A rock fell from a high cliff and struck upon solid granite near a grizzly whom I was watching. There was a terrific crash and roar. Unmindful of the flying fragments and pieces bounding near, the grizzly reared up and pressed fore paws over his ears. Just as he was uncovering them the echo came thundering and booming back from a cliff across the lake. Again he hastily covered his ears with his paws to soften the ear-bursting crash.

On another occasion a wounded bear took refuge in a small thicket where the hunter was unable to get a shot at him. After failing to force the bear into the open, the hunter gave a wild, ear-splitting yell. With a growl of pain the bear at once chained furiously through the thicket toward the hunter.

A grizzly has supersensitive ears, and loud, harsh sounds give his nerves a harrowing shock. Through his higher development the grizzly probably suffers more intensely and enjoys more fully than other animals. The clashing city noises must be a never-ending irritation and torture to a bear who has been sentenced to end his days in a riotous environment. How he must yearn for the hush of the wilderness! And, as his sense of smell is also amazingly developed, perhaps he longs for a whiff of pine-spiced air and the wild, exquisite perfume of the violets.

Experience in many zoos has shown that subjecting caged grizzlies to close contact with people is usually cruelty to animals. Often they become cross, and a number of crowd-worried grizzlies have died prematurely from resultant apoplexy. Modern zoo bear-pens are constructed so that the bear is beyond the wiles of visitors—so that he can have much privacy—one of the needs of any grizzly. Perhaps we too often think of the bulky grizzly as being coarse and crude. But he is an animal of the highest type, sensitive, independent, and retiring. The normal bear is good-tempered and cheerful.

A grizzly placed in new environment in association with men will respond happily only to considerate handling and proper feeding. Tell me what a bear is fed and how, and I will tell you what the bear is—his disposition and health. A grizzly should be fed by no one except his keeper. If any one and every one feed a bear, he is likely to receive food that he ought not to eat and to have it given in a manner annoying to him. Feeding is the vital consideration for grizzly pets, for grizzlies in zoos, and for grizzlies in National Parks.

When I arrived in Colorado, in 1884, grizzlies were still common throughout the mountain areas of the State. They were numerous in a few rugged sections where there were but few people and plenty of food. In the Long’s Peak region around my cabin, I early discovered the tracks of five grizzlies. One or two missing toes or some other peculiarity enabled me to determine the number. Two of these bears ranged near, and I had frequent glimpses of them.

During the autumn of one year, 1893 as I remember, I crossed the mountains between Trapper’s Lake and Long’s Peak. Snow covered most of the ground. During the eight days which this trip occupied I must have seen the tracks of between forty and forty-five grizzlies. I counted the tracks of eleven in one half-day. But grizzlies decreased in numbers rapidly. Numerous hunters came into the State annually. Stockmen and settlers hunted grizzlies for fun and for their hides, and professional hunters for revenue. Altogether, the grizzly had little chance for his life, and only a few survived.

In the settlement of the West many of the grizzlies had to go. Men came in with flocks of sheep and herds of cattle. The grizzlies’ food was taken or driven off. Rarely did a grizzly kill any of the invading stock. Usually he worked harder for a living and took things philosophically. Many grizzlies were killed and a few sought homes elsewhere. But in the West there are still many wild regions, and in these there is room for the grizzly.

There is a wonderful unwritten story of the making of an empire—the Yellowstone—into a wildlife reservation. Big game had long been hunted in this region. The grizzly bear, since his discovery, had been relentlessly pursued; man with every conceivable contrivance was on his trail day and night; there was no quarter and no hope for peace. But suddenly firing ceased and pursuit stopped. This was epoch-marking. “What can it mean?” the grizzlies must have instantly asked. They must have asked it over and over again. But they quickly accepted it as a fact and as an advantage, and came forth to associate peacefully with man.This has made a change worth while for man. Since shooting has stopped, thousands have seen the grizzly and enjoyed him where only one saw him before.

The grizzly is easily the most popular animal in the National Parks. He really is the greatest animal on the continent. The grizzly walks: there is a dignity, a lordliness of carriage, and an indifference to all the world that impress themselves on the attention. Some one speaks quietly to him: he halts, stands on hind legs, and shows a childlike eagerness of interest in his expressive face. His attitude and responsiveness are most companionable and never fail to awake the best in every one who sees him in these moments.

Some one told me the following amusing incident concerning a grizzly. In the southwest corner of Yellowstone Park a number of boys were bathing in a stream, when a young grizzly came along and for a moment stood watching their pranks. Then he slipped quietly behind some trees upon the bank of the stream. When the boys approached this spot, with a wild “Woof, woof,” he leaped into the water among them. This caused great excitement and merriment, plainly just what he desired. As he swam hurriedly away, he looked back over his shoulder with satisfaction.

