Read Ebook: The Grizzly Our Greatest Wild Animal by Mills Enos A

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Why is the young grizzly so small? It will readily be seen that while hibernating, neither eating nor drinking for a few months, the mother grizzly would not be able to nourish two or more very lusty youngsters. It is probable that in the process of evolution Nature selected the small grizzly cubs to perpetuate the species.

While visiting the Blackfeet Indians in western Montana one February, I saw a young Indian woman nursing two baby grizzly bears. The mother grizzly had been killed a day or two before and the cubs taken from the den. They were little bits of warm, pink life, scantily covered with hair. Each weighed not more than one pound. They were blind and toothless, but had sharp tiny claws. They had their eyes open in about fourteen days, and early began to cut their teeth. For several days the Indian woman suckled the cubs, then she fed them on cow's milk and succeeded in raising them.

Many are the colors of grizzlies. I once saw a mother with four cubs, each of a different color. She herself was cream-colored, but one of the cubs was nearly black, another gray, the third brown, and the fourth black and white. A grizzly may be a blond, or a brunette, or one of half a dozen in-between shades. Often, as he ages, he becomes a "silver-tip." Probably dark gray is the prevailing color.

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 ca?on 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 ca?on. 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 ca?on. 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.

Cubs appear to depend upon mother's milk until they are about six months of age. Before this time they may eat a little solid food now and then, but this is done more out of curiosity and in imitation of mother than from desire. It is likely to be July before they do even this and late August before they eat solid things with any regularity. They are not likely to be weaned until just before denning-up time. The Indians in Alaska told me that sometimes the cubs are not weaned until the second autumn of their lives. This certainly is sometimes true, but I think it peculiar to Alaska.

Comical and cunning the cubs appear as they mimic the mother. When she stands up with fore paws against her breast, looking intently into the distance, the cubs stand up with their paws upon their breasts and look in the same direction. When mother turns or sniffs, these cunning little imitators also turn and sniff. The cubs walk up to a spot where the mother has been sniffing and digging and there sniff and dig. If mother continues digging rather long, they find a place of their own and dig. If mother reaches up and pulls down a fruit-laden limb and takes a bite, they too must pull down a twig of some kind and at least look at it.

Around the shores of Chickadee Pond a mother grizzly and her two cubs spent a July day digging out grass roots, willow roots, and probably also grubs. I watched them for hours. Occasionally one took a mouthful of grass or a bite of blue mertensia. After a while mother waded into the pond; cubs of course followed.

The large yellow pond-lilies were in bloom, and mother went about biting off stalk after stalk, apparently forgetting the cubs. One of them grabbed a lily stem and bit two or three times without cutting it. Finally, leaning back, he pulled it apart. He chewed it a little but didn't seem to enjoy it. Then, holding the lily in one paw, he thrust the great golden bulb into his mouth and ate it with apparent satisfaction. The other little cub after much tugging finally uprooted a lily. He chewed at the four-foot stalk in three or four places. Then, taking the bulb in both fore paws, he ate it as though it were an apple.

It is ever a joy to watch a grizzly and her children. A mother grizzly crossing a lake just south of Long's Peak swam low in the water with a cub sitting contentedly on her back. She came directly towards the shore where I was standing concealed behind trees. As she approached I threw a stone into the water close to her. Wheeling about like lightning, Mother Grizzly started at full speed for the farther shore. The cub tipped over in the water, but hastily took a tail-hold and was towed rapidly away.

I once saw a grizzly and cub walking leisurely along the top of a ridge above timber-line, the cub with long strides following in mother's footprints. There were perhaps six or more inches of snow. I sat still. They were coming almost towards me. Watching carefully with my glass, I noticed that the cub was limping. He suddenly sat down and bawled. The mother, after walking on several steps, turned to look at the cub, who was holding his hind foot between his fore paws and examining his hurt. I heard him whimper two or three times, and finally mother went back. She looked down at the bottom of the foot rather indifferently, then turned and walked on. The cub followed after.

When they passed near me the mother rose suddenly on hind legs, stood with fore paws held against her chest, and looked and looked, and sniffed and sniffed. Little cub, forgetting his sore hind foot, stood up with little paws against his breast, stretched his neck, looked, and sniffed--a perfect little imitation of the mother. She moved off several steps and stopped on the very edge of a precipitous ridge to scout. The cub placed his fore paws against mother's side and from this secure position peeped over and beyond her. But they did not detect me and soon went leisurely on.

