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Bear!
Bear!
Bear!
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Bear!

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Bear! Is a fascinating volume which will grip the interest and fire the imagination of both the seasoned outdoorsman and the one who must enjoy the thrills of big-game hunting from his arm-chair reading.
The true, breath-taking field encounters between man and bear, which liberally appear throughout the books’ pages, will capture and excite the reader, young or old. Certainly to the big-game hunter—whether he takes to the wooded hills after his black bear, to the remote crags and high basins after his grizzly, to the Coastal regions after his brown bear, or to the Eskimo-land after his great white polar bear—this volume with its wealth of how-to information will prove invaluable reading.
But beyond this, Bear! is a revealing story of North America’s Bears. It delves deeply into their habitat, their wondrous cycle of living, and their natural place in the scheme of wildlife. This book traces those basic behavior changes which have been forced upon our country’s great ursines through man’s westward movement, his contact with them, and his gradual driving of them to the last wilderness and sanctuaries for survival.
Lastly, Bear! is a documentary of a noble animal’s long struggle, in the minds and actions of men, to rise from the lowly status of a pest to that of a grand big-game animal.
Bear! by Clyde Ormond, the renowned outdoorsman, is the result of thirty years of observation, study, hunting, and evaluation of a priceless but little known species. It is “must” ready for any sportsman.
LanguageEnglish
Release dateSep 15, 2017
ISBN9780811766494
Bear!

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    Bear! - Clyde Ormond

    Bear!

    Bear!

       • Black• Brown

    • Grizzly• Polar

    Clyde Ormond

    STACKPOLE BOOKS

    Lanham • Boulder • New York • London

    Published by Stackpole Books

    An imprint of The Rowman & Littlefield Publishing Group, Inc.

    4501 Forbes Boulevard, Suite 200, Lanham, Maryland 20706

    www.rowman.com

    Unit A, Whitacre Mews, 26-34 Stannary Street, London SE11 4AB

    Distributed by NATIONAL BOOK NETWORK

    Copyright © 1961 by Clyde Ormond

    First Stackpole Books paperback edition 2017

    All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote passages in a review.

    British Library Cataloguing in Publication Information Available

    The hardback edition of this book was previously cataloged by the Library of Congress as follows:

    Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

    Library of Congress Catalog Card No.: 6L7507

    LCCCN: 61-7507 (cloth)

    ISBN 978-0-8117-3671-8 (paperback)

    ISBN 978-0-8117-6649-4 (electronic)

    The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of American National Standard for Information Sciences—Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI/NISO Z39.48-1992.

    Printed in the United States of America

    To my grand-daughter
    LATONI ORMOND

    The past accomplishments, activities and interests of Joe Foss are all the more amazing because he is only now entering that period in life we choose to call middle age. Currently he is the Commissioner of the American Football League, member of the Board of Directors of the Air Force Academy, officer of a firm which manufactures high-altitude research balloons, President of the National Society for Crippled Children and Adults, and National Defense Council of the American Legion.

    After working his way through the University of South Dakota, where he was deeply involved in athletics, he shot down, as a U. S. Marine, 26 enemy planes, the first pilot to down that many since Eddie Rickenbacker of World War I fame. He was the recipient of the Congressional Medal of Honor and the Distinguished Flying Cross. He was selected as one of the ten most outstanding young men in the country. In 1954 he was elected Governor of South Dakota, then re-elected in 1956 in a state which under statute has a two-term maximum.

    The hobbies of Joe Foss are flying, hunting and fishing, model airplanes and archery. The great complications in his whirlwind life are that there are not enough hours in the day and days in the year.

    Foreword

    I am probably the most unqualified guy in the world to write a Foreword to a book dealing with bear hunting. As of this writing, I have never looked twice at the same bear. When I have encountered one hunting, I have put as much distance as possible between myself and the bear in short order.

    However, in view of the fact I know Clyde Ormond real well as a friend and a highly capable outdoorsman, it is with a great deal of enthusiasm that I set about this pleasure of kicking off a book that has long been needed.

    While my personal experiences in pursuit of bear have been zero, my personal experiences with famous hunters all over the country who consider bear the apex of all hunting experiences have been numerous. I am confident the following pages will be one more exciting adventure to all of them. In fact, to every reader, whether he be a bear hunter or not. Once he puts down this dynamic book, he’ll probably set about packing his gear for a bear hunt immediately.

