One of the best play-exhibitions that I have ever enjoyed was that of a
grizzly juggling with an eight-foot log in a mountain stream. In
examining the glaciation of the Continental Divide, five or six miles
west of Long's Peak, I came out of the woods into a little meadow by the
East Inlet of Grand Lake, where I saw the grizzly and the log, rolling
and tumbling in the water. The log bobbed and plunged about as the bear
struggled with it in the swift current.
The big, shaggy grizzly, wild and gray, fitted into the wild mountain
scene. A peak bristling with ledges and dotted with snow towered in the
blue sky behind. Down the steep incline of the peak the clear, cold
stream came with subdued roar, as it rushed the inclines and the rapids
of its solid rock-cut channel. The opposite wall of the cañon was of
glacier-polished granite, while behind me the wall rose steeply, covered
with a crowded growth of towering spruce. It was a grand wilderness
playground.
As I watched from the edge of the woods, the grizzly once hugged the log
between fore paws, stood it on end in the water, and then tried to climb
it. His weight caused it to tip him over. The log escaped from the bear
and started to float away, but he was after it with a rush.
Another time he lay across it and splashed about like a boy on a pole
trying to learn to swim. Getting too far forward, he rolled under the
log. Struggling on his back, he grasped it between all four feet. Then
he took it beneath one forearm and suddenly ducked it into deep water.
It shot out into the middle of the stream with the bear splashing wildly
in pursuit. At last he succeeded in securing a good hold with his teeth
and was tugging the log toward the bank when he saw a stick floating
down stream. As he turned to seize it, his wave pushed the stick farther
away and at the same time gave the log a start down stream. Turning from
the stick, he hurried to seize the log. Pushing it end on against the
rocky bank, and pressing against it with one fore paw, he looked over
his shoulder as though intending to seize the stick. But this was out of
reach, hurrying down stream.
[Illustration: CATCHING BLACK BEAR CUBS]
Next he appeared to be trying to walk the log. When he was almost on it,
the log rolled and with a splash the grizzly fell into the water on his
side. For a second he lost sight of the log, or pretended that he had,
and took swift glances this way and that. As it bumped into his
up-stream side, he seized it with feigned surprise. Then he took it to
the bank in shallow water, mauling it about, biting and gnawing at it.
As the log rolled from side to side, he swam around it, batting it and
pushing it under.
A number of Clarke nutcrackers and magpies had collected and in
astonishment watched the exhibition. Ordinarily a nutcracker is noisy in
autumn, screaming and chuckling loudly and harshly. But these were
motionless and silent as they watched. A passing magpie whirled aside to
see the show, and was just alighting on the bank when the bear splashed
water wildly with a sweeping stroke at the log. With confused haste the
magpie retreated. Taking a stand on a solitary spruce which leaned over
the bank, he watched the scene without a move. The other birds, equally
intent, watched from a high-water log-jam among large near-by bowlders.
At last the grizzly secured the log just under water. Standing upon it
with hind feet, he reached down with both fore paws and went through an
up-and-down motion like a washerwoman. Then he left the log and walked
along the bank, keeping watch of it as it floated slowly down stream. It
gradually pulled off from the bank. When it was about ten feet away he
leaped playfully after it with feet outspread like those of a flying
squirrel. Letting it drift again, he watched it intently as it was swept
into the current and floated away in midstream. By swimming and wading
he kept alongside for some distance, then put one fore paw upon it.
Perhaps he was about to start something new, but just then he scented
something over his right shoulder.
Releasing the log, he climbed upon a bowlder that projected above the
water. On hind feet, interested and curious, he stood gazing for some
seconds. Evidently desiring more information, he started ashore and
never looked back at the log hurrying away down the rapids.
I found afterwards that the grizzly had rolled the log into the water a
short distance up stream from where I came upon him. The log was a
sound section of a spruce that had broken off when the tree fell among
bowlders and lay on the bank a few feet from the water. The bear had
come down stream, and in passing ten or twelve feet from the log had
turned aside to it. He may have rolled it over to see if there were
insects beneath, but, accidentally or intentionally, he had rolled it
into the water.
This play of a grizzly with an object is much less common than their
other play, such as coasting. Several times I have seen grizzlies lying
on their stomachs sliding down a steep, smooth, grassy slope, or trying
to start themselves on a slope that was not steep enough for coasting. A
grizzly pauses to play frequently. A mother and cubs often play together
in the water, with apparent enjoyment for all. Many a beaver pond is a
favorite swimming-hole for the cubs and a wading-place for the older
bears.
