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 



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