    Only Clyde Ormond would—and could—come up with a bear book of this magnitude, depth, and understanding. I may not know too much about bagging the bear, but personal experience has taught me how Clyde Ormond bags his material.

    The first time I met him was in Jackson Hole country in 1955. Our outfitter, Old Slim Sanders, said, I want you to meet your hunting partner. He’s going to do a little story as you hunt.

    I took one look at the dapper-looking little guy with a beady mustache, and thought we’d probably end up carrying this one back from the hunt along with the game. No chap who looked so neat and dudey could possibly qualify for membership in our club where guts and stamina were passwords.

    We spent a pleasurable evening together, and this interesting personality really sold himself and cemented a friendship. However, the' duds still fooled me, and the respect of one hunter to another was not yet born.

    The next morning we lunged out for the head of Yellowstone, thirty-some miles down the trail by horse. Clyde appeared with a small, cocky-looking hat, as trim as ever. I figured he’d never quite finish the trip, even though he had a heavy pencil.

    And Old Joe, who was in mighty good shape at the time, had the surprise of his life! I’ve never been accustomed to many hunters passing me on the mountainside, but in this instance Clyde Ormond not only kept pace, he outdid me. I chalked one up right then and there for a man who didn’t merely pen words about a sport, but who participated like a pro.

    He peered out from behind those glasses and never missed a thing in the great outdoors. Lugging a camera, which he was quick to use at a crucial moment, he made notes constantly. The stories resulting from that trek—as well as many others—have impressed sportsmen all over the country. As one who has watched this alert author participate, inquire, observe, and report, I know definitely what Clyde Ormond has to say about bears is not merely from recollection, but an honest report of facts which were accurately and dramatically collected by a sagacious sportsman turned author.

    It came as no surprise to me to learn that Clyde journeyed to Alaska three times within eighteen months to get material for this book and spent one month in the Arctic, living with the Eskimos, to collect data on polar bears.

    This book on bears is a culmination of thirty years of observation, hunting, studying, and photographing; and it is herewith wrapped up in delightful narrative form for our enjoyment and education.

    It is a privilege and honor to preface such an inspiring story in a field where many might fear to tread. Knowing Clyde Ormond, I know he pioneered with enthusiasm on this book and has given us the greatest.

    I invite ypu to turn the pages with me and acquaint yourself with the inscrutable bear and with big-game hunting at its best.

    P. S. I’ve taken all this so seriously, by the time the book is published and in your hands, I will have returned from a polar bear hunt in Kotzebue, Alaska. So—as we used to say in combat—‘I'm a veteran!"

    (EDITOR's NOTE: The Alaskan bear hunt was so spectacular and successful that it received nation-wide notoriety.)

    Contents

    PART ONE—BLACK BEAR

    1. Blackie as an Adolescent

    2. The Black Bear as an Adversary

    3. Range and Distribution of Black Bear

    4. How to Hunt Black Bear

    5. Arrows, Pistols, and Slugs for Bear

    6. Hunting Blackie with Dogs

    PART TWO—GRIZZLY BEAR

    7. The Unpredictable Bear

    8. Range, Distribution, and Basic Habits of the Grizzly

    9. How to Hunt Grizzly

    PART THREE—BROWN BEAR

    10. Biggest Bear

    11. Hunting Brown Bear

    PART FOUR—POLAR BEAR

    12. The Great White Prize

    13. Hunting Polars à la Eskimo

    14. Hunting Bears by Dog Sled

    15. Hunting Polar Bear via Airplane

    PART FIVE—RIFLES, TROPHIES, CONCLUSION

    16. Rifles and Ammunition for Bear

    17. Skinning and Saving the Trophy

    18. Conclusion

    Part One

    BLACK BEAR

    CHAPTER 1

    Blackie as an Adolescent

    The American black bear, Eurarctos americanus, has been called a variety of names ranging from cute, awkward, clown, and predator, to pest, vicious, killer, enemy, and big-game.

    These appellations, usually given on impulse, are, like other generalities, partly right and somewhat wrong. There is, however, sufficient justification to each moniker to be misleading; and certainly enough to add flavor to the overall character of this interesting wild animal.

    The whole truth about Blackie lies somewhere as a composite, and includes them all. Old Eurarctos americanus is a beast of many traits. The more one observes him, the more he is convinced that Blackie’s true character is interrelated with his current age, and to the nature of his past experience.