I watched an old grizzly romping in the mud of a shallow pond. After
rolling and wallowing about, until his fur coat was covered with mud
thick enough to form a plaster cast, he grew energetic. He ran for the
shore with all speed, as though hunters and dogs were upon him. Once out
of the mud, he turned and raced back through the pond, galloping all
the way across and sending the mud and water flying in exciting fashion.
After a momentary pause he again galloped through the mud and water to
the other side. The pond was half filled with sediment, and evidently
the mud was more than a foot deep.
One autumn while camping on the Continental Divide near the head of
Forest Cañon, I discovered that a grizzly will sometimes climb a slope
for the purpose of coasting. While I was watching a flock of bighorn
sheep, a grizzly came to the summit of a near-by mountain. I saw him as
he reached the top and supposed he was crossing to the other side. He
shuffled along apparently with definite plans in mind. But he was not
going over the top. He headed straight for an out-jutting ridge where
the wind-blown snow from the summit had formed a cornice at the top of
its steep snowy slope.
The grizzly hurled himself headlong upon the snow cornice with fore paws
outstretched. The cornice gave way beneath him. The snow slid and
snow-dust whirled about him. I had glimpses of him looking like a
fur-robed Eskimo falling down a snowy precipice in a blizzard. As the
snow-dust cleared, it revealed the grizzly seated in a moving mass of
snow, coasting swiftly down.
The snow went to pieces on a nearly hidden rock-point and spilled the
coaster. He rolled, then slid, first on his stomach head first, then on
his back feet first, but collected himself at the bottom. Rising and
bearing away from the deep snow, he climbed up again and appeared to
look with interest at the gully he had made in the slope as he coasted
and also at the scattered marks where he was spilled.
Just beneath the cornice he waded into the snow. He shook himself,
kicked the snow, went through swimming motions but still did not start
to slide. The slope was not steep enough. Wallowing down a short
distance, he rose, then rolled forward over and over--cartwheeled. After
three or four turns he began to slide. This stirred up so much snow-dust
that I could get only dim glimpses of him and could not tell whether he
was sliding head first or tail first. On the thin snow at the bottom the
dust-fog cleared, and the grizzly rolled over and over down the slope
like a log. Getting on his feet, he walked away and disappeared behind
the storm-battered trees at timber-line.
I took pains to track the bear. Down in the woods, more than three miles
from his coasting-place, he had made a meal the evening before off the
smelly old carcass of a deer. He spent the night by the bones. In the
morning he climbed to the top of a ridge that rose above the tree-tops.
His tracks showed that he had walked about here and stopped at three or
four places to look down on scenes below.
Then he had followed his tracks back close to where he had spent the
night. Here he had tramped about in the snow as though having nothing in
particular to do. But a coyote was trying to find something on the bones
and the bear may have been threatening him. He finally started off,
plainly with coasting in his mind, for without stopping he went directly
to the snow cornice. From tracks which I saw in this and other cañons I
realized that a grizzly sometimes goes out of his way in order to coast
down steep snowy places.
A grizzly that I was following one November morning was evidently well
fed, for he traveled slowly along with apparently nothing to do.
Descending the ridge on which he had been walking, he came upon the side
of a steep southern slope, across the ravine from where I had paused to
watch him. Occasionally a bush or weed sprang up as the warm sun
released it from its little burden of snow. If it was close to him, he
reached out one paw and stroked or boxed it daintily and playfully as a
kitten; or, if a few feet away, he stopped, turned his head to one side,
and looked at it with lazy, curious interest. He turned for a better
glimpse of a tall willow springing up as if inviting him to play and
appeared just ready to respond when he caught sight of his moving
dark-blue shadow against the white slope. Instantly, reaching out
lightly with one fore paw, he commenced to play with the shadow. As it
dodged, he tried to reach it with the other paw, then stopped to look at
it. He sat down and watched it intently, ready to strike it if it moved;
he pushed his nose closer to it. Keeping his eyes on the shadow, with a
sudden leap he threw both fore paws forward and brought them down where
the shadow had been before his move. For several seconds he leaped and
struck right and left in his vain efforts to catch it. Then, seated on
his haunches, he watched the shadow out of one eye. He turned his head,
possibly wondering what the shadow would do. He seemed surprised to
find that it was not behind him, and turned back quickly to see where it
was. Did the grizzly know what this shadow-thing was, and was all this
just jolly make-believe? In any case, he was playing and playing
merrily. When I first watched him he reminded me of a kitten, but the
longer he played the more his actions resembled those of a puppy and
finally those of dog.
