Hunters are excluded from National Parks, and within these wonderlands
all shooting is prohibited. All National Parks are wild-life
sanctuaries, places of refuge for birds and animals. There the wild
folk are not pursued, trapped, or shot. Nearly all the principal birds
and beasts of North America are to be found in these Parks. Here may
be seen the lively, merry play-pranks of young bears, young birds, and
young beavers. Each Park is thus a wild-life paradise where the
animals are safe, free from the fear of being killed by man. These
Parks are ideal places in which to enjoy the animals and to study
their character; and they are a happy hunting-ground for the hunter
who carries the camera. Recreation in these wonderlands is thus
absolutely separated from the butchering business. What a glorious
exchange! All this should help the good old world to grow better.
Making a wild-animal place of refuge is equivalent to making a
park-place of refuge for ourselves.
[Illustration: ELK IN JACKSON HOLE]
One day, in what is now the Rocky Mountain National Park, I came upon
a luxuriously equipped camping-party, in which were at least a score
of people. They had a splendid outfit and bore evidence of culture and
refinement. I came upon their camp just at the close of a day that
they had devoted to a hunting-contest. I do not recall the prize that
the winning side secured, but all members of the party, young and old,
men and women, had engaged in the contest. They had taken sides, and
each side had endeavored during the day to kill more animals than the
other. Every living thing was allowable. Piled up against a log near
the camp were two heaps of dead wild folk--squirrels and chipmunks,
grouse and hummingbirds, water-ouzels, ptarmigans, bluebirds, a robin,
a wren, a snow-shoe rabbit, and I know not how many others.
People who engage in this kind of sport have characters that I cannot
understand. These people, with all the advantages of culture and
refinement, were out in the wild, lovely, splendid scenes. They had
forgotten all other forms of recreation or enjoyment and had sunk back
into barbaric blood-shedding "sport."
Man has appeared to the furred and feathered wilderness people as a
wanton murderer. Animals have been constantly in danger, and nowhere
nor at any time were they safe. Too often animals have been called
cowards. They have grown shy and wild from necessity. Their life has
depended on keeping out of the way of man. Along with the getting of
food, their chief concern is "safety first." This requires that they
be eternally vigilant to flee from the near presence of man. The
invention of the long-range repeating rifle added a large element of
fear and consequent shyness to the life of the wild people.
But now our National Parks are reforming man. The wildest of animals
quickly become half-tame in any place that is safe. During the past
few years thousands of excellent photographs have been made of big
game in National Parks. Elk, antelopes, and mountain sheep have been
photographed singly and in groups at the distance of only a few yards.
"It is better to let the wild beast run
And let the wild bird fly;
Each harbors best in his native nest,
Even as you and I."
None of the big animals in the United States are ferocious. In parks
it is men, not animals, who are on their good behavior--his hand
restrained, man temporarily becomes as inoffensive as the animals. It
may be, if we quit shooting animals on one side of a Park
boundary-line, that in due time we shall become sufficiently civilized
to stop killing people on the other side of a national boundary-line.
That the habitual wildness of birds and animals is the result of
experience, rather than instinct, was forcefully illustrated to me by
a surprise that I enjoyed with wild mountain sheep in a side cañon of
the Colorado River in Arizona. Bighorn sheep are proverbially alert
and wild. Imagine my astonishment when two or three of a flock of
bighorns walked up and touched me with their noses! Evidently they had
never before seen man. Trustfully they approached to satisfy their
native curiosity.
For a number of days I was close to this flock, and several times I
walked among them. They showed no excitement; they had nothing to
fear. Without doubt, they had not been fired upon, chased, or even
approached by man before. When I started for other scenes, one of the
ewes of this wild herd followed me for more than an hour. Here were
wild animals in a truly natural state! The abundance of easily
watched bird and animal life in these numerous Parks affords a
splendid opportunity to learn how these so-called wild people live and
who they are.
Our greatest animal is the grizzly bear. In the Parks we may make his
acquaintance. The story of "Ben Franklin," who was reared by James
Capen Adams, "Grizzly Adams," an early mountaineer and hunter of
California, tells of a noble grizzly bear.