    In this, the situation is analogous to that of man. As a baby, a black bear may be cute. During adolescence, both are very apt to be awkward and uncertain. And if, with advancing years, each becomes surly and truculent, this, too, may be for the comparable reasons of poor teeth, body miseries, old wounds, painful encounters with antagonists, and loss of physical potency and vigor.

    There is perhaps no better way of uncovering the true nature of Blackie than to observe intelligently all instances possible of his field behavior, and then interpret such observation in terms of what is already known of his overall character.

    A most revealing instance of what the black bear is like during his boyhood and puberty occurred to my friend Don DeHart, the Alaska outfitter.

    This happened in Idaho’s Selway Forest in 1934, during mid-summer, and just two days, incidentally, before that memorable, ravaging forest fire which completely gutted so much of that still primitive land known as the Primitive Area.

    DeHart at that time was working for the Forest Service, mainly spotting smoke. The entire country was unusually hot, with earth and lower foliage parched and dry as a bone. At the time, Don was walking a game-trail in the Cub Creek region, the trail swinging into a big S-curve. He was far from any other humans—in fact, at that time, few men had ever seen the immediate area he was in.

    As he went into the big curve, he spotted a young black bear headed his way, and along the same trail farther down. It looked to be a long-yearling or two-year-old.

    In this region, innumerable patches of chaparral carpeted the lower hills, lying adjacent to, and over the trail. It so happened that the spot DeHart was in was partially covered with such foliage—probably helping to account for what happened.

    DeHart is better than six feet tall, and built something like the running gears of a shite-poke. He wore slim, levi riding-jeans, and upon spotting the bear, stopped short, spraddle-legged and hands on his hips. At the time he wore a Colt .22 Woodsman, but had no intention of using it. He just stood immobile, waiting to see what the young bear would do. Being an outdoorsman all his life, he had grown increasingly interested in the antics of game, and its overall unpredictability.

    The young bear, unaware of any sign of danger, kept moseying along the trail. The intense day’s heat had made it logy and it swung along, looking neither to left nor right, and with its nose nearly to the ground.

    As usual with its species, this animal had been working the high huckleberry patches over a broad and somewhat circuitous route. The blue fruit at this season was just well under way; and while any of the many-acre patches provided a considerable quantity, no bear, black or grizzly, seems ever full of fruit. The novice is perpetually amazed, upon finding evidence, at how much of this mild diet a bear can eat, and at the minimum of time it stays in him.

    True to his species in another way, this bear also chose to mosey along old game-trails. While his tough foot pads could negotiate any terrain from rocks to brambles, Blackie nevertheless always chose any available easier footing provided by the engineering of game, man, or horses.

    Yard after yard, the bear came swaying along the dusty trail, lessening the distance between them. Don remained stock-still, largely to see just close the animal would, under the optimum circumstances for not being discovered, come before it learned of his presence.

    By now he could see that the beast was lanky with youth, shaggy of summer coat slavering at the mouth from the unusual heat, and interested in nothing more pugnacious than to find an additional berry-patch. It likely had never before contacted a human being.

    By then, DeHart told me, I could even see the expression on his face. He looked just like a confused sophomore at some senior dance. Just like he didn’t know what it was all about, and besides, he was about half asleep with the heat.

    Amused, Don tried to figure out what the animal must be thinking, if anything; how much longer it would take until it discovered him; and, most important, what it would do then.

    DeHart had lived with wild game of many species all his life. As he waited, he mused upon the beast’s past and upon what influence the months had had upon what the youngster was doing now.

    The bear had, of course, been born during a January hibernation period. At birth, it would have been no larger than a red tree squirrel, blind, and virtually hairless. During this birth, and in a way neither the layman nor obstetrician could satisfactorily explain, the female bear had slept through the whole natural process without knowing about it.

    While the mother had slept, the cub had nursed, grew hair, reached maybe five pounds in weight, then emerged from hibernation with her, likely in May. Together they’d wandered far and wide. The sow had eaten grasses and natural vegetable purgatives to start the plug from her digestive system and to get her gastronomical functions going again. The cub, during this, was starting its education. He’d learned to follow, to observe, and to mind Mamma. When he didn’t he got those short ears cuffed.

    DeHart had watched numerous cubs at this stage—the period of fun when they’d box, roll, and wrestle with their twin; romp, and cavort like gamboling lambs. This was, of course, the care-free period in a cub’s life before its character began to change with increased age, the altering needs of its survival, experience with adversaries, and the later craze of reproduction.

