The Glacier Bear. 
Seattle, Wash., June 5. — Editor Forest and 
Stream: While they have been reported as being 
seen as far west as the Kenai Peninsula, the 
present known range of this handsome little bear 
is on the Malsipena and other large glaciers in 
the vicinity of Mt. St. Elias. They are about 
one-half the size of an ordinary black bear, to 
which species they seem to be related, and ex¬ 
cept in size and color closely resemble in a gen¬ 
eral way. They have a short neck, the general 
body form of the black, and have no hump on 
the shoulders, which are on a level with their 
hips. 
Occasionally a variety of the Alaska brown 
bear is killed on the glaciers of a cream or 
dead grass color which, by the inexperienced, 
are called glacier bears. Glacier bears range in 
color from a jet black to a glacier blue. Some 
specimens of the darker shades have a silver 
tip to their fur which, when prime, is very fine 
and glossy. 
I have seen specimens of glacier bear skins 
that at first glance one would pronounce black 
bear skins, but on closer inspection it would be 
found that the under half of the fur was blue 
and more resembles the fur of the fox than 
the coarser hair of the bear family. They weigh 
from one to two hundred pounds and have short, 
sharp, crooked claws. They hibernate in winter 
much as does the black bear, but at a higher 
altitude, from 500 to 2,000 feet, selecting over¬ 
hanging cliffs, rock slides and hillsides protected 
by black alder patches, and out of the line of 
snow slides. To these dens they retire accord¬ 
ing to the season, usually about the holidays. 
They have one or two cubs in February and 
come out of their dens according to the season, 
but, as a rule, the middle of April finds them out 
of their winter dens. The Malsipena glacier has 
a coast line from Crater Peak, Disenchantment 
Bay, almost to Yakataga, a distance of over one 
hundred miles, and only at one point—Icy Cape— 
in all this distance does this wonderful glacier 
break into the ocean. 
The glacier is gradually melting away and re¬ 
ceding further and further inland each year, and 
has left a strip of land along the ocean shore 
line varying in width from a few yards to sev¬ 
eral miles. The glacier front with few excep¬ 
tions slopes gently back and up from the beach 
and can be easily ascended. The strip of land 
in fropt of the glacier is moraine sand dunes 
and ridges which in sheltered places has a 
stunted growth of spruce timber. There are 
also salmon and huckleberry brush, and black 
mountain alder in patches here and there. There 
are also many grassy flats where strawberries 
grow within a few yards of the glacier’s front. 
Many short swift glacial streams emerge at in¬ 
tervals from the glacier, and where these streams 
and tidewaters meet, lagoons are formed, caused 
by the never ending restless surf that is con¬ 
tinually breaking on this desolate, wind-swept 
coast. This kind of a country is the habitat 
of the glacier bear that clings to the glacier and 
never leaves its immediate neighborhood. In 
spring, summer and fall they come down off of 
the glacier, usually in the night or twilight, to 
feed on grass, roots of the wild pea vine, and 
berries, as well as to catch fish in the sloughs 
of the lagoons, and are great beach combers in 
favored spots near the glacier’s front. They 
also catch and eat porcupines. When through 
feeding they return to the glacier, and if closely 
pressed will seek shelter in some of the many 
sloping crevasses or ice caves of the glacier. 
When these bears lie down for the day they 
usually select a place on the glacier among a 
patch of hummocking ice, where some of the 
different shades of color blends with their own. 
This patch of hummock ice is surrounded Py 
a large area of smoother ice, and while con¬ 
cealed themselves they have a good view of and 
ample time to escape any impending danger. 
They are afraid of the larger bears and give 
them a wide berth. 
Owing to the lack of harbors and the inac¬ 
cessibility of the above country, few glacier 
bears are killed, and then under such conditions 
that the skull and skeleton is seldom saved. It 
would require four months’ time and cost two 
or three thousand dollars to get specimens of 
the glacier bear. 
He who cares enough for one to take the time 
and trouble should go to Yakutat, secure good 
guide and assistant, watch his chance, cross over 
to Cape Manby, a distance of ten miles, and 
enter the seal lagoon where plenty of timber 
will be found. Let him make his headquarters, 
camp here and hunt out to Icy Cape and be¬ 
yond, and you will get glacier bears. Be sure 
to have a good boat and boatman, also plenty 
of supplies, as you may be weather bound for 
many days. L. L. Bales. 
Starlings in New York. 
Carmel, N. Y., June 12 .—Editor Forest and 
Stream: In answer to your contributor G., 
whose article appeared in Forest and Stream 
of May 16, permit me to say that there are sev¬ 
eral pairs of starlings nesting in this section. 
I first noticed them last winter and think there 
are probably ten pairs in or near this village 
at present. 
Carmel is fifty miles from New York city in 
a northerly direction. W. A. Mead. 
Encounters with Rattlesnakes. 
Jacksonville, Fla., June 10. —Editor Forest 
and Stream: I have been interested in A. D. 
McCandless’ contributions on rattlesnakes, but 
when he stated in his “Views on Rattlesnakes,” 
that whiskey was about the worst thing a per¬ 
son could use in case of snake bite, it struck me 
that the Nebraska rattler must carry around a 
special brand of poison, for it was the first time 
I ever heard that whiskey was not a good thing 
to use in such cases. In my opinion, the article 
by Dr. J. H. Donaldson, “Cures for Rattle¬ 
snake Bites,” was most timely and to the point. 
In it he explains why whiskey should be given, 
and the course to pursue in case of rattlesnake 
bite—advice, which, if followed, may be the 
means of saving the life of some unfortunate 
victim of a rattler during the coming summer. 
The blacksnake is about the only member ot 
the snake family that I am on friendly terms 
with, and I like him for his evident hostility to¬ 
ward moccasins and his ability to put them to 
rout. Twice have moccasins attempted to pot 
me. One I escaped by jumping over as it 
struck; the other one missed its aim but grazed 
my leg, and that was the first intimation I had 
of its presence. 
At one time I had an idea that a rattlesnake 
would always sound its warning before one got 
within the danger zone. I have since learned 
by experience that such is not the case, for I 
have come to close quarters with them on sev¬ 
eral occasions; sometimes they rattled and some¬ 
times they did not. 
It is mighty poor policy—at least in this coun¬ 
try—to walk in ahead of your dog and try to 
flush a bird from a clump of bushes by kicking 
about in it, or to thrust your arm down a 
gopher hole in the hope of getting a crippled 
bird that you know is in there. 
The following are a few incidents recalled by 
this subject: 
One evening just after sunset I was crossing 
an old. field on my return from a hunt and came 
to a rail fence that I had to climb. Along each 
side of the fence was a thick growth of black¬ 
berry bushes and broom sedge grass. As I 
broke my way through this tangle, the air 
seemed suddenly filled with the hum of a rattler. 
I was perched on the top rail in a jiffy, but 
was afraid to get down on the other side, for I 
was unable to locate the snake. Finally, I 
“cooned” along two or three panels and, trust¬ 
ing to luck, jumped as far as I could, and in 
another leap or two, was in the edge of the pine 
woods and headed for home. 
At the beginning of the past hunting season 
one of my shooting companions and a friend 
went out for a day’s quail hunt. My friend 
kicked up a single bird the dog was pointing and 
dropped it in a small bunch of palmettoes. 
Walking over to where the bird dropped, the 
dog was found on a point in the edge of the 
palmettoes. Thinking he had only wounded the 
bird, he tried to make the dog go in and catch 
it or put it up: but the dog would not budge. 
