A HEAR HUNT IN THE TRINITY MOUNTAINS. 



II. C. CROCKER. 



In the fall of '94 I was invited to visit 



my friend S , who owns a ranch on 



Trinity river, high in the mountains. The 

 ranch is in a picturesque location. The 

 house is on the West side of the river, and 

 faces the stream, which is bordered with 

 beautiful meadow-land. Back of the house 

 and on the opposite side of the river, the 

 mountains rise abruptly and extend in ev- 

 ery direction. Even from the highest ridges 

 nothing but mountains can be seen. Big 

 game is fairly abundant, in season, but I 

 was late for deer, and had hunted hard, 

 on the West side of the river, with little 

 success. My friend proposed a place on 

 the other side, one where we had camped 

 before. This was a little flat, high on the 

 divide between the Trinity and the Sacra- 

 mento rivers. 



We reached the camp late one afternoon. 

 Unloading our packs and picketing the 

 horses, we took a short trip up the ridge, 

 looking for signs. Plenty of deer tracks 

 were found, but they appeared old. Next 

 day we hunted faithfully, but found noth- 

 ing. Next morning we were out again, as 

 soon as it was light enough to travel. Both 

 returned to camp about 8 o'clock, without 

 having seen fresh signs of game. 



S now proposed to break camp and 



return to the ranch. He would take the 

 horses around by the trail, while I worked 

 through to the river, on foot, following a 

 steep, brushy canyon, down which the bear 

 often travelled, when coming from the Sac- 

 ramento river country. The canyon reaches 

 the river about 5 miles below the ranch. 

 Here my friend promised to meet me with 

 a buckboard, on the opposite side of the 

 river, toward evening. 



When starting from the ranch, a pup, 

 about 6 months old, which I thought had 

 the " making of a good bear dog in him," 

 followed me. As I struck out for the can- 

 yon, the pup took a notion to go with me. 

 The descent was difficult and I had hardly 

 started before my feet slipped and I slid 

 on my back about 50 feet. By digging my 

 heels into the ground and grasping the 

 brush, I finally stopped. 



For an hour I walked without seeing a 

 track. Disgusted with my luck, I was 

 about to work up out of the canyon to 

 strike for the trail, when I discovered fresh 

 bear tracks in the soft ground, on the steep 

 slope. I followed the tracks as carefully 

 as the ground would permit. They led 

 through the thick brush, down toward the 

 canyon, and the farther I went the fresher 

 they became. There seemed to be several 

 bears travelling together. One in particu- 

 lar made a very large track. 



While getting through some thick brush, 



I made considerable noise. Suddenly I 

 saw a cinnamon bear climbing a pine tree, 

 probably to see over the brush to find out 

 what was coming. The bear, then 30 or 40 

 feet from the ground, saw me at once and 

 commenced a hurried descent. It was not 

 quick enough, however, to avoid a bullet 

 from my 45-90 which tumbled it from the 

 tree. The smoke prevented my getting a 

 second shot, and when I reached the tree, 

 I saw a pool of blood but no bear. I 

 tracked it into a thicket, about 100 yards 

 from the tree, and found it dead. 



Although in an awkward position to 

 skin, it was impossible to drag the bear 

 out; so after much hard work, I got the 

 hide off. While at work, I learned there 

 was at least one more bear nosing around, 

 trying to find out what was going on. Ev- 

 ery time the second one approached, the 

 pup growled savagely, and his hair stood 

 up like bristles; thus giving me warning. 

 I would then drop the knife and grab the 

 rifle. At last the bear cleared out, without 

 offering a shot. 



The skin was loaded on my back, like a 

 knapsack, and the legs tied together across 

 my breast. After one of the roughest 

 climbs I ever had, the mouth of the canyon 

 was reached. My friend was on the oppo- 

 site bank, with the buckboard, and I con- 

 gratulated myself on my hard tramp being 

 over; but the worst adventure of the day 

 was to come. 



The horse was unhitched and after taking 



the harness off, S rode across the river. 



He led the animal alongside the rock, in 

 the edge of ihe water. Then taking my 

 rifle, he told me to get on first, and he 

 would mount behind. Before getting on, 

 I said, " How about this bear skin? The 

 horse may object." He assured me she 

 was as gentle as a kitten; that nothing 

 would scare her. 



I was not fairly on her back when she 

 tore loose and went plunging and bucking 

 into the river. About the 3d or 4th jump 

 she threw me, apparentlv no feet into the 

 air. I struck on my back in the water, my 

 arms and legs extended gracefully heaven- 

 ward. The water was about 3 feet deep, 

 and the current swift. I did not touch bot- 

 tom at all. I was carried down stream fully 

 20 yards before I could get a foothold; and 

 as the bottom was a mass of slippery rocks, 

 it was only to lose my footing and go down 



again. S was badly scared, at first; for 



to him it looked as if I was under the 

 horse's feet, while it was plunging franti- 

 cally, trying to get away from the bearskin. 

 When he knew I was unhurt, he laughed 

 so I thought he would fall off the bank. 

 I would not have shed tears if he had. It 



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