on our short bear hunt. After sighting the game, he waits until he is
sure of his wind, then takes a stand where the bear will pass close by,
and shows himself a monument of patience. Almost all the viewing is done
from the water, a small hill near the shore being occasionally used for
a lookout. They get up at daylight, and two men in a baidarka patrol
both sides of a big bay, watching carefully for bear tracks on the
mountain sides, as this is the surest indication of their presence. As
soon as the bears come from their dens they always make a climbing tour,
the natives claiming that this exercise is taken to strengthen
them. Personally I believe the Kadiak bear has very good reasons for
keeping on the move continually outside of his hibernating season.
If the natives find no sign on their morning tour, they rest all day,
perhaps taking a Turkish bath in a banya, which is not infrequently
attached to the hunting barabara. Another trip of inspection is made
again in the afternoon at four or five o'clock, as the bear usually lies
up between nine and three. A bay is watched for several days in this
way, and if nothing is seen the natives return to their village, or hunt
the hair seal, which are still to be found in fair numbers, especially
on Afognak Island.
When you are with these men you must either conduct the shooting trip on
your own lines or give yourself entirely into the native's hands, and do
as he thinks best. You must leave him alone, and not bother him with
many questions, and in any case you usually get _Nish naiou_ ("I
don't know") for answer. The native gives this reply without thinking;
it is so much easier. The most you can do is to cheer him on when luck
is bad, as he is easily discouraged and becomes homesick.
During the bad weather that followed we had plenty of opportunity to use
our ingenuity in extracting information from our men on the subject of
bear.
It seems that the Kadiak bear hibernates, as a rule, from December to
April, depending on the season somewhat, and the young are supposed to
be born in March in the dens. Although the skins are good in the late
fall, they are finest when the bear first comes out in early spring, as
it is then that the hide is thinnest and the hair longest. On the other
hand, in summer, when the hair is very thin, the hide becomes extremely
thick and heavy; this condition changing again as fall comes on. The
total amount of epidermis, in other words, does not vary so much as one
would suppose, and whether the hide or the hair is responsible for most
of the weight depends on the time of year.
When the animal leaves his den he finds food scarce, and has to go on
the principle that a full stomach is better than an empty one, even if
the filling is made of alder twigs. It is not long, however, before
green grass begins to sprout along the small streams, low down, and
grass and the roots of the salmon berry bushes carry the bear along
until the fish run.
The running of the salmon varies, and the bears make frequent
prospecting trips down the streams in order to be sure to be on hand for
the first run, which usually occurs during the latter part of
May. During the salmon season the bears have opportunity to fill
themselves full every night, and put on a tremendous weight of fat in
the late fall, when they become saucy and lazy, and more inclined to
show fight. Berries--especially the salmon berry--help out the fish diet
in summer time. As soon as salmon becomes their food the pelts
deteriorate, but unless living near a red salmon stream, with shallow
reaches, the bears do not get much fish diet until the second run early
in July, so that fair skins are sometimes obtained even up to June 15,
although by this time the hair is usually much faded in color.
The bear makes a zigzag course down the salmon stream from one shallow
rapid to another, standing immovable while fishing, and throwing out his
catch with the left paw. The numerous fishing beds give a false idea of
the number of bear present in a district, as it takes but a few days for
a single bear to cover the sides of a stream for a long distance with
such places. One finds fish skeletons scattered all along a salmon
stream, and it is generally easy to tell whether a bear or eagle has
made the kill. An eagle usually carries the whole fish away with him,
leaving only scales behind. A bear, on the other hand, eats his fish
where he catches him, preferring the belly and back, and usually
discarding the skeleton, and always the under jaw.
The Finn hunter whom I met on my way north, said he had seen an old cow
bear when fishing with her cubs, rush salmon in toward the shore and
scoop them out for the young. Generally they watch on a low bank, or in
the shallow water, while fishing.
During the rutting season, supposed to be in June, the female travels
ahead, the male bringing up the rear to furnish protection from that
quarter. Then if one kills the female the male gives trouble, often
charging on sight.