Two miles farther I crept as close as I could and paused to watch. The mother was digging, the cub watching eagerly. As her digging continued for some time, he moved away, sniffed two or three times, and then began digging rapidly on his own account. While both were digging, there was a whir of wings and a sweep of shadows, and a flock of white ptarmigan alighted among broken ledges near by. While I was watching them, a flock of mountain sheep came along the out-thrusting ridge and paused to play for a few moments on the sky-line. In pairs they faced, then reared up and sparred with their horns; they cut lively circles around one another. A rugged, snowy peak loomed grim behind the scene, and the dense forest spread away for miles below. The bears, the ptarmigan, and the sheep, the white peak, the purple forest, and the blue sky gave me a striking experience and left a splendid picture. As I turned to go, the cub was giving all his attention to the play of the sheep.

The almost continual play of the cubs is a never-ending source of interest. They race, they wrestle, they box, and they play hide and seek with utmost enthusiasm. They climb upon mother's back, they swat and pummel her and maul her. She will endure this by the hour with absolute indifference. Mother sometimes plays with the cubs but more often lets them play with her, or, unconcerned, simply watches them in their scrambles.

Playing cubs are strikingly boylike in their ways. They tumble and roll about with lively energy. Their boxing is a ludicrously earnest show. Standing up they clinch, struggle, break away and watch for a new advantage. They strike first with one paw, then with the other, then with both at once. They come close, dodge, and jump back; they hold one paw high and the other low; sometimes they guard the face with one arm while striking with the other. Often they strike wildly, evidently intending to miss; they bristle up, growl, and have great fun, pretending to be more in earnest and terrible than they really are.

No two boys ever had more excitement and fun swimming in a river than did two cub bears whom I once watched. These cubs raced, splashed, and pushed one another under the water. They dived and swam beneath the surface and from a bowlder plunged into it with terrific splashes, sometimes forward, sometimes backward.

One of the happiest incidents which I have seen in the grizzly bear world was a mother grizzly who had discovered some honey in a standing dead tree, perhaps five or six feet above the ground. Tearing open the edges of the hole, she helped herself to a quantity of the honey, then called her two cubs, who were playing a short distance away. They needed no second invitation when they saw mother standing on hind legs and leaning forward with fore paws against the trunk of the tree. Up the incline of her back they raced merrily, and, standing upon mother's head, they ate with eagerness this wonderful feast of honey.

The cubs den up with their mother the winter following their birth. The mother is their companion until they are a year and a half old, sometimes longer. During their second summer she commonly leaves the cub--or cubs, as the case may be--to make their way in the world alone. Once the family ties are broken, the grizzly is seldom seen with other bears.

If two, three, or four in number, the yearlings run together another year, and are chummy and inseparable. One becomes the leader and is followed faithfully. If trouble arises, they are united and devoted little people. To kill or injure one of the youngsters means that a hunter is promptly charged by the others, and often killed or injured.

The cubs are great ramblers. They may wander through unoccupied regions and over the territory of other bears. They are not considered intruders by other bears. There are numerous interesting incidents in the companionship of these year-olds, and sometimes of two-year-olds, who have explored miles of territory, chased animals, played, and enjoyed themselves together, and in moments of danger united and fought the enemy. Yearling bears den up together the second winter and occasionally also the third winter. Generally, however, after the second winter, that is to say, when two and a half years old, they separate. From this time on the grizzly lives alone.

Where does he make his first home? Sometimes the young grizzly crowds into the territory adjoining his birthplace, but at other times he must wander far away to find territory not already occupied. In the past, when grizzlies were numerous, the increased population each year must have compelled readjustments and forced a reduction of the area claimed by each individual. But in these times, except perhaps in two or three National Parks, there are thousands of square miles here and there over the West without a grizzly on them. But the grizzly is fond of his home territory, and in it, except for occasional visits into the outside world, he spends his life.

His Exclusive Territory

A mother grizzly and her year-and-a-half-old cub came shuffling along the shore of a little lake in the No-Summer Mountains. Where a brook flowed into the lake she stopped, looked at the cub, and possibly grunted something to him. She may have said, "Here, Johnny, is a territory not claimed by other bears; this is to be your domain." I watched him as she went ambling away alone. He stood looking at the ground for several seconds, then turned to see his mother in the distance, and finally surveyed his surroundings. Pushed off into the world to shift for himself, the cub walked up the mountain-side and disappeared in the woods.

