106 
FOREST AND STREAM 
March, 1920 
I had the sight on his shoulder and 
pulled the trigger, but the gun mis- 
fired. I threw out the shell, but too late. 
He had disappeared in the brush. 
Almost immediately, the other bear, 
which was recognized at once as a mon- 
ster bear, appeared coming almost di- 
rectly towards us, but a little to our 
right. He acted as though he still had 
a notion to follow the bear in the brush. 
He advanced but a few steps, almost di- 
rectly towards us, when I shot him and 
he fell dead in his tracks. The bullet 
struck the middle of his neck just in 
front of his shoulder and ranged back. 
He did not even turn over. Nor did the 
field glasses disclose that he struggled 
in death. The distance was about one 
hundred and forty-five yards. We wait- 
ed a while to see if the other bear would 
come out to see what had become of his 
companion, but without results. 
As the bear was unusually large, my 
companion applied the steel tape while 
I recorded the following measurements: 
Hind foot, without the claws, length, 
14% inches, width, 7% inches; front 
foot, length, 11 inches, width, 8% inches; 
circumference of neck, measured on the 
outside, but tight, 42 inches ; length from 
tip to tip of ears, 19 inches; from tip of 
nose to a point midway between the ears, 
17 inches. The skinned carcass from 
tip of the nose to the tail measured 7 
feet. The skull bene measured 15% in- 
ches in length. The skin, stretched to 
dry, filled a frame 10 feet long and 9 
feet wide. 
A rubber coat was thrown over him, 
to scare away the prowlers of the night, 
and we left him until morning. 
The Last Grizzly 
O N our way back the next morning 
to remove the hide we surprised 
another bear asleep on a sand bar. 
I slipped out of the canoe and opened 
fire on him at a distance of about two 
hundred and fifty yards. At the first 
shot he executed a queer movement with- 
out rising. He raised his nose high in 
the air, and twisted his head around like 
a dog bothered by a buzzing bee. Be- 
lieving him fatally hit, no haste was 
made to shoot a second time, but he soon 
fooled me and jumped up full of life. 
He whirled and started for the brush. 
I shot again. This time he doubled up 
and went partly down, but recovered and 
ran into the brush before I could get an- 
other shot. 
My companion shot just before he dis- 
appeared, but missed. We moved up to 
a point on the river, opposite to where 
the bear had gone into the brush, and 
saw some bushes shaking. This betrayed 
his presence. We now crossed the river 
to his side. Advancing far enough apart 
to protect each other, the bear was soon 
started. We both saw him and fired. 
He went down into a sitting position 
looking at us, whereupon, much to my 
companion’s just disapproval, I shot him 
in the face, and spoiled his skull. 
This bear was a three-year-old grizzly, 
light in color and very well furred. 
Skinning him was play compared with 
the job we had with the big one. Skin- 
ning the latter was a tough task. Ima- 
gine skinning a seven or eight hundred 
pound hog, that is so old and thin that 
you have to whittle the skin off by in- 
ches, and you have some idea of the fun 
we had with the big bear. We both 
worked hard and got the big one skinned 
in two and three-quarters hours, but it 
was simply a whittling job. The skin 
would not peel off anywhere. 
Down the Clearwater 
W E now had enough bear shooting 
to satisfy us for a while. After 
spending two days drying these 
skins, taking photographs and wander- 
ing along the headwaters of this beauti- 
ful river, sometimes a distance of seven 
or eight miles, just to see what lies be- 
yond, we dropped back down to the 
mouth of the Clearwater. The journey 
down stream took us but five hours and 
a half, while the coming up had required 
almost five days. Floating down stream 
was a delight to me, although it kept 
the captain busy steering us through the 
best channels. Fifty miles in five and 
one-half hours in a canoe, now gliding 
through quiet pools, under cut banks 
and overhanging trees, now along smooth 
sand bars, or plunging over rapids filled 
with curlers, that looked down on us 
and sprinkled us liberally as we flew by, 
will forever be one of my pleasant mem- 
ories. 
It was a splendid opportunity to see a 
bear for we moved so swiftly and so 
quietly. But no bears were seen. We 
spent a day at Captain Conover’s home 
cabin and then started down the Stikine 
for Wrangell. Some stiff up-river winds 
made the floating slow. We passed 
through stretches of country still cov- 
ered with snow, and others green with i 
the advancing verdure of spring. These 
apparently inconsistent conditions are 
produced by the winds which either 
sweep up the river from the warm ocean 
or come over the mountains from the cold 
glaciers. Of course, we tried to locate 
our camps where the ground was clear 
from snow. 
Our first camp was at Barley Cache, 
a camp site named by the gold seekers 
of 1898. While at this camp it rained 
and the wind blew very disagreeably for 
two days. We waited in the hope that 
the weather would clear and allow us to 
visit and photograph the glaciers in the 
neighborhood. But we were doomed to 
disappointment. The rainy season on 
the Stikine was on in earnest. The year 
before the weather at this point was per- 
fect and the views fine, but my camera 
was out of commission. This time I had 
a Graflex in good working order, but 
the weather was against me. The gla- 
ciers were grinding away, and the snow 
slides were rolling. Though it rained 
and the wind blew, that did not stop us 
from visiting the glaciers. These gla- 
ciers are more and more interesting ev- 
ery time I see them. 
After waiting two days for fair wea- 
ther it was decided to return to civiliza- 
tion. The Hazel B No. 3, the gas boat 
(continued on page 144) 
Looking north in the canyon of the Stikine River which leads into the far-famed hunting grounds of Cassiar 
