American Big Game in its Haunts 



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 inter- 

 esting 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 



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