Another amusing incident also happened in the Yellowstone. As the stage arrived at the CaÑon Hotel, one of the passengers, who had been having much to say concerning bears, put on his raincoat and got down on all fours, proceeding to impersonate a bear. While this demonstration was on a grizzly arrived. He made a rush at the man and chased him up a tree, amid laughter and excitement. The bear made no attempt to harm any one and plainly enjoyed this prank merely as a prank.

A grizzly mother in Yellowstone Park was catching trout for her cubs one June day of 1891, when a friend and I came along. We went near to watch them. Mother grizzly charged; we fled. After one leap she stood still and appeared to be almost grinning at us. We went back, she charged, and again we ran, although she stopped at the end of the first leap. But the third time she leaped at us we stood our ground. She growled but came no nearer. Although her threats did not appear to be in earnest, we did not risk going closer; nor would I have risked standing even at that distance if we had been outside of the Park boundary.One day I saw a bear who appeared to be suffering from a headache. A short time before he had eaten an enormous quantity of garbage. This may have been his first dinner at a garbage-pile. Standing up, he felt of his head with first one fore paw and then the other. Then, lying down, he endeavored to hold his head in both fore paws. He had just thrust it into a stream and was trying to rub it with his paw when I last saw him. On another occasion I noticed a bear suffering from a toothache. He felt of his tooth, clawed at it, and in a number of other ways showed his annoyance.

In the Yellowstone the environment of grizzlies was radically changed when it became a wild-life reservation. The numerous bear-population quickly discovered that in the Park it would not be shot at. Grizzlies at once wandered about near people with no attempt to conceal themselves and with the best of manners; there was no annoying of people, no crossness, no ferocity. This ideal association of people and grizzly bears went on unmarred for years.

Numbers of bears from far outside Park boundaries came to spend two or three months of each summer there, returning to home territory during the autumn. Other grizzlies left their homes outside the Park and moved in to stay. Whether the summer migrant bears or the recent residents came to the Park because of the food, the safety, or both is difficult to say. Unusual opportunities were furnished Park visitors to study and observe the grizzly, with beneficial influence on themselves. But their worrying of the bears in time proved harmful.

The bears were thoughtlessly betrayed. Increasing numbers of visitors produced large garbage-piles. People came to the garbage-piles to watch the bears feed and often teased them. The bears became cross. Sometimes there were fights among the assembled bears over the smelly feasts. The charity of the garbage-pile led them into bad habits, upset their digestions, and ruined their dispositions. But their appetite for garbage increased until they became food pensioners and garbage drunkards. Like some humans they enjoy being pensioners and insist on being supplied. If there wasn’t enough garbage they raided camps and hotels. If their raid was interrupted they resented it. In due time a few of the most dyspeptic bears became bold and defiant raiders.

The Park is visited by thousands for whom the bears should be a source of relaxation and furnish new interests and enjoyment. But the bears are becoming unhealthy and are a menace to people. Now and then some official tries to cure the bear trouble by having a number of bears roped, tied, and whipped. Occasionally a bear is shot. There are those who advocate that the guides and officials of the Park carry guns; and still others are advocating the extermination of the grizzly. We need the grizzly. Most cures proposed are worse than his trouble. But there is a prevention in simply no garbage-piles.

In the Glacier National Park, which has been a wild-life reservation only since 1910, the grizzlies have not yet become demoralized by garbage. The grizzly bear situation in the Yellowstone is a serious and even an alarming one, and what exists here is certain to develop in other Parks. The demoralizing factors are likely to be expanded and not diminished. Then, too, in the Yellowstone this continuous eating of garbage may ere long bring on a pestilence among the grizzlies, or possibly put a check on the number of cubs born. The whole situation appears to be embraced in what I have previously said about what a grizzly is fed and how.The grizzly has not lost all his old instincts in the Park. Around the garbage-piles he is a lazy, cross pensioner. But away from them, and especially where he ranges outside of the Park, the same bear is as alert and as energetic as ever in getting a living and watching out for his safety. They are tame near garbage-piles but a short distance away are wild. They are comparatively easy to trap near the garbage-piles, where they will enter a trap-door; but the same bear outside the Park is extremely wary and avoids going near a trap. Says William H. Wright, in “The Grizzly Bear”:—