    This young Selway bear had lost most all the characteristics and appearance of this earlier, naive babyhood. It had subsequently, however, stayed constantly with the female, had depended entirely upon her, and lived without any inkling of the blunt and heartless awakening it was soon to get.

    When, during hibernation, the next generation of cubs was born, the young black found a shocking and inexplicable change come over the mother. Upon emergence, she had turned savagely and without reason upon him. Repeatedly, and with vicious growls and bites, she’d chase him completely from her sight and presence. It was completely baffling to find that the one who’d nursed, guarded, and protected him, now turned on him like some enemy and would have nothing to do with him.

    Old woodsmen who have witnessed the performance, have told me that often the sows will —knock the livin’ hell out of the youngsters. And the dumb-founded things will wander off a-bawlin’ and lookin’ back just like a hound pup that’s lost his Ma.

    Black bears are not alone in this driving off of the older generation of offspring, with all attention suddenly going over to the newest. Rocky Mountain goats do the same thing. Rose Peterson, at British Columbia’s Muncho Lake, studied a family of goats all summer long with a spotting-scope from her cabin and witnessed the same phenomenon.

    The older kids, when the old nanny started in to butting them out of the family, would run off a little ways, then turn and look back in complete bewilderment. They’d bleat and try to come back and make up. But Mamma would have nothing to do with them. Finally, not being able to comprehend, they wandered off by themselves and I never saw the yearlings again. A week later, two tiny puffs of white showed up with the nanny goat; the two newest babies.

    The young black bear which DeHart studied—now with a bit of apprehension since it was within mere feet—evidenced all the symptoms of a similar adolescent bewilderment. The mother bear, which had protected and fed him, and had tendered such obvious affection, abruptly had turned on him; knocked the stuffing out of him; kicked him out on his own. He was lonesome. He was confused. His belly was empty. All he knew was that he must wander continuously. And eat.

    Here’s how DeHart finished:

    "By now, he was within ten feet of me, head down, paying no attention to anything except the dusty trail. His nose was nearly to the ground, but he didn’t appear to be sniffing for anything. He still hadn’t spotted or smelled me. I guess in the rocks and dirt my levis didn’t show up much. Then, too, the sun was in his face.

    "Up till then, I hadn’t worried any. He hadn’t looked big enough to do me any harm. But from ten feet on in, I got to worrying a little. At that distance he seemed to grow. I thought of jerking out the pistol and shooting over his head—scare the daylights out of him, maybe. But for some stubborn DeHart reason, I decided I’d see just how close he would come."

    Here Don laughed uproariously at himself. "You know, if I’d waited, I think that scrawny feller would have walked right between my legs. Wouldn’t it have been something if he’d discovered me then? Can’t you just see me, riding a bear down a trail, hinder backwards, and can’t git off?"

    What did you do?

    "Well, when he wasn’t over thirty inches ahead of me, I couldn’t take it any longer. I looked right down on him, kinda scared I guess by now, and yelled, ‘Where the hell you think you’re goin’?"

    It’s difficult to conceive of a situation wherein a wild bruin could be more abruptly or completely surprised. And, like man or other animals, a bruin is very apt to act, in such a moment, with pure instinct—an instinct revealing its true character.

    Now, had this bear been but a cute harmless little cub (as many people regard all bears), it’s likely that it would have jumped in surprise, stopped to ascertain the nature of the sound, and gawked at DeHart from a distance of feet.

    Had it been, at the other extremity, a vicious killer, a foe, a human danger (as many other people regard all bears), it is probable that the beast would have swung first and investigated later.

    But here again, in this most unusual encounter, Blackie tended to indicate an analogy to man. The young bear, still innocent of the basic dangers, and of man, reacted with typical confusion, and the instinct of the adolescent.

    It took DeHart several minutes before he could complete the story. He laughed till he bawled, with tears literally streaming his cheeks at the memory.

    Then—"You know that little guy must have been completely scared out of his wits. He didn’t gather himself or nothin’. I don’t think most of his feet were on the ground at the time. But just like an unsuspecting tom-cat you’d whack in the ribs with a spud, he switched ends completely, mid-air. One split second he was headed my way; then, in a blur you couldn’t see, he was headed the other. He took off back down the trail, at least four jumps before his paws hit the ground, or he could get any traction. He just stood there, in the air, clawing for any footing, like a cat trying to take off on slick linoleum. When his feet finally did reach ground, he let out a ‘Ooo-fff’ you could hear a half-mile.

