The grizzly bear has the most curiosity of any animal that I have
watched. As curiosity arises from the desire to know, it appears that
the superior mentality of the grizzly may be largely due to the
alertness which curiosity sustains.
Although the grizzly has learned the extreme danger of exposing himself
near man, yet, at times, all his vigilant senses are temporarily
hypnotized by curiosity. On rare occasions it betrays him into trouble,
or lands a cub in a trap. In old bears curiosity is accompanied with a
keenness of observation and a caution that enable him to satisfy his
desire for information without exposure to danger. Often it enables him
to anticipate a concealed danger--to penetrate the camouflage of
something dangerous. Curiosity prevents oncoming events from being
thrust on the curious. It is an effort to obtain advance information
instead of taking things as they come.
In 1826 Drummond, the botanist, collected plants in the Rocky Mountains.
In stopping to examine, to gather, and to press them he was doing the
unusual. He thus attracted the attention of numerous grizzlies, who even
came close to watch him. They showed no inclination to attack. Bears are
"chock-full of curiosity" and will sometimes forget to eat in trying to
understand at once the new or the unusual.
Lewis and Clark tell of a bear on a sand-bar who showed interest in
their boat as it passed. He raised himself on hind feet and looked after
them, and then plunged into the river and swam toward the boat. This
novel outfit should have attracted the attention of any living thing,
and a curious grizzly must have been almost overcome with wonder. Yet
the explorers erroneously assumed that this intense curiosity and
consequent attempt for closer inspection was evidence of ferocity.
During the first fifty years of the white man's contact with the
grizzly, the bear frequently came close to a man or a camp for a better
look; most frontiersmen thought this near approach was ferocity in the
bear. Often the bear was greeted with bullets, and in due time he
learned to satisfy his curiosity by stealth instead of by direct
approach. But inquisitive he still is.
[Illustration: JOHNNY]
In crossing the mountains in northern New Mexico I was overtaken by a
Swede on his way to a lumber-camp. He carried a pack, and a part of it
was an accordion. We made camp that night near the head of a gulch.
Across from us a treeless mountain rose a thousand feet.
After supper the Swede played on his accordion and was soon lost in
music. Pausing in my note-making to enjoy his contented expression, I
saw an old grizzly watching us from across the mountain. Standing upon a
bowlder, he was looking over the tops of the spruce trees that thrust up
out of the gulch. Through my field-glasses he appeared even more lost in
wonder at the music than the enthusiastic, emotional player. When the
refrain died away, the grizzly climbed down off the bowlder, and then,
as another piece was begun, at once rose to remount, but instead stood
with fore paws against the bowlder, listening. By and by he started up
the mountain, pausing every few steps to turn and listen. He either
stood broadside, his head tilted sideways, or raised himself on tiptoe,
fascinated. A loud, lively, clashing close to one piece started him off
on a gallop, but as soon as the music stopped the bear paused. He
appeared puzzled and fidgeted about while the player sat silent,
listening to my description of the bear's movements. A soft and
melodious piece was next played. The bear, as the first strain sounded
on the evening air, seated himself on his haunches facing us, and thus
remained until the piece was finished. Then he climbed higher up the
mountain and, on reaching the sky-line, walked lingering along in the
last rays of the sun, looking down on us now and then as though wanting
more music.
For two or three hours I watched a number of water-ouzels in the St.
Vrain River. They often came within three or four feet of where I sat on
the bank with my back against a large bowlder. To avoid frightening
them, I sat motionless, not turning even my head for an hour or more at
a time. I was enjoying their actions, when suddenly I caught the
distinct odor of a bear. While still motionless and wondering further
about this new interest, I heard the faint crack of a stick behind me.
Turning my head at this sound, I saw a grizzly raised on hind legs with
fore paws resting on top of the bowlder against which I was leaning. He
looked at me with intense interest, all caution forgotten. His curiosity
absolutely dominated. But my slight movement had aroused him. In two
seconds from the time I turned he was crashing off through the thicket
and probably was condemning himself for being so curious.