While hunting in the Yosemite in 1854, Adams killed a mother grizzly
and captured two tiny cubs. A greyhound suckled them, and Adams kept
one of the cubs--Ben Franklin. Ben was never chained, but followed his
master everywhere through the mountains with a devotion equal to that
of a faithful dog. Adams always treated him with kindness and
understanding, and trained him to carry huge packs. Ben also rendered
other startling services.
One day, while returning from a hunt with Ben at his heels, Adams
suddenly came upon a mother grizzly and three cubs in the close
quarters of a thicket. The unexpected encounter probably caused the
big bear to defend her cubs, and she sprang upon Adams before he could
fire his rifle. He was knocked down and seriously wounded. Though
still a youngster, Ben was grandly loyal and brave; he instantly
sprang at the huge bear's throat and put up a courageous fight. This
distracted the big bear's attention and gave Adams a chance to spring
out of harm's way and shoot her. Little Ben was terribly bitten. So
grateful was Adams that he dressed Ben's wounds before he attended to
his own. Both Adams and Ben survived, and ever after they were close
companions.
For brain-power, prowess, and sheer force of character the grizzly is
the king of the wilderness. He knows it, and therefore is the
aristocrat of the wilds. With real intelligence, and, if kindly tamed,
with wonderful loyalty and devotion, he is an outdoor citizen of high
type, and does not merit the extermination that threatens him.
A grizzly is ever alert, vigilant, and cautious, unless his
well-developed bump of curiosity temporarily hypnotizes him and
betrays him into momentary dullness and forgetfulness. He is not a
coward, but simply believes in preparedness and safety first, and so
seldom blunders into trouble. He is popularly believed to be
ferocious. Two or three generations ago he may have been fierce, but
he is not so now. He uses his keen wits to avoid man, and never
attacks wantonly nor fights if he can avoid it. But he is a masterful
fighter, with strength, endurance, courage, mentality, and prompt
action in emergencies.
There is little that the grizzly or the black bear will not eat. Fresh
meat or carrion, honey, grasshoppers, ants, grubs, fish, mice and
others pests, grass, fruits, berries, bark, roots, leaves--all may be
included in the bill of fare of this omnivorous feeder. The grizzly
appears more inclined to belong with vegetarians than with the
Carnivora. He hibernates from three to five months each winter. The
latitude, altitude, snowfall, weather, and the peculiarities and
condition of the bear determine the length of his hibernation. Before
entering a cave or opening to spend his hibernating sleep he fasts for
a few days. In the spring, for several days after he emerges he eats
little.
Except the Alaskan bear, the only other kind we have is the black
bear. His habits are similar to the grizzly's, but he is smaller than
the grizzly. The color of bears varies widely in the same family as
well as in the two species and numerous subspecies. Color has nothing
to do with the kind of bear: either the black or the grizzly may be
black or cinnamon. The black bear is much more playful, and he climbs
trees as readily as a cat. The grizzly does not climb into trees.
[Illustration: BLACK BEAR CUBS, SEQUOIA NATIONAL PARK]
The black bear is a playful bluffer. One day, as I was seated on the
edge of Yellowstone Lake, several feet above the water, a young
black bear came ambling by. In passing, he leaped at me with a wild
"woof." His bluff was effective. I shrank back, and tumbled into the
lake.
The creation of the Yellowstone National Park, for "the benefit and
enjoyment of the people," was one of the great achievements for
mankind. It also was a great event in the world of wild folk. The
Yellowstone is one of the greatest wild-life sanctuaries in the world.
In its thirty-three hundred square miles are numerous varieties of
wild animals. Each summer as many as sixty thousand elk feed in it,
and there are also buffaloes and antelopes, and flocks of sheep and
herds of moose. Black bears are on every hand, and grizzly bears are
often seen near by.
The caribou of the North make a long north-and-south migration with
the seasons. The deer and the elk of the mountain parks, like many
birds, simply migrate up and down the heights, spending summers in
the high altitudes and winters in the foothills.
