The Journal of a Sporting Nomad 
carried, on the open mountain side. Bear tracks 
were everywhere to be seen. They passed 
principally from berry patch to berry patch, and 
here the big beasts had evidently enjoyed their 
feed. The tracks were in places much worn. 
For countless years the bears and their ancestors 
had made use of these same trails, so that where 
their feet touched the ground the place had been 
worn down to the bare earth. I paced many of 
these footprints, and found that I had to stride 
my very utmost to plant my foot from one 
track to another. As I stand six feet two inches 
high, and cover while thus extended a stride 
from heel to heel of perhaps fifty inches, the 
ordinary gait of one of these brown bears can 
easily be imagined. 
We soon came to a stream, at the head of 
which I was told we were to camp, as the sheep 
mountains surrounded us. The only difficulty — 
we were likely to experience was in not being 
able to get sufficient firewood. After following 
this creek for two or more miles, we found two 
solitary pine trees close together, under whose 
shelter we decided to spend the night without 
the tent. Early in the afternoon, after having 
had something to eat, I took my glasses to spy 
the mountains nearest to me—no need to use 
glasses, for there, high above us, I saw two white 
spots which I decided to investigate by myself. 
I wanted fresh meat badly, bacon and beans 
250 