The Finn thought that, as a rule, the cow bear comes on at a gallop and
a bull rises on his hind legs when getting in close. When wounded the
bear usually strikes the injured spot, or if it is a cow and cubs, the
old one cuffs her young soundly, thinking them the cause of pain. The
nose is the main source of protection, as, like all bears, these are
followed to their very dens in the fall by the keenest of hunters, and
their only restful sleep is the long winter one. Fortunately some
excellent game laws for Alaska have been passed, and by making a close
season for several years, followed by severe restrictions, we may yet
hope that the perpetual preservation of this grand brown bear will be
assured on the Kadiak group, which, from its situation, fitly offers
him, when well guarded, his best chance of making a successful stand
against his enemies.
[Illustration: SITKALIDAK ISLAND FROM KADIAK.]
The fact that the natives make a profit from the bear skins, and that
his flesh furnishes them with food is not to be considered, as at the
present rate of extermination there will soon be no bear left for
discussion.
The natives certainly could and should be helped out in their living, as
competition in the fur trade of late has so exterminated fur-bearing
animals that hunting and trapping bring them in little, and their diet
is indeed low. One of my hunters during last fall only secured one bear,
one silver gray fox, and two land otter.
A good way to help out the food question, and compensate the native for
his loss of bear meat, would be to transport a goodly number of Sitka
deer to the three islands, and allow them to multiply. There has been a
Sitka deer on Wood Island for several years, and he has lived through
the winters without harm, as his footprints scattered over the island
testify. Afognak and Wood Island are especially suitable for such a
purpose, being well wooded and furnishing plenty of winter food for deer
in willows, alders and black birch. The clement winters make the plan
feasible, and it ought not to be an expensive experiment.
[Illustration: A KADIAK EAGLE.]
We had a very bad time of it on the night of April 30, which showed me
what I had long felt, that the dangers of Kadiak were not centered in
the bear, but in the tremendous wind blows and tide rips in its
fjords. A strong wind came on from the east, and fairly howled through
the ravine opposite our anchorage, catching our little sloop with full
force. We could not change our position, as we occupied the only
anchorage. Vacille, who had turned in, felt the anchor dragging, and we
found ourselves being blown out into the large bay, where we could not
have lived for any time in the big seas, and, should we continue to
drag, our only chance was to try to beach her on a sand shore some half
mile away.
When the boat was not dragging she was wallowing in cross seas, and
being hammered by the otter boat, which was difficult to manage. The
anchors held firmly, much to our relief, and after a disagreeable night
of watching we beat back to our mooring at the head of the little
cove. The mountains being covered with fresh snow in the morning, there
was nothing to do but eat and sleep.
The bear meat improved with age, and hours of boiling rid it of its
bitter flavor. The whole cabin--and its occupants--smelled of bear's
grease. The thermometer registered 30.
On May 2, as the wind was unsuitable for bear hunting, we made a
photographing trip to a cliff across the bay, where two bald-headed
eagles had built their nest. Merriam and I had a very interesting stalk
with a camera. We landed near the cliff, and the eagles, becoming
disturbed, flew away. The men were sent out in the boat, and we kept in
hiding until signalled that the birds had quieted down. We gained the
top of the cliff, a mere knife edge in places, where we worked our way
along, straddling the rock. The birds had selected a splendid place,
straight up from the water, where they had built their nest firmly into
a bush on the side of the cliff.
I stalked the eagle within about 75 feet and caught her with the camera,
as she was leaving her nest. The earth forming the center of the nest
was frozen and three eggs lay in a little hollow of hay on top. The big
birds circled about us all the time, but did not offer to
attack. Bald-headed eagles are very common on Kadiak, and are always
found about the salmon streams later, during the run, being good
fishermen. It seems they, of all the birds here, are the first to lay
their eggs, and their young are the last to leave the nest.
