back,—evidently he had gotten a whiff of us as we passed him in the valley below. Occasionally he would disappear behind a little knoll and again appear, at the same time gradually ascending the mountain. Finally he went out of sight behind a knoll and we waited for about twenty minutes to see if he would show himself again before we started after him. We concluded that he had lain down on the knoll, and after fixing the location as best we could, we started to climb the mountain, first through the thick alder until we reached the snow-line, then plowing our way through the snow, using the guns for alpenstocks, as the climbing was very difficult. When we reached the knoll where the bear was concealed we advanced cautiously, puffing like “wind-jammers”—full of excitement at the thought of the quarry being so near.
Where He Fell