I had seen this cub and his mother on the other side of the Medicine Bow Mountains, at least fifty miles away. When I saw her leaving the cub to make his way alone, I wanted to ask, "Is it common for a mother grizzly to take her children to the territory that is to be their home?" The selection of this domain may sometimes be made by the mother but most often, probably, it is made by the cubs.

But, selection of the home territory aside, the grizzly leads a solitary life; he lives apart from other bears, has his thought, his work, his recreation, and his play by himself. Alone he hunts for food, alone he wanders for adventure. Singly he fights his foes, and in solitude he dens up in winter. A possible explanation of this may lie in the fact that being alone is an advantage to an animal of his size and enormous food-requirements. Then, too, since the advent of the white man with the long-range rifle, it is an advantage to act singly. The grizzly's solitary habit may be one which is an advantage in the perpetuation of the species. Only twice have I known of father, mother, and cubs being seen together, and I have never heard of their denning together.

A grizzly has his own home territory. He claims the exclusive use of certain lands. In only one instance have I known two companion grizzlies to occupy the same region permanently. These two were often seen eating, traveling, and resting near each other. Though the grizzly wanders off the home territory for an occasional visit, in it through the seasons and through the years he makes his living; he defends it against invaders, and in it he commonly dies.

Most wild creatures have their home territories, areas which they claim the right to use to the exclusion of others of the same species. The bear is likely to hold more territory than any other kind of life; and he will dominate in the territory all kinds of life that may temporarily conflict with his use of it. Most birds and beasts use their large or tiny bit of earth in pairs, flocks, herds, or colonies. The grizzly uses his alone. His domain may be in part the claimed territory of other species; lions, beavers, wolves, eagles, and other life may use it.

The grizzly bear is the aristocrat of the wilds. He is lordly and reserved. He will meet a bighorn sheep or other wild animal, and, though aware of its presence, pay no apparent attention to it. If near another bear, either a black or a grizzly, while appearing to be disinterested, or pretending not to have seen him, he is in fact watching the other's movements. A black bear avoids him. Sometimes two grizzlies who have been feeding near each other deliberately meet, or come face to face. Each, with admirable acting, feigns intense surprise that the other is there. They bristle up, exchange a few unfriendly roars and growls, make a threatening move or two, and then go on. Sometimes they pass as though unconscious of each other's presence.

A network of trails extends over the grizzly's mountain home. These reach food-supply centres, lookout and resting stations, swimming-holes, and other places often visited. Generally when going anywhere the grizzly follows a trail; if pursued, he is most certain to do so. Many of these trails are dim, but others are deeply worn. He may sometimes make a new trail, but in general he follows the old ones which have been used by generations of bears. His domain may be crossed by other wild-life trails, which he may or may not use.

Topography, mountain barriers, streams, or other natural boundary-lines in part determine the form of the grizzly's home territory. The size is determined by the food-supply, by the bear population of the region, and by individual prowess. A bear of exceptional prowess may hold an empire.

The territory dominated by old "Timberline" had an area of about eighty square miles. The western boundary-line followed the rim of the Continental Divide for nearly fifteen miles. Meeker Ridge and Cony Creek were other boundary-lines, while at the north stood Chief's Head Mountain and Long's Peak. Toward the south the territory narrowed and was not more than two miles across; in the centre it must have been nearly ten miles wide. An extensive area lay above the timber-line. There were forests primeval, a number of ca?ons and streams, numerous small lakes and beaver ponds. In this varied and extensive region old "Timberline" had all the necessities of life and many of the luxuries of beardom.

The claw-marks and the tooth-marks which grizzlies and some other animals place on trees are often interpreted as being "No Trespass" signs, indications of boundary-lines, survey marks, or the seal of ownership of the landlord. If these marks are extremely high, they are supposed to inspire respect for the one occupying the region, or to cause terror to the invader, unless he be large enough to reach higher. But I question any such significance attached to these marks. Ofttimes the bear leaves these marks in the centre of his home range, sometimes within the home territory of a lion or a big-horn. While the idea of its being a mark of ownership is a most artistic and entertaining one, it does not appear to have any natural-history value.