We secured some eagle eggs on these trips, of which we made several, and
found the cliff nests much the easier to approach, as it was very
difficult to get above nests built in trees.
In connection with the eagle, the magpie should not be forgotten. Of
these black and white birds there were many about, and there seemed to
be a bond of sympathy between the widely separated species of
marauders. Bold enough we knew the smaller bird to be, but to believe
that he would actually steal an eagle's fish breakfast from under his
very nose one must sec the act. The eagle appeared to mind but little,
occasionally pecking the thief away when he became offensive.
The magpie, on the other hand, seemed to have a warm feeling for his big
friend, and once at least we saw him flying about an eagle's nest and
warning the old birds of our approach with his harsh cry.
One good day among many bad ones showed no more bear signs, so we soaped
the seams of the otter boat, which leaked badly, and set sail for Three
Saints Bay, named after Shelikoff's ship. This proved to be a narrow
piece of water running far inland, with snow-covered mountain sides, and
by far the most beautiful fjord on the island.
There were no bear signs, however, and a favorable wind carried us
eastward toward Kaluda Bay, where Kidder and Blake were hunting. On our
way we stopped at Steragowan, an interesting little village, bought a
few stores, and secured some interesting stone lamps, and whale spears,
with throwing sticks.
Once in Kaluda Bay, we found Kidder's and Blake's barabara where they
made headquarters, and their cook informed us that both sportsmen were
many miles up the bay after bear.
Several years ago there was a flourishing colony of natives at the
entrance to Kaluda Bay, but now there are only two hunting barabaras, a
broken down chapel, and a good-sized graveyard. The village prospered
until one day a dead whale was reported not far from land. All the
inhabitants gorged themselves on the putrid blubber, and they died
almost to a man.
The Kadiakers show a good deal of courage in whale hunting. With nothing
but their whale spears tipped with slate, two men will run close up to a
whale, drive two spears home with a throwing stick, and make off
again. The slate is believed in some way to poison the animal, and he
often dies within a short time. The natives go home, return in a few
days, and, if lucky, find the whale in the same bay. Whales are plenty,
and were sometimes annoying to us, playing too near our otter boat. On
one occasion we tried a shot at one that was paying us too much
attention, and persuaded the big chap to leave us in peace.
Bad weather held us fast several days, but we finally made the southeast
corner of the island, and from there had good wind to Kadiak. On our way
we passed Uyak, one of the blue fox islands. Raising these animals for
their fur has become a regular business, and when furs are high it pays
well. The blue fox has been found to be the only one that multiplies
well in comparative captivity, and he thrives on salmon flesh.
At Wood Island, news came to us through prospectors, of a bear in
English Bay, south of Kadiak village. This bay is well known as a good
bear ground, and at the end of the bay there are some huge iron cages
weighing tons which were used as bear traps, some years ago, by men
working for the Smithsonian Institution.
We found bear tracks coming into the valley, down one mountain side, and
leading out over the opposite mountain, and were obliged to return to
Wood Island empty handed.
Merriam now decided to return home on the next boat, and after a few
days I started off for the north side of Kadiak in an otter boat fitted
with sail, picking up on the way a white man, Jack Robinson, and a
native hunter, Vacille, at Ozinka, a small village on Spruce Island. My
men proved a good combination, but we were all obliged to work hard for
two months before a bear was finally secured.
We tried bay after bay, and were often held up, and for days at a time
kept from good grounds by stormy weather and bad winds. The inability to
do anything for long periods made these months the most wearing I have
ever passed. Our little open boat went well only before the wind, but,
as somebody has said, the prevailing winds in Alaska are head winds, and
we spent many long hours at the oars.
Although we had a good tent with us, we used, for the most part, the
native hunting barabara for shelter. These are fairly clean and
comfortable, and are found in every bay of any size.
The natives inherit their hunting grounds, and are apparently scrupulous
in observing each other's rights. In fact, it is dangerous to invade
another man's trapping country, as one may spring a Klipse trap set for
fox and otter, and receive a dangerous gash from the blade that makes
these contrivances so deadly.
