Elk, like the rest of the deer family, are excessively fond of saline
matter. Their trails may be seen leading from every direction to the
great alkaline licks that abound in certain parts of their
mountain-ranges. Among other favorite resorts are springs, which make,
on steep wooded slopes, delightful, boggy wallowing places. The bulls
revel in these from August to the middle of September. It is not an
uncommon thing to kill them just as they emerge from their viscous bath
coated with mud. The elk has a great deal of natural curiosity, and I
have seen extraordinary instances of this where they had been but little
hunted or alarmed. My friend Phillips, of Washington, who was with me,
will vouch for the veracity of this story, which I give as an example:
We were wandering along the top of the mountain, some nine thousand feet
up, trying to stalk some elk, not to shoot them, but to photograph them.
We jumped a small band of bulls, numbering about sixteen. They trotted
off slowly, frequently stopping to look back, until all but two large
bulls had disappeared. These walked slowly back to within fifty yards of
where we were standing, and stopped, facing us.
It was truly one of the most charming sights one could have wished for,
to have those graceful, sleek creatures almost close enough to caress.
Presently, with a defiant snort, and with a succession of short barks,
they would move away and come back again, repeating these manoeuvers
over and over again, until we got tired of trying to look like a brace
of marble posts and sat down. We thought this would frighten them, but
it did not, and once I thought they were going to proceed from
curiosity to more offensive operations, so close did they come to us.
Even my caterwauling, as my friend unfeelingly characterized my attempt
to imitate their challenges, did not seem to alarm them, and not until a
full half-hour had elapsed did this pair of inquisitive worthies at
length jog off.
Elk are vigorous fighters, and while it seems that their combats seldom
terminate fatally, the broken points of their antlers, and their scarred
and bruised bodies, bear testimony to the severity of their encounters.
A full-grown elk stands about sixteen hands high, is about eight feet
two inches long from nose to tip of tail, and with a girth around the
chest of about six feet.
It was on the head of Wind River that I secured my largest head. The
regularity of the points was somewhat marred, as the bull had evidently
been fighting only a short time before I killed him. These horns were
not very massive, but the length, measured along the outside curve, is
sixty-three and seven eighths inches. The circumference between bay and
tray is from seven and one half to eight inches, and the greatest
spread between antlers is forty-nine inches.
* * * * *
Probably more horrible lies have been told by bear-hunters than any
other class of men, except, perhaps, fishermen, who are renowned for
their yarns. However, I trust that in the case of the few instances I
have to give of my experience I can keep fairly within the bounds of
truth and not try the reader's credulity.
Bear-hunting, as a general rule, I do not think would appeal to most
sportsmen. It is rather slow work, and one is often very inadequately
rewarded for the amount of time and trouble spent in hunting up Bruin.
There is hardly a portion of the mountains where there are not evidences
of bears, but I do not believe that in any locality they are especially
abundant. They have been hunted and trapped so long that those which
survive are extremely cautious. In my experience there is no animal
gifted with a greater amount of intelligence, and, in this region, the
hunter's chief virtue, patience to wait and stay in one spot, is sure to
be rewarded, sooner or later, with a good shot which should mean
success.
Let me say that the danger and ferocity of the bear is, I think, very
much over-stated, yet there is just enough of the element of danger to
make the pursuit of this animal exciting. Naturalists do not now
apparently recognize more than two varieties of bear in the Rocky
Mountains; that is, they class the cinnamon, silver-tip, and grizzly as
grizzly bear. The other variety, of course, is the black bear. I am by
no means sure that the grizzly bear will not be further subdivided after
careful comparisons of collections of skulls.
Much has been said and written about the size and weight of the grizzly
bear, and in most instances this has been mere guesswork. Lewis and
Clark made frequent mention of this animal, and yet their estimates of
the weight fall far below that of other writers. Only a few instances
have come to my knowledge where the weight has been ascertained
absolutely. A good-sized grizzly killed in Yellowstone Park one summer
by Wilson, the Government scout, weighed six hundred pounds. Colonel
Pickett, who has a neighboring ranch to mine, and who has killed more
bears than any man I know of, weighed his largest, which, if I remember
rightly, weighed eight hundred pounds. One will, of course, occasionally
see a very large skin, and from its size it would seem impossible that
the animal that once filled it out, if in good condition, could have
weighed less than twelve hundred pounds. But I think it may be safely
set down that the average weight of most specimens that one will get in
the mountains will be under, rather than over, five hundred pounds.
To me, bear-hunting possesses a great fascination, and for years I have
hunted nothing else. Personally I prefer to go after them in the spring.
Their skins are then in their prime, the hair long and soft, and their
claws (if valued as they should be) are long and sharp from disuse.
Bears seek their winter quarters in Bad Lands and in the mountains.