One Sunday afternoon one of the men in a lumber-camp rigged up a canvas
hammock from the remnants of an old tent and suspended it between two
trees. A pet grizzly who belonged at the camp watched him with curious
interest while he worked. She observed him with still greater interest
as he stretched himself out in it and began reading. When the man
deserted the hammock, she walked up to it, struck it, pushed it back and
forth with fore paws, and then began rather awkwardly to climb into it.
She had almost succeeded, when her weight upon the edge caused it to tip
over and spill her on the ground. She leaped back surprised, then walked
round the hammock, eyeing it with great curiosity. But the second
attempt at climbing into the hammock was successful, and she made a most
comical and awkward sight stretched out in it flat upon her back.
I came upon a grizzly on the heights above the timber-line watching the
progress of a forest fire. Squatted on his haunches like a dog, he was
intently watching the fire-front below. A deep roar at one place, high
leaping flames at another, a vast smoke-cloud at another caused him to
turn toward each with rapt attention. He followed with eager eyes, also,
the swiftly advancing cloud-shadows as they mysteriously rushed forward
over ridge and valley. So intent was he that none of his keen senses
warned him of my presence, though I stood near for two or three minutes,
watching him. When I called he slowly turned his head. He stared at me
in a half-dazed manner, then angrily showed his teeth. After another
second he fled like a frightened rabbit.
The actions of a fisherman were being followed with the closest
attention by a grizzly when I came along the opposite side of a narrow
cañon. The bear stood still for some minutes, all his faculties
concentrated on the fisherman. Every cast of the fly was observed with
the greatest interest. A dangling trout caused him much excitement.
Possibly the wind, touched with man-scent, finally warned him of danger.
Anyway, he suddenly came to his senses, roused himself, and ran off.
On one of my camping-trips into the mountains I carried a long yellow
slicker. Wearing this one misty, half-snowy day, I was followed by a
grizzly. Twice he evidently came close to me; although I did not see
him, I scented him. When well upon a mountain during the afternoon, I
crossed an open place in the woods where a breeze broke up the
low-drifting clouds. For a moment I beheld a much interested grizzly
near by. He stood and stared at me with all caution forgotten in his
curiosity about the long yellow coat.
At dark I made camp at timber-line and forgot about the bear. The
slicker was hung over a pole against a cliff to drain and dry. I went to
sleep about eleven o'clock, after writing up my notes and watching my
camp-fire. During the night the grizzly came boldly into camp, reared
up, and slit the slicker. My shoes near by had not been noticed; the
bacon and raisins swinging from a limb had not interested his keen nose.
He was interested only in that slicker.
This was a case where the grizzly's curiosity might have got him into
trouble. So intent was he on seeing this one thing that for hours he had
forgotten food-hunting and followed me; and then in order to have a
closer examination of it he must have waited near my camp two or three
hours until I had lain down.
Another time, in the Yellowstone, while I was sleeping out, a big
grizzly who had followed me all day came to give me closer inspection. I
was awakened by his lightly clawing my bed. I opened my eyes and watched
him for some seconds and lay perfectly still while he sniffed me over.
After several seconds of this he appeared to have satisfied his
curiosity and walked quietly away beneath the stars.
As I was trying to flash information with a looking-glass from Mount
Lincoln to a prospector down in the valley one day, a grizzly became
attracted by the flashes and lay down to watch them circle and shimmer
here and there. In the San Juan Mountains a prospector once lost a wheel
from a rude cart which he was hauling up a steep, roadless slope. As the
detached wheel went bounding down and across the bottom of the gulch, a
grizzly hit an attitude of attention and watched it. He became excited
as it leaped and rushed up the opposite slope, and when it rolled over
he approached cautiously to see what manner of thing it might be. A
grizzly sat down on his haunches to watch the uncertain movements of an
umbrella which had taken advantage of a wind-storm to desert a
mountain-top artist. He observed the disheveled umbrella with the
greatest enjoyment as it danced across the moorland, and was
particularly interested when a whirl sent it high into the air.
Riding a lazy pony slowly, silently, along a trail in the San Juan
Mountains, I came close upon a grizzly and three cubs. They aroused the
deep emotional nature of my pony. He took on new and fiery life, and in
his eagerness to reach a high mountain across the cañon he forgot all
about the topography--the cañon that lay deep between. While he was
standing on one hind foot on the edge of the cañon I leaped from the
saddle. The old bear and cubs, forgetting all possible danger, while he
was thus performing stood up to watch the entire exhibition.
