A BLACK BEAR HUNT 



175 



A PAIR OF YOUNG MOOSE CALVES, FOUR MONTHS OLD. A FA VOL' RITE FOOD 

 OF THE BLACK BEAR. 



sient glimpse of some black object, but no certain target. The 

 canoe is held as steady as a rock with the spike-pole pressed to 

 the river bed. The wind is all right : nothing is required but 

 patience. Soon a cherry tree shakes violently. In another instant 

 a tawny snout emerges from the thicket, followed by the upper 

 half of a slowly climbing lustrous black body. The report of my rifle 

 is instantly followed by that peculiar soft thud which always indicates 

 a deadly shot. Then is heard a ponderous flop. My first bear is 

 bagged, and is wildly thrashing the bush in its death struggles. 

 Two other snouts appear for a moment only above the tangle of 

 brushwood, but abruptly vanish. My quarry proves to be a female, 

 and the couple which escaped were doubtless her yearling cubs. 

 More sporting work than this stealthy mode of hunting is a 

 day's stalking on the slopes of the mountain several miles back 

 of the river. Here a circular range of bare hills encloses in a cuplike 

 setting a meadow, for the existence of which beavers are responsible, 

 through which Portage Brook slowly winds in a circuitous course. 

 Bears are sure to be found feeding at this season, as the surrounding 

 hills are well covered with wild fruits. This noted haunt we lost no 

 time in making for. Landing at Blue Ledge, the canoe is beached 

 and turned bottom upwards on the bank. Each man carries a 

 pack containing rations for three days and a single blanket. A 



