American Big Game in Its Haunts - Various
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The baidarka, the most valuable possession of the native in a country so
cut up by waterways that little traveling is done by land, deserves a
word. These are trusted in the roughest water more than any other
craft, except the largest. A trip from Kadiak to Seattle in a baidarka
is in fact on record. With a light framework of wood, covered, bottom
and deck, excepting the hatches, with the skin of the hair seal, it is
lighter than any other canoe, pliable, but very staunch, and works its
way over the waves more like a snake than a boat. The lines are such
that friction is done away with, and driven through the water by good
men, it is the most graceful craft afloat. It has a curious split prow,
so made for ease in lifting with one hand, and may have one, two, or
three hatches, according to its size. The paddles used are curiously
narrow and pointed.
What still remains unexplained is the native one-sided method of
paddling; that is to say, in a two-hatch baidarka, both natives make six
or seven short strokes on one side together, and then change to the
other side. An absolutely straight course is thus impossible, but the
Aleut is a creature of habit, and smiles at all new suggestions.
In the canoe is plenty of room for provisions and live stock. I speak of
the latter because a native will often carry his wife, children, and dog
inside a one-hatch baidarka while he paddles.
Water is kept out of the hatches by the kamlaykas which the natives
wear. This is a long jacket made of bears' intestines, very light and
water tight, and when the neck and sleeve bands are made fast, and the
skirts secured about the hatch with a thong, man and canoe alike are dry
as a chip.
In the early days, Shelikoff's severe rule in Kadiak actively encouraged
the hunting instinct, and the first Russian fur post was established at
St. Paul, named after one of Bering's boats, the present town of Kadiak,
by far the largest village of the island, and situated on the eastern
coast, opposite Wood Island. It is said that the Russians, after a few
very prosperous years of indiscriminate slaughter, recognized the great
importance of carrying on the fur industry in a systematic manner, in
order to prevent entire extinction of the game, and divided the lands
and waters into large districts. They made laws, with severe penalties
attached, and enforced them. Certain districts were hunted and trapped
over in certain years. Fur animals were killed only when in good
pelage, and the young were spared. In this way hunted sections always
had considerable intervals in which to recover from attacks.
A solitary sea otter skin hanging up in the fur company's store, at the
end of the season, told us plainer than words that these animals,
formerly so plentiful east of Kadiak Island, and along the coast of
Cook's Inlet, were almost extinct. Two of our hunters were famous shots,
and they liked to talk of the good old days, when sea otter and bear
were plenty. One of them, Ivan, it is claimed, made $3,000 in one
day. The amount paid a native is $200 or more for each sea otter pelt.
They are much larger than a land otter, a good skin measuring six feet
in length and three feet in width when split and stretched.
When fishing is allowed from schooners, the natives leave Kadiak for the
grounds early in May. Each schooner carries thirty or forty baidarkas
and twice as many men. Otters are often found at some distance from
shore, and can be seen only when the water is quiet. The natives prefer
the bow and arrow to the .40-65 Winchesters the company have given them,
even claiming that otter are scarce because they have been driven from
their old grounds by the noise of firearms. The bows, four feet long,
are very stout, and strongly reinforced with cords of sinew along the
back. The arrows, a little under a yard in length, are tipped with a
well-polished piece of whalebone. A sharp and barbed piece of whale's
tooth fits into a hole bored in the end of the bone, and a cord of
considerable length is tied to the detachable arrow head, the other end
of the cord being wound around and fastened to the middle of the shaft.
The advantages of this arrow are obvious. When the game is struck, its
struggles disengage the arrow head, and the shaft being dragged by the
cord attached to its middle, soon tires the otter out. The seal spears,
used for the finishing coup, are made in the same way, and in addition
have attached to the long shaft a bladder, which continually draws the
animal to the surface. So expert are the natives, that, after shooting
several arrows, they gather them all up together in one hand as they
sweep by in a baidarka. The arrow is not sent straight to the mark, but
describes a considerable curve. Good bows are valued very highly, and on
an otter expedition will not be swapped even for a rifle.
On a favorable morning the baidarkas leave the schooners, and, holding
their direction so as to describe a large fan, can view a good piece of
water. A paddle held high in air shows that game has been sighted, and a
large circle, perhaps a mile in circumference, is at once formed around
the otter, each baidarka trying to get in the first successful shot. To
the man who first hits home belongs the skin, but as an otter can stay
under water twenty minutes, and when rising for air exposes only his
nose, a long and exciting chase follows.
Some natives patrol the small island shores, and during the winter make
a good harvest picking up dead otters which have washed ashore. This
happens in winter, because it is during severest weather that the otter
freezes his nose, which means death. The pelts from these frozen