THE PASSING OF REEL-PAW 
A Rogue Bear of Southern Oregon 
BY -DENNIS( HH: STOVAEE 
ILLUSTRATED BY WALTER KING STONE 
OU will be disap- 
pointed if you look 
for Bear Camp on the 
map. This name has 
been applied, by sun- 
dry men of the trail, 
to that vast and iso- 
7 lated, mountainous 
and pine-whiskered region of southern 
Oregon.’ in the. Coast range, and” on 
Rogue river, the latter called “Tra-het” 
by the red men, meaning “Evil waters.” 
Bear Camp is sixty miles below 
Grant’s Pass, and as many miles from 
civilization, It: is. mountainous: -but 
not craggy. The cafions are deep, but 
not sheer except here and there where 
belts of serpentine lift their walls of 
opalescent stone. The highest ridges 
and “hog-backs” are but 6,000 and 
7,000 feet above sea level. It is called 
Bear Camp because it is, in truth, the 
Sreat . camp, vor fattenina ieround tor 
all, or nearly all of the black, brown 
and cinnamon bears of the Coast moun- 
tains. To Bear Camp bears come in 
veritable droves, in late fall and early 
winter; from the north as tar as the 
Umpqua, and south as far as the Kla- 
math, to wax fat on sweet acorns. 
When the feasting days are over, and 
the mast bushes and sweet acorn groves 
are buried deep under the snow, the 
bears, with sleek fur and fat-rolling 
barrels, “den up” for the winter, find- 
ing in hollow logs or rocky crevices fit 
places for hibernating. 
With a desire to find the game at its 
best, both as to meat and pelt, my old- 
time bunkie and “pal of the grit,’ Dan 
Willis, and I, packed our cayuses late 
in November and hit the trail for Bear 
Camp. I closed my desk and type- 

writer for a month’s trip into the wilds 
—a month’s stay in the pine woods, 
there to enjoy the genuine freedom of 
the mountaineer. 
Our kit and outfit, limited to the 
carrying capacity of two Indian ponies, 
was carefully made up, and with a full 
understanding that we were out for 
bears. Bear Camp is no auto-touring 
country. They who hie there must 
leave the benzine-wagon behind with 
the spring mattress and the table nap- 
kin. Outside our canned goods, sugar, 
coffee and beans, we carried but little 
grub. Meat was to be our principal 
maker of bone and tissue for that trip, 
and meat we were out to get. We car- 
ried a small shelter tent and roll of 
blankets; also, two changes of wool 
underclothing ; and this, with the exer- 
tion of the hunt, was calculated to keep 
us warm and comfortable in all condi- 
tions of weather. Two .25-35 rifles 
with ammunition, an ax and hunting 
knives, pipes, tobacco and matches, 
completed the kit. The last strap was 
buckled, the last item on the list was 
scratched, and we were ready for the 
trail. 
We rode “Nip” and “Tuck,” two 
cayuses Dan brought over the Cascade 
mountains from the bunchgrass prai- 
ries, and drove “To-Be” and “Not-To- 
Be,” the pack animals, ahead of us. I 
say we drove them; that is the way we 
started, but before we were five miles 
out of Grant’s Pass, we grew weary of 
prodding Not-To-Be, and were content 
to let him follow behind. 
There are twenty-two miles of wagon 
road down Rogue river, as far as 
Galice, that leads and winds through 
an American Switzerland. Tiiteen 