On the way to the hunting grounds Vacille pointed out to us a cliff
where he once had an exciting bear hunt.
There were two hunters, and they were fortunate enough to locate an
inhabited den in early spring. Two bears were killed through crevices in
the rocks, but the men suspected there was still one inside, and Vacille
crawled in to make sure. He found himself in a fair sized chamber with
a bear at the other end, and a lucky shot tumbled the animal at his
feet.
This story brought up others of bear hunting with the lance. Before
firearms came into common use, boys were given lessons in fighting the
bear with the lance, and became very expert at it. Their method was to
approach a bear as closely as possible, without being seen, then show
themselves suddenly, and as the bear reared strike home. The lance was
held fast by the native, and the bear was often mortally wounded by
forcing the lance into himself in his struggles to reach his enemy.
This class of native no longer exists on Kadiak, but it is said there is
one famous old Aleut near Iliamna Lake on the mainland who scorns any
but this method of hunting.
High above the den where the three bears were killed was a scoop out of
the cliff called the shaman's barabara. Here, before Russian times, the
shamans or witches were buried, and here also were kept the masks used
in certain ceremonial rites. The Russians removed the mummies and masks
long ago.
The shamans were considered oracles. It was claimed they could prevent a
whale from swimming out of a bay by dragging a bag of fat, extracted
from the dead body of a newly born infant, across the entrance. Their
instructions were unfailingly obeyed, as it was supposed they could
cause death as a punishment for their enemies.
One evening at our first halting place beyond Ozinka, we found tracks in
the snow on one side of our valley, and early in the morning came upon a
two-year-old bear, not far from camp. The bear was grubbing about on the
hillside, and we took our position so that he crossed us under a hundred
yards. Unbeknown to me, and just as I was about to fire, my native gave
the caw of a raven to hold the bear up. He whipped around and faced us,
my bullet entering the brush on one side of him. Off he rushed into the
woods with the dog after him. I followed, and on coming out into a
clearing saw the dog being left far behind on the mountain side. Old
Tchort was not in condition. This was sad and illustrated the fact that
it is sometimes best to be alone.
[Illustration: BEAR PATHS, KODIAK ISLAND.]
We next tried Kaguiac Bay and here spent many days. Two bears had been
killed by the natives near the barabara where we camped, and there was
plenty of sign.
Before sunrise we were watching from a good position, and it was
scarcely light when Vacille made out a big bear, two miles or more
away. He was traveling the snow arête of the mountain opposite, and
trying to find a good descent into our valley. One could see the huge
body and head plainly with the naked eye against the sky-line as he made
his way rapidly through the deep snow. Finally he found a place
somewhat bare of snow and gave us a splendid exhibition of rock
climbing. It took little time for him to get down into the alders,
where he apparently dropped asleep. To our astonishment he woke up about
10 o'clock and worked down toward the bottom land. We stalked him in the
woods and alders, which were very thick, within 300 yards, and here I
should have risked a shot at his hindquarters showing up brown against
the hillside, and seemingly as large as a horse.
We chanced a nearer approach, though the wind was treacherous, and
coming up to a spot where we could have viewed him found the monster had
decamped. All attempts to locate him again were fruitless.
The bear paths around this bay were a very interesting study. They are
hammered deep into the earth, and afford as good means of traveling as
the New Brunswick moose paths.
Sometimes instead of a single road we have a double one, the bear using
one path for the legs of each side of his body. Again, on soft mossy
side hills, instead of paths we find single footprints which have been
used over and over, and made into huge saucers, it being the custom of
the bear to take long strides on the side hills, and to step into the
impressions made by other animals which had traveled ahead of it.
The red salmon were beginning to run, and some fishermen in another part
of the bay supplied us, from time to time, from their nets. Especially
good were the salmon heads roasted.
Bear sign failed, and Afognak Island, where Vacille shot and trapped,
had been so much talked about, that I determined to see it for myself,
and with a good wind we rowed across the straits and sailed twelve miles
into the island by Kofikoski Bay.
