New Ulm Weekly Review

Facts About Bears.
A Bear Ordinarily no More Dangerous than a Woodchuck.

I rise for a few remarks on the bear. I have known bruin for the past forty years. I have met him on the trail in Northern Michigan, Pennsylvania and the North Woods. I have seen him in Wisconsin and Minnesota.

Ordinarily bruin is about as dangerous as a raccoon or the festive woodchuck. But it does happen that the mother of any mammal will ignore danger to herself in defense of her young. Almost any animal will go wild and reckless of danger in defense of her young, and the bear is wonderful on music. Consequently, when a she-bear turns on her tormentors, it is well to keep back about eighty-five and a half feet. She doesn't want to hurt anybody. She only wants to get her babes away from that fearful biped with the Derby hat and a dead rabbit cut on his hair.

If you humor her you are safe enough. If you want to put your hounds on her, making the escape of her cubs doubtful—well, "you takes your choice." If you drive her to desperation and she has the grit to stand by her cubs, "better you stand a leedle back."

I have bagged a good deal of bear meat. I have been twice on a lone cruise in the North Woods. I saw several bears there—all intent on their own affairs.

So slight was the danger from wild animals there, and so childish seemed the immense armaments of the average tourist, that I came to leave not only my rifle but my revolver behind. And I found the eight-ounce rod and the pocket hatchet all-sufficient for defense against wild beasts. All the same, a she bear with cubs may be dangerous. I will give three instances that I can vouch for:

Forty years ago "Jim Steele," with a record of seven panthers, twenty-one bears and 1,300 deer, resided at the mouth of "Asoph Run." He sent his son, aged 14, up the creek for the cows one evening. The boy came back frightened and crying, saying that a big bear had chased and nearly caught him. Old Jim was disgusted at the boy's cowardice. Leaving his rifle, he went back with the boy, and at the mouth of the Kennedy Run the boy commenced to say, It was just here, when an immense bear jumped from under the bank, reared on her hind legs, and, showing all the teeth she had, growling, snarling and threatening made at the party. Old Jim took it in at once. "Jump on my back," he yelled to the youngster, which the boy did at once; and yelling, backing, and flourishing a knife, all the weapon he had, old Jim and the boy got away. Then they saw the mother bear cross the riffle on the creek and scatter up the mountain side, to be seen no more of men forever.

Thirty-two years ago "Harry Ellis," born and bred on Pine creek, guided a party to the huckleberry hills of the Barrens. While prospecting for the best berrying grounds he was suddenly confronted by an immense bear, which arose from behind a large fallen trunk, and, rearing on her hind legs, made directly at him, roaring, grunting, snarling, and showing her best array of teeth. Harry seized and flourished a pine knob, whooping and yelling at the top of his voice as he ran backward—at his best pace for a few rods only, when the bear turned and quickly conveyed her two cubs out of danger.

On the same range of hills I once went huckleberrying with Farmer T., his wife and daughter, on invitation. Our rig was a two-horse farm wagon, the bottom of the wagon packed with inverted tubs and buckets. Distance to the ground, twenty-one miles.

By dint of starting at 3 a. m., and abusing the horse to unwonted speed we were on the ground at 11 a. m., among berries so plenty that the ground was absolutely hidden. It was a short job to pick a bushel of berries on such ground; but I had been there before, and I thought I knew of a place about three-quarters of a mile westward, where the berries were equally plenty, but larger.

So I took a large tin pail and started. Half way to the ground there is a gulch to be crossed, and this gulch was badly blocked with fallen timber. When near the bottom I halted to select the best routes for getting by or over some fallen trees that lay in my path; when a very large, dingy-looking "brown-nosed" bear sprang on a pine, sprang off again directly at me, got on her hind legs, and began to play the usual game of scare—showing all her teeth, making the savage, roaring, barking, growling noise common to enraged bears. On the instant I commenced a lively retrograde movement. Once I caught my heels and tumbled over backward, but got up suddenly. It was a Chinese foht. Growling, snarling teeth and claws on one side: whooping yelling and pounding tinware on the other. Nobody hurt. Bear badly scared. As for myself, I wasn't scared a bit! As for the bear, it goes without saying that when she had played me off a few rods, she got down on all fours and took herself out with her cubs for all she was worth. -From Forest and Stream.