On the thousand hills, meadows, crags, and moorlands of the National
Parks are herds, flocks, and bands of elk and moose and deer and the
agile mountain sheep. There are more than five hundred kinds of birds.
A census of wild-life folk in all National Parks would show a numerous
population: possibly a hundred thousand elk, half as many deer,
several thousand sheep, a few thousand goats, several hundred
antelopes, a few hundred moose, a thousand or so of bears, many
thousand beavers; minks, conies, marmots, and muskrats in uncountable
thousands; and birds in untold millions.
The antelope is a strange, isolated species. Formerly it ranged widely
over the plains, but now it is almost exterminated. It has no dewclaw.
It can erect and depress its fluff of white tail at will; this is a
means of signaling. Of all big game, the antelope perhaps is the
fastest runner. This animal sheds the outer part of the horns each
year, retaining the spikelike core.
The gray wolf, coyote, fox, lynx, otter, skunk, and porcupine are
numerous in the Parks. The porcupine, even at his wildest, shows the
least signs of fear and is the dullest-witted animal in the woods.
Glacier Park probably excels in the number of mountain goats. Here
they are to be seen in one of the most picturesque and precipitous
ranges, in topography which goats enjoy. The Rocky Mountain Park
probably excels in the number of bighorn sheep.
Along the streams the picturesque beaver, a permanent home-builder,
lately almost exterminated, is reëstablishing himself and restoring
the scenes that were known to the pioneers.
The food of the beaver is the bark of aspen and willow trees. He does
not eat fish or meat. Instead of hibernating in winter, beavers
harvest a quantity of food-supplies in the autumn and store them for
winter use. These are piled in the water beside their house. After
gnawing down trees, cutting them into sections, and eventually eating
the bark, they use the wood in constructing dams and houses.
Besides taking thought for the morrow, they build permanent homes, and
keep them clean and in repair. They skillfully construct dams and
canals to insure a constant water-supply in which to live, work, play,
and travel. These give a charm to landscapes, and are a benefit to
mankind. Beavers were the world's first engineers and the first
conservationists. They have industry, patience, and persistence,
combined with mental power.
They live in colonies or communities. Evidently they know the wisdom
of the old saying "All work and no play," etc., for they often play as
well as work, and also take a long summer vacation. Excellent workers
as they are, they avoid unnecessary labor and do less of it than any
other animal I know. There were civic centers in the animal world
long before man conceived such an idea for himself.
The mountain lion is one of the slyest and most elusive animals in the
woods. Rarely is it seen, although its keen curiosity leads it to come
close to camping-parties and to follow individuals through the woods.
On the lower slopes of most Parks a few snakes are found, but they are
wholly absent from the middle and the higher slopes.
In most of the Park streams trout are found--Western brook trout,
Eastern brook trout, and California rainbow trout.
Among the more prominent birds common in a number of the Parks are
eagles, grouse, ptarmigans, Clarke crows, camp-birds,--Rocky Mountain
jays,--robins, bluebirds, blackbirds, song sparrows, white-crowned
sparrows, cañon wrens, solitaires, and water-ouzels. In several of the
National Parks a number of species of hummingbird are found.
Each spring many species of birds migrate up the mountain-slopes,
where they nest in the alpine heights. The mountain migration,
requiring a flight of only an hour or two, gives them climatic
conditions similar to that of the Arctic Circle, to reach which would
cost them a journey of several thousand miles.
Some species bring forth two broods each summer. The first is raised
in the lowlands, where the young are fed while flower life in the
lowlands is at its best. As soon as the young birds are able to care
for themselves, the parent birds move up the mountain-side into the
very heart of summer. Here they nest again. How romantic is every
habit and custom in Bird World! The second nest of children is thus
reared on the alpine slopes. This enables the old birds to bring up
each brood in the midst of an abundant food-supply. The white-crowned
sparrow and two or three species of hummingbird do this.
A closer study of birds and animals will probably reveal the fact that
numbers of them mate for life. My experience has led me to believe
that wolves and foxes, bluebirds, wrens, eagles, and other kinds of
wild life do this.