    "Later, I followed to see what he’d done. He’d stuck with the trail—the best footing for fast—for a good quarter-mile. His tracks were a full ten feet apart, and the last I ever saw of him he was picking them up and laying them down . . . all the way down the canyon.

    But this was the funniest part. While that bear was still in mid-air, swapping ends like he’d been jerked wrong-side-out, the scare I’d put into him was too much. He un­corked at thirty inches, and let go with a great stream of used huckleberries. Hell, I was plastered on one leg from my crotch clean to my ankles!

    CHAPTER 2

    The Black Bear as an Adversary

    How capable and determined is the black bear as an opponent of man and of other beasts?

    As the black bear reaches adulthood, his overall surliness, his urge to live a hermit’s existence, and his shortness of temper all grow. Adult males will have nothing to do with their offspring. Their desire to be with the females is limited to the urges of reproduction, after which they stay as far as possible from the company of the sows. And even the company of other males seems distasteful.

    It is rare, except in instances of being at a kill, to find adult bears together, except in mating season. In a broad way, the adult black bear is, to a human’s way of thinking, soured on life; out to look after no one’s interests but his own; and ready to exercise his grumpiness and short temper on anything that gets in his way. Gregariousness is a foreign language to him.

    Because of this preference to remain alone, his considerable size when fully grown, and his adequate fighting equipment, the black bear has long been considered as a worthy opponent, once into a fight. The fact of his unpredictable nature, plus the few authenticated instances where a black bear has attacked and killed a human without provocation, has added to this assumption. And, throughout the decades since the country’s settlement, with man’s dwindling contact and association with live bruins, legend, history, and half-truths have all added to the overall conviction that the black bear is a savage enemy of man.

    Actually, the adult black bear is a coward. The smallest dog, in terrain where bruin has not been forced to a standstill, is apt to put him up a tree—this after an ignominious chase, grossly one-sided as to poundage.

    In most any contact with man, the black bear may be depended upon to run. Either the sight, sound, or smell of a human is usually sufficient to make him depart the scene. His characteristic preference is to run, not put up a fight.

    I have photographed big black bear in heavy berry-patch cover, where bruin would unknowingly meander up to within a matter of mere feet of where I stood, back to a pine, and ready to trip the shutter for an extreme close-up. One swipe at me with a paw would, before there was any time to duck or retreat, have put me out of commission. But at the first faint detection of movement, trace of scent, or sound, bruin would invariably whirl and be off with nothing but undulating bushes showing for a hundred yards.

    In British Columbia, old Pete Peterson, who has lived in the Muncho Lake area all his life among bears, and helped lay the pilot route for the Alaska Highway between Fort Nelson and Fort St. John, told me that repeatedly any sight of one of his sled dogs would cause any black bear to beat a retreat into the bush. Almost invariably, such a chase ended by bruin high-tailing it into cover so thick and impenetrable the dogs couldn’t follow; and they’d come back later. The few times the dogs came out of the bush, as though the very devil was on their tails-between-legs, it meant but one thing. They’d run into a grizzly in there, not a black.

    Despite the generality, there are times when a black bear will stand and fight even to the death. This is broadly true of any of nature’s wilderness children.

    The maternal instinct, despite the fact that sow bears will drive off their own yearlings forcibly, is pronounced in bears. Coming between a sow and cubs will often induce a fight. If the cub bawls with fright, a fight may be expected.

    Old wounds, hunger, poor teeth, and similar aggravating factors all add to the adult black's orneriness; and under optimum conditions for a stand, rather than a retreat, such an enraged bear will fight.

    Sudden surprise, especially at a kill or where the bear’s food cache is endangered, will occasionally make a black bear stand his ground. I killed one such boar, old and with yellow teeth, which had found my partner’s elk-kill. At a matter of mere yards, this bear reared up, curled his wicked snout back over his teeth, stood his ground and whooshed at me. The Forest ranger, in hearing of it, said, "He was trying to bluff you from what he considered his meat."

    Such instances of an adult black’s being willing to fight when he has a chance to run are rare. Percentage-wise, I’d say that in ninety cases in a hundred a black bear may be depended upon to go the other way, in any normal contact with man.

    It is the other instances which intrigue the outdoors-man, hunter, and even those who unexpectedly meet bruin in the woods. These rare,

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