A grizzly keeps an eye on near-by animals, often without appearing to do
so. But if the animal is doing something new or unusual he gives it his
entire attention. Two bears, side by side, are interested in the same
thing; yet the individuality of each will show if you watch them a
minute. Of course, all bears are not equally curious about the same
thing, but seldom do I recall outwitting a bear even when appealing to
his curiosity, and never could I class him as stupid.
Grizzlies in regions just invaded by white men appear to have put in
much time trying to make out what these strange creatures were about.
What man is doing is ever of first importance to the long-lived grizzly.
His interest in his surroundings appears to be greater than that of the
average person. At any rate, the grizzly shows better knowledge of the
habits of human beings than people have of the habits of bears.
His is not the curiosity of the idle; the grizzly is not prying into the
affairs of others for mere pastime, but is concerned only so far as
these affairs may benefit or harm him. His is the intelligent curiosity
of a mind seeking facts. Most of the time he leads a solitary life; he
rarely exchanges ideas or information with other bears. Most animals
live in pairs or flocks and, each gathering information for all, they
divide sentinel duty; but single-handed the grizzly must get the news,
must scout for himself. He is ever on the watch, does nothing blindly,
and he simply must understand.
Any unusual occurrence arouses a grizzly's curiosity, and is to him "a
word to the wise." His success lies in constant alertness. He might well
be likened to a frontiersman; he has that painstaking vigilance, that
untiring energy, which seeks to discover whether this strange track,
sound, or displacement is the camouflage which conceals the enemy or if
it be a clue which will lead to something of advantage. He at once
endeavors to find out all that may be learned about it.
The grizzly bear may have inherited a love for exploration. His
ancestors were adventurers, coming to this continent from Asia. The
natural attraction which the new and unusual has for him may generally
be gratified in his curiosity about things at home. But we may readily
imagine that the grizzly must sometimes become restless when there is
nothing stirring near by, when he finds no excitement in his home
territory, and so wanders like an explorer to seek discoveries in
far-off scenes. He is innately an adventurer; he seeks adventure and
often finds it. His curiosity does not allow him to live in a rut--to
live contentedly with old conditions. He is always learning; he keeps
alive and growing.
The grizzly bear simply cannot be understood, nor half understood, if
his curiosity is not considered. Notice a grizzly bear pet, observe a
grizzly in a zoo, watch both the cubs and the old grizzlies in the
Yellowstone and Glacier National Parks. They walk about like superior
animals, which they are. Those in parks ever notice any sudden movement,
any new figure in the foreground, and detect any unusual noise that
comes from far away behind the woods. The grizzly bear and the scout are
masters of woodcraft through intensive observation. Behind the word
curiosity the grizzly bear has put a world of meaning.
The wild grizzly shows a deeper feeling for the scenes, the sounds, and
the movements around him than any other animal that I have watched.
Sometimes, while thus interested, he sits on haunches like a dog, again
he stands on all fours, at other times he stands on hind feet, tiptoe,
and, on rare occasions, he sits on his tail with fore paws against his
breast, perhaps leaning against something. Once in a while he gives full
attention while lying down.
When looking at scenery and sunsets, his appearance is one of enjoyment;
he appears to have feeling in the conscious presence of that which we
call beautiful or glorious. I have seen a grizzly looking at a
magnificent and many-colored sunset, completely absorbed. There was no
fear at a flash of lightning or the roar and echoing roll of thunder.
Once I saw a grizzly turn to stare at the course of a shooting star;
another gazed for seconds at a brilliant rainbow.
Generally the grizzly's attention to these demonstrations rose superior
to commonplace curiosity; he looked long, he listened closely, he was
absorbed, and he appeared to feel as he sat lost in wonder. Had he been
a child, with the power of speech, he certainly would have asked
questions. Often his expression, his attitude, indicated that he was
saying to himself: "What was that? What caused it? Where did that noise
come from? What are those strange shadows running from, and how can they
move without a sound?"