The Journal of a Sporting Nomad 



ing by my tent when I saw a bear walking up 

 the beach towards me, but on the other side of 

 the river an accommodating beast, anyhow, to 

 look me up in this way. On the bank of the 

 river on my side was an old tree- stump that had 

 been left high and dry by a previous flood. In 

 a moment I had hidden myself behind this 

 convenient shelter, awaiting developments. On 

 came the bear, swinging along with a gait that 

 rapidly brought him closer. When he was about 

 eighty yards off he turned towards the sea in 

 order to investigate a small and shallow arm of 

 salt water which divided up the beach at this spot, 

 and was simply alive with salmon that had mis- 

 taken this cul-de-sac for an opening to the river. 

 The bear saw the fish too, or rather the ripples 

 made by them, for he would dash into the water 

 and strike at them with his fore-paw, sending 

 up a cloud of spray in his endeavours to cuff a 

 fish out on to the sand. I saw him make in this 

 way three or four ineffectual attempts as the 

 fish moved up in front of him. He put his ears 

 back and galloped after them, then dashed into 

 their midst again with another furious dig. All 

 this time he was getting nearer and nearer to me, 

 for this arm of the water tended towards my 

 place of concealment. At length the bear gave 

 up trying to get a fish, evidently recognizing the 

 fact that the water was a little too deep for him 

 to be successful. He now turned towards me 



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