I have seen bears, reaching high, tear out pieces of bark, and have also seen both bears and lions put claw-marks upon trees. Generally this clawing and biting was done during languid and leisurely moments when there was nothing definite to do. One day I watched a grizzly stand on hind feet upon a five-foot snowdrift where he had been lying. Placing his front paws against a spruce as high as he could reach, he clawed the bark indifferently. It was more of a muscle-stretching performance than anything else. He took a tiny bite out of the tree and walked off with the strip of bark in his mouth. Then he gave it a playful shake and dropped it.

It is well known that wolves, beavers, and some other animals have information places. These may or may not be intentionally established. Some of these places are where wild-life trails cross, or are near water-holes, salt-licks, play places, or some neutral feeding-ground. They may be frequented exclusively by one species or by several. Even the casual visits and bark-biting of bears incidentally contribute something of interest to the next visitors. In these places an animal may learn of the recent visit of one of his species or of a dreaded enemy, or may even find information as to the sex of the visitors. They are thus akin to country cross-roads where gossip is exchanged concerning human affairs.

A grizzly that I was trailing turned abruptly aside to visit a news station of this kind. Plainly it was a loafing or frequented spot for wild life; from the nature of the topography and from numerous tracks seen during later visits I learned that it was a stamping-ground and a trail-crossing. Foxes, coyotes, skunks, rats, deer, and mountain sheep had been visitors. The manner in which the bear turned aside to visit the place suggested that he had been there before; but he may just have caught interesting, newsy scent which attracted him there for the first time. His actions were those of one who is hunting for news.

At night the bear may lie down in almost any place, but during the daytime he selects one of the safest places in his realm. If in the high mountains this may be on a ridge above the timber-line, or on a treeless hilltop from which he commands a wide outlook, or in the end of a ca?on, or in a thicket. Wherever the place, it is one where the bear cannot be easily surprised, and where his scouts--his scent, his sight, and his ears--would easily warn him of the approach of any possible danger.

When pursued, the grizzly tries to keep within his domain. Usually he travels only seven or eight miles in one direction, then doubles back, circles, and zigzags. Only two or three times when trailing the bear have I known him to travel more than fourteen or fifteen miles in one direction. In one long trailing experience I observed that the bear, with many twists and zigzags, covered his domain practically twice over. I trailed the same grizzly two Septembers, three years apart. I started him the second time near the place where I had started him before, and he followed for three days over almost exactly the same route taken the first time.

Three prospectors and I were rowing across a lake in the Sawtooth Mountains of Idaho. When about half a mile from the farther shore, we spied a grizzly swimming across. We pursued, and when we got near, one of the men proposed to rope him, saying that the bear could now tow us ashore. The other two protested so vigorously that the rope was not thrown. Fortunate for us that it was not, for had it fallen over the neck of Mr. Grizzly, the chances are that he might have climbed into the boat. In Alaska I saw a grizzly out at sea, swimming vigorously along between two islands that were seven miles apart. The grizzly is fond of water, is an excellent and enduring swimmer, and in the water fights effectively.

While I was on a winter trip into the San Juan Mountains a prospector told me of an occurrence which he had just witnessed. A snow-slide crashing down into a gulch close to a grizzly den aroused the bear, who came out with a rush to see what was going on. He did not lose his head, but looked about until the air cleared of the swirling snow-dust. Then he walked round the wreckage brought down by the slide and finally climbed it and explored the opening it had smashed through the woods. After being out more than an hour he re-entered the den.

Though living a solitary life in the seclusion of the wilderness, this bear was again routed out before spring. His den was only a few feet above the stream, on the mountain-side. The d?bris brought down by the snow-slide forty or fifty feet up the gulch dammed the stream and raised the water so that it leaked through the earth into the den. Again driven forth from his den, the bear--so his tracks in the snow showed--after one pause climbed to another den on the mountain-side about two miles distant.

The grizzly spends about one third of each year in hibernation. He may use the same den year after year, repairing and reshaping it; or perhaps he will dig a new one. Sometimes he goes outside his own territory for a den to his liking. He is sometimes driven forth during hibernation by landslides as well as by snow-slides and floods.

A grizzly is strongly attached to his home territory and spends most of his time in it. Occasionally, and in exceptional cases regularly, he wanders far away. A scarcity of food may cause him to leave home temporarily; or excessive food elsewhere may attract him.

Bears and lions are not neighborly, and at best each ignores the other; but one bear I knew followed a lion for weeks, and others have occasionally done likewise, profiting by the food-supply--the excessive killing of the lion. Here was unusual tolerance, almost friendly association, between antagonistic wild folk.

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