A BEAR 85 



While here Mr. Harriman had the luck to kill the long 

 expected Kadiak bear; he shot a mother and cub. He 

 and his guide, an old Russian named Stepan Kondakoff, 

 found her grazing in true bovine fashion near the snow 

 line on the mountain side about ten miles to the south. 

 She was eating grass like 

 a cow, Mr. Harriman 

 said. She was a large an- 

 imal, but below the size 

 of the traditional Kadiak 

 bear. Her color was a 

 faded brown. A much 

 larger one was seen far cone mountain, near bear camp, 



d. rr ,, 11 KADIAK ISLAND. 



irhcult valley. 



On July 3d, which was bright and warm, a number of 

 us visited Wood Island, a few miles to the east, where the 

 North American Commercial Company has its headquar- 

 ters, and where are large old spruce woods and lakes of 

 fresh water. Charles Keeler and I heard, or fancied we 

 heard voices calling us from out of the depths of the 

 woods; so we left the party and took ourselves thither 

 and lounged for hours in the mossy fragrant solitudes, eat- 

 ing our lunch by a little rill of cold water, listening to the 

 birds and ravens, and noting the wood flowers and moss- 

 draped trees. Here we heard the winter wren at our leis- 

 ure, a bubbling, trilling, prolonged strain like that of our 

 own species, but falling far short of it in melody and in 

 wild lyrical penetration. In other words it was the same 

 song sung by a far inferior voice. The elusive note 

 of the Oregon robin, as if the dark motionless spruces 

 had found a voice, was also heard here and there. 

 These woods were not merely carpeted with moss, they 

 were upholstered; the ground was padded ankle deep, 

 and under every tree was a couch of the most luxuriant 

 kind. 