Those that adopt the former come out much earlier; consequently if the
hunter is on the ground soon enough, by beginning first in the lower
lands and working toward the mountains, he may be reasonably sure of
securing good skins as late as June. In the spring, too, bears are much
more in the open, and travel incessantly in search of food.
It is highly interesting to watch them, when one has the chance, turning
over stones, tearing open fallen trees, or rooting like a pig in some
favorite spot. Acres upon acres even of hard, stony ground they will
turn up, and in other places it would be difficult to find a stone or
rock they had not displaced. They will undermine and dig out great
stumps. Ant-hills you will find leveled, and the thrifty squirrels, who
have labored all the previous fall to make a cache of pine nuts, are
robbed on sight.
* * * * *
One spring, the work on the ranch being done, Woody and I took our
pack-horses and proceeded to the mountains after bears. I had no sooner
picked out a good camping-ground than it began to snow, and for four
days we could not stir from camp. However, it finally cleared off, the
sun came out bright and warm, and the little stream that we were on
began boiling, tearing, and rushing along, full to the banks, causing us
to move our camp back to higher ground. After breakfast, as we proposed
to take a long day's trip, we took our horses with us. Riding up to the
head of the stream we were on, looking for bears, no signs were to be
seen, though plenty of sheep were in sight all the time. Riding on, away
above the canyon some six or eight miles we could see some elk. We
closely scanned the neighboring heights, but still no sign of bears.
Finally, we turned off and worked our way clear up on top of the
mountain, determined to see the country anyway. Slowly we climbed
upward, skyward, dragging our weary horses after us, until at noon we
were nearly up and concluded to lunch at the little rill of melted snow
that came from a big drift on the mountain-side.
To get to it, though, we were obliged to cross the drift, and Woody led
the way with his favorite horse, old Rock, in tow; and here was where my
laugh came in, to see those two floundering through that drift. At
times, all I could see of Rock was the tips of his ears. The crust was
just strong enough to hold Woody up if he went "easy," but he could not
go easy with the horse plunging on top of him, and they would both
break through. However, they had to go ahead in spite of themselves, and
they were finally landed half-drowned and smothered on dry ground. Of
course, profiting by this experience, I circumnavigated the drift, and
we sat down to our dry bread and bacon, washed down by a long pull from
the handy snow-water. Ten minutes and a pipe was all that we allowed
ourselves before resuming our toil--for that is really the way to
designate the ascent of these mountains.
We saw six fine rams which did not seem to regard us with any
uneasiness, permitting us to get within murderous distance, and I looked
at their leader with some longing. He had such a noble head of curling,
graceful, well-rounded horns. He must have been a powerful adversary
when it came to butting. Stifling the desire, I passed by without
disturbing them, and at last reached the top of the divide, and was
repaid by a glorious and most extended view.
At that time Nature was not in her most smiling garb. It had been
steadily growing colder, ominous clouds were gathering in the west, and
an ugly rolling of thunder warned us that no genial spring day with
shirt-sleeve accompaniment was to gladden and cheer us. Still we must
look for bears; so buttoning up our coats and turning up our collars we
surveyed the country. At the same time it was impossible to forego a
study of the grandeur of the view displayed before us.
Those who have seen the mountains and foot-hills only in the fall of the
year, when every blade of grass is parched and brown and dry, can form
no adequate idea of the change that presents itself in the spring.
Especially is one surprised when, standing on the top of some mountain
height surrounded by everlasting snow, he looks down over the valleys
and sees the richness and vividness of the green growing grasses which
seem to roll up almost to his feet. As we stood there we had a glorious
panorama. The vast gathering cloud was behind us, and the sun, though
not shining for us, was lighting up the broad valley below. Greybull
River stretched away until it joined the Big Horn beyond. The whole
range of the Big Horn Mountains was visible, their snow-tops glistening
like a bank of silver clouds, and the main range we were standing on
was brought out in all its dazzling grandeur. Snow-drift upon
snow-drift, with gracefully curling crests, stretched away as far as the
eye could reach, for miles and miles. Still we saw no bears, and while
we were enjoying all this wonderful scenery we neglected the storm, and
were soon enveloped in a raging tempest of wind and snow with a
demoniacal accompaniment of lightning and crashing thunder.
We hunched up our backs and stumbled along the ridge before the blast,
and were soon brought up by a drift. However, here was luck for once. We
saw the print of two fresh bear-tracks crossing the drift. All thoughts
of the storm were lost in our delight at the vicinity of bears, for the
sign was very fresh. Alas, though, we lost the tracks after crossing the
drift, and could not find them again upon the rugged soil of these
ridges where the wind had blown the snow off. We circled round and
round, studying every patch of snow, and my companion, Woody, looked and
spoke doubtfully. At last I caught the trail again. Only a half-dozen
tracks, but enough to show the right direction, and as we ascended the
ridge the tracks were on, I saw the two rascals across the gulch on an
enormous snow-drift, tearing and chewing at something, I could not make
out what.
[Illustration: Crossing a Drift.