The first evening we saw an old she-bear and her two-year-old cubs come
up the path. They passed us with that soft shuffling gait so uncanny to
hear in the dark. We were delighted that they showed no sign of having
detected us. But they were not suited to our purpose and we let them
go. The female was homely, fretful and nervous. The cubs were yellow
and ungainly. We looked for better things.
Bears have personality, as obvious as humans. Some are lazy, some
alert, surly, or timid. Nearly all the females we saw showed that
irritability and irascible disposition that go with the cares of
maternity. This family was decidedly commonplace.
They disappeared in the gloom, and we waited and waited for the big
fellow that some time must appear.
But morning came first; we stole from our blind, chilled and stiffened,
and wandered back to camp to breakfast and sleep. The former was a
fairly successful event, but the latter was made almost impossible by
the swarms of mosquitoes that beset us. A smudge fire and canvas head-
coverings gave us only a partial immunity. By sundown we were on our
way again to the blind, but another cold dreary night passed without
adventure.
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