As the grizzly backed slowly down the slope, he watched the shadow
following him, and made a feint as though about to grab it, but stopped.
Slowly he started after the shadow up the slope, then pursued it with a
rush. Then, backing away along the side of the slope, he watched the
shadow out of the corner of his eye. He suddenly stopped and stood as
though thinking; then wheeled, faced down the slope, and looked off into
the distance. After a second he slowly turned his head and looked over
first one shoulder, then the other, for the shadow. Finally, rising, he
looked between his legs.
Leisurely he lay down with head toward the sun and put fore paws over
his eyes as though starting a game of hide-and-seek and expected the
shadow to hide. But this may have been to shut the dazzling sun-glare
from his eyes, for presently he moved his head to one side to watch the
shadow.
Abruptly he ended, rose to his feet, and started off briskly in the
direction he was traveling in when the blue shadow upon the snow coaxed
him to stop and play.
Generally the grizzly plays alone. Most animals play with one or many
others of their species. Three or four times I have seen a lone grizzly
playing much after the manner of a dog--playing with himself as it were.
He ran round and round in a small circle, alternating this with leaping
into the air and dodging about, and rolling on his back with feet waving
in the air. He ended the play with a lively and enthusiastic chase of
his tail.
The two cubs that I raised were always eager for play. They played with
each other, they were ready at all times to play with me, and
occasionally one of them played with my dog Scotch. Grizzlies in
captivity will sometimes play with their keeper. Perhaps they would do
so more frequently if they liked the keeper. Sometimes pet bears will
play with strangers. They are ready to seize an opportunity for brief
play and in this, as with the man who was impersonating bears, they
often show a sense of humor; and they sometimes imitate or mock the
actions of some other animal.
An outing in northwestern Arizona gave me fresh glimpses into grizzly
life, although I had not expected to see grizzlies. I found them
apparently at home with heat and sand in the edge of a desert. Perhaps
these bears were only visitors. They were not dwarfed by the harsh
conditions but appeared similar to grizzlies of other localities.
I was sheltered to the leeward of a rock-outcrop waiting for a roaring
desert windstorm to subside. As I looked off into the dusty distance, a
brown, dust-covered grizzly came into view. He climbed up and sat down
upon a large sand-dune and looked around evidently glad that things were
clearing. He watched closely a dust spiral which came spinning across
the clear sky. As it passed close to him, a withered cactus-lobe dropped
from it upon the dune, turned over once or twice, and then rolled down
the slope. The grizzly took after it, striking out with right fore paw;
but, missing, was upon it with a plunge. Picking the cactus up
cautiously in his teeth, he held it for a second, then with a jerk of
his head tossed it into the air and pursued it. The sloping sand-dune
caved and slid beneath him. Forgetting the cactus, he leaped along the
crumbling sand and made a number of lunges, each followed by a dive and
an abrupt stop on the sand. He ran in a circle round the crest of the
dune several times, occasionally coming to a sudden stop. Then, sliding
down the dune, suddenly stopped his play.
He stood still at the foot of the dune for several seconds and looked
off into the distance. He was debating what he should do next. Off he
started slowly toward the horizon. Into the edge of the mysterious
landscape of a mirage he walked and vanished. I thought him lost and
rose to move on, when a purple shadowy landscape pushed up into the sky
and in this strange, dim scene a giant shadowy grizzly raced and played.
Play is a common habit of animals. Darwin, Wallace, and others have
emphasized its importance as a progressive evolutionary factor in the
survival of the fittest. Play is rest and relaxation; it gives power and
proficiency; it stimulates the brain to the highest pitch of keenness
and arouses all the faculties to be eager and at their best; it develops
the individual. Play not only is a profound advantage to the player,
but is necessary to the requirements of an efficient life.
All alert animals freshen themselves with play. The human race is
beginning to do intelligently what it once did instinctively; it is
relearning the lost art, the triumphant habit, of play.