Of all the birds in the West, or in the world, the one most hopefully
eloquent is the solitaire. The song of the hermit thrush has a touch
of sadness--it subdues and gives to one a touch of reflective
loneliness; but the song of the solitaire stirs one to be up and
doing; it gives the spirit of youth. Its song comes from ages of
freedom under peaceful skies, from a mingling of the melody of winds
and waters and of all rhythmic sounds that murmur and echo through
Nature's wonderlands.
High up in the mountains of the National Parks lives the ptarmigan,
the largest bird resident of the snowy heights. It spends the entire
year in the alpine zone, rarely descending below timber-line. Even the
summits of the peaks are visited by this sky-high dweller. Its dress
changes with the seasons; in winter it is pure white, stockings and
all; in midsummer it is grayish brown. These changing colors resemble
those of the landscape and thus help protect the ptarmigan from its
enemies, the weasel, fox, bear, eagle, and mountain lion. Although
smaller than the grouse, it reminds one of that bird. It eats grasses
and insects and the seeds and buds of alpine plants. Much of the
winter-time is spent by these birds in the shelter of deep holes or
runs beneath the compressed snow of the heights. Though far from the
Arctic Circle, they are close relatives of the ptarmigan that dwells
in the realm of the polar bear.
One of the best-dressed and best-mannered bird families that visit
National Parks is that of the waxwing--cedar and Bohemian. These birds
usually travel in flocks. At a small watering-place they drink in
routine, moving forward in an orderly manner. When a number of them
are resting upon a limb, if one catches an insect, he is quite likely
to pass it to his neighbor, and the neighbor in turn to pass it to
the next neighbor. Their dress is quiet, refined, and attractive to a
marked degree. It is an interesting fact that these birds, so dainty
of dress, so refined of manner, do not sing.
The cañon wren is a beautiful singer. So, too, is the water-ouzel, a
bird of the alpine brooks in the mountains of the West that has been
immortalized by John Muir. But few species of birds sing every day in
the year. One of those that do is the water-ouzel.
Most birds and animals appear to desire human society. Birds will
leave the seclusion of the forest to build by the roadside where
people pass. Some kinds of little feathered folk have deserted old
nesting-scenes and now nest by human homes. Robins, wrens, and
bluebirds confidingly raise their families in the scenes where
children romp and play.
They may do this for better food opportunities and increased safety
from enemies, but it is also plain that many birds come chiefly to
satisfy their desire for human society. It has been often demonstrated
that shy, well-fed birds and animals are hoping and waiting for
friendly advances on our part. Wild neighbors are glad of the
opportunity to call on us, whether we break bread or not. They are
also glad to have friendly calls returned. Birds and animals have
individuality. Food and kindness, and speaking to animals in the
universal language--friendly tones--are all means of promoting
acquaintance.
In the past we have greatly underrated the mental powers of animals.
An intimate association with wild life in the Parks will probably
convince most people that wild animals have the power to think and
reason. It may also acquaint people with the fact that animals as well
as human beings possess the traits of love, hatred, jealousy, anger,
and revenge. Any one who associates much with wild life will discover
the exceptional keenness of animal senses. In most animals scent is
amazingly developed, and probably is the first of the senses to warn
them of danger.
Most animals may be spoiled by excessive or improper feeding. In the
Yellowstone Park the bears, which are omnivorous feeders, have free
access to the garbage-dumps and eat all sorts of unwholesome
abominations. This improper eating is bound to have a bad influence
upon their habits, and is already spoiling their disposition. Beasts
of prey in the Parks are held in check by the Government. Lions,
lynxes, and other animals that become numerous and destructive, or
bears that develop killing habits, are disposed of by the Government.
The excess of big game and birds in the Parks overflows and stocks the
territory outside. Each year, too, hundreds of elk and other big
animals are shipped from Yellowstone to many parts of the country.
Well might these Parks supply city zoos, or, better still, big
wild-life reservations, with all available kinds of animals needed.
As well ship deer, moose, bears, beavers, and antelopes as to ship
elk. Here is a large field for the distribution of wild life all over
the United States. The general restocking of state and government
wild-life reservations may enable cities to cease maintaining their
animal prisons--the zoos.