A Photographic Expedition 163 



myself and watched them from the woods back of these 

 feeding grounds. I can think of no better way to describe 

 their actions and their attitudes than to liken them to the 

 actions and attitudes of a man about to dive into the 

 water. At the canon, the garbage pile is in a hollow at 

 the foot of rather a steep incline that leads up to the edge 

 of the woods. Bear after bear coming down the trails 

 that converge toward this point will stop as he reaches the 

 brink of this declivity, glance downward, turn his head 

 from side to side, and launch himself downhill, with the 

 same air of committing himself to a foreign element that 

 one sees in the upward glance and deep breath of a man 

 launching himself from a diving-board. On their return, 

 they invariably halted for a few seconds at the top of the 

 hill, looked around, occasionally shook themselves, and 

 with their first step up the familiar trail, resumed every 

 sign of their habitual caution and alertness. While on the 

 garbage pile itself they appear to pay scant attention to 

 the people gathered behind the fairly distant wire fence, 

 but even there, an eye familiar with their actions would 

 note the constant watch they kept on what was going on 

 and the hurried way in which they fed; and, fifty feet 

 from the edge of the surrounding timber, they would, at 

 the least scent or sound or sight, bolt as incontinently as 

 in the farthest hills. Grizzlies are no more plentiful 

 around the park to-day than they were twenty-five years 

 ago in the Bitter Roots, and a hundred yards from the 

 garbage pile they are no different. 