“Altogether I did not find the grizzlies of Yellowstone Park in any degree more tame or less cunning than they are to-day, for example, in the Selkirks. Many of them, it is true, come to the garbage-piles to feed, but these very bears, fifty yards back in the timber, are again as wild as any of them anywhere. At the caÑon, the garbage-pile is in a hollow at the foot of rather a steep incline that leads up to the edge of the woods. Bear after bear, coming down the trails that converge toward this point, will stop as he reaches the brink of this declivity, glance downward, turn his head from side to side, and launch himself down hill, with the same air of committing himself to a foreign element that one sees in the upward glance and deep breath of a man launching himself from a diving board. On their return, they invariably halted for a few seconds at the top of the hill, looked around, occasionally shook themselves, and with their first step up the familiar trail, resumed every sign of their habitual caution and alertness. While on the garbage-pile itself, they appear to pay scant attention to the people gathered behind the fairly distant wire fence, but even there, an eye familiar with their actions would note the constant watch they kept on what was going on and the hurried way in which they fed; and, fifty feet from the edge of the surrounding timber, they would at the least scent or sound or sight, bolt as incontinently as in the farthest hills. Grizzlies are no more plentiful around the Park to-day than they were twenty-five years ago in the Bitter Roots, and a hundred yards from the garbage-pile they are no different.”

Apparently young bears do not inherit fear of a trap, for they are easily trapped. Young bears in captivity sometimes exhibit inherited instincts; they may be pleasurably excited with the scent of food never before seen; and they will sometimes dig down for a hidden root of a kind that their parents ate but which they themselves had never seen. In these cases of digging, they either dug at the right place from scent, or from inherited memory of place. There was nothing on the surface to indicate the presence of buried roots beneath.

The young of most animals, wild or tame, make interesting pets. But of all the pets I have known, none equal grizzly cubs for energy, alertness, and individuality. They take naturally to new, unnatural environments. A grizzly cub learns speedily and from the first tries to know everything around him. So all-knowing are his senses and his instincts that the approach of anything new at once attracts him; he stops play and with rare curiosity and concentration tries to understand it. If he solve the mystery he promptly continues play at the point where he left it.

“Baby Sylvester” is a celebrated bear story by Bret Harte that characteristically and humorously describes a bear in new environments. This little bear lost none of his native energy, alertness, and versatility under changed and unexacting conditions. The way he handled every situation was a constant surprise and delight.

Pet cubs, if gently treated, quickly accept and make the best of new environment; they become intimate and loving, in fact most intensely so. If handled kindly, the cub is willing to do everything reasonable, everything he understands one wants done. But whip or scold him, and he at once becomes stubborn and unwilling, reserved and cross. The grizzly is an animal of high type and to have him develop his best he needs fine, high consideration.

The grizzly’s real character stands out when he is associated with man. He is ever true to himself. A dog will lick the hand of a cruel master or fawn on a most unworthy one. Not so the grizzly; he will not go down in the dust. Only a uniformly just man can win his loyalty or retain his friendship; he has individuality and self-respect and will not willingly serve a tyrant or even bow to him. The wearing of a hat, the holding of a pipe, the sitting up in a silly attitude, tricks which many dogs do to please a master, the grizzly will do only under compulsion. The grizzly is ever faithful and loyal to a worthy master; he will do unto you as you do unto him. Elsewhere in this book I give a number of stories which show the high character and the great possibilities of the grizzly as a companion of man if handled intelligently.

In eastern Washington, “Grizzly” Adams captured a yearling grizzly which he named Lady Washington. With her he used but little discipline, and he at all times treated her with consideration and kindness. She was constantly with him on long journeys across the mountains from State to State, in camp and on hunts. Of her Adams says:—

“She has always been with me; and often shared my dangers and privations, borne my burdens, and partaken of my meals. The reader may be surprised to hear of a grizzly companion and friend, but Lady Washington has been both to me. He may hardly credit the accounts of my nestling up between her and the fire to keep both sides warm under the frosty skies of the mountains, but all this is true.”

The ability to comprehend a new situation or incident and readjust one’s self to it is the act of an open and a thinking mind. The food, religion, politics, and personal habits of an individual are changed slowly and with difficulty. Progress is constantly being held back by old customs—the inability of the race to form new habits meeting new conditions. Many species of extinct animals have perished because of over-specialization. “Leave your prejudice at home” was the best advice I received just prior to a trip to Europe. Prejudice and its allied mental conditions are binding and delaying. The grizzly does not allow old prejudice to prevent his exploring for new information, and he is ever ready for something new in his environment.

In a generation or two the grizzly has become expert in eluding the pursuer; he rivals the fox in concealing his trail, in confounding the trailer and escaping with his life. That he has developed this trait since coming in contact with the white man and the repeating rifle—out of necessity—there can be no doubt. Formerly, the rightful monarch of the wilds through superiority, he roamed freely about, indifferent as to where he went or whether or not he was seen. He has been wise enough to readjust himself to the evolutionary and revolutionary forces introduced by man. The king of the wilderness has survived through retreat; he has become the master of strategy. Instinct hardly accounts for this swift evolution. The readjustment—avoiding man—does not indicate cowardice; it indicates brains. In the warfare of existence, in changing, exacting environments, the grizzly bear has risen triumphant.

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