[Illustration: BEAR PATHS, KODIAK ISLAND.]
Scattered along up the bay were small islands, and these furnished us
with a good supply of gulls' eggs, which lasted many days.
The Afognak coast is heavily wooded with spruce, while a large plateau
in the interior is almost barren, and gave good opportunity for using
the glasses.
During several days at the head of Kofikoski Bay nothing was seen, so we
packed up and crossed a large piece of the island by portages and a
chain of lakes, where our Osgood boat was indispensable. The country
crossed was like a beautiful park of meadows, groves and lakes, and one
could scarcely believe it was uncultivated.
The Red Salmon River of Seal Harbor, to which we were headed, could not
fail us, for bear could scoop out the salmon in armfuls below the lower
falls, so Vacille said, and he was honest, and now as keen as anything
while traveling his own hunting grounds.
For a whole week a northeast storm blew directly toward the bay, and
kept us in camp. It was fishing weather, however, and my fly-rod, with a
Parmachenee belle, kept us well supplied with steelheads and speckled
trout, which were plentiful in the clear waters of a wandering trout
brook running through a meadow below the camp.
A calm evening came finally, and we paddled down the last lake, some
three miles, to the famous pool.
There were the salmon swarming below the fall, and many constantly in
the air on their upward journey, but the eagles perched high on the dark
spruces, closing in the swirling water, were all they had to fear. There
were no bears and no fresh bear signs. It was an ideal spot, this salmon
pool, but a feast for the eyes only, as the red salmon will not rise to
a fly. Even Tchort looked disconsolate on our track back to Ozinka.
About July 10 there is usually a run of dog salmon, and not much later
another of humpbacks. The dog salmon grow to be about twice as large as
the red salmon, and often weigh 12 pounds. They are much more sluggish
than the red fish, and as they prefer the small shallow streams, become
an easy prey for the bear. The humpback fish are fatter and better
eating even than the red salmon, but are somewhat smaller.
The red fish never ascend a stream which has not a lake on its upper
waters for spawning. The dog and humpback, on the contrary, are not so
particular, and are found almost everywhere. In September there is a run
of silver salmon, which, like the red salmon, will only swim a stream
with a lake at its head. They run up to 40 pounds, and the bears grow
fat on them before turning into winter quarters. The skeletons of this
big fish, cleaned by bear, are found along every small stream running
from the lakes.
The large canneries, like the one at Karluk, on Karluk River, near the
western end of Kadiak, put up only the red salmon. They are not nearly
as good eating as the humpback or silver salmon, but are red, and this
color distinction the market demands. The catches at Karluk run up into
the tens of thousands, and one thinks of this with many misgivings,
remembering the fate of the sea otter and bear. Good hatcheries are
constantly busy, keeping up the supply, but it appears that though one
in every ten thousand of these fish is marked before being set free, so
far as known no marked fish have ever been captured.
On our return to Kadiak Island, we found the streams still free of
salmon, and the vegetation had become so rank as to interfere a good
deal with traveling and sighting game. The whole party looked serious,
and the strain was beginning to tell, no game having been seen for seven
long weeks. This, with the swarms of gnats and mosquitoes, made time
pass heavily.
Other places proving barren, we finally brought up at Wesnoi Leide, half
an hour's row from Ozinka, and found the dog fish just beginning to run
up stream, at the head of the bay. Better still, there were fresh bear
tracks.
The wind was favorable, and we stationed ourselves the first evening on
a bluff overlooking a long meadow, on the lower part of the stream.
Hardly had we sat down, when Vacille said: "If that brown spot on the
hillside were not so large, I would take it for a bear." The brown spot
promptly walked into the woods, half a mile away. We were keen enough
again, but our watching proved fruitless, as nothing came down on the
meadow, showing that there was good fishing well up the stream.
We rowed back to Ozinka, and left the country undisturbed, determined to
get well into the woods the following night, before the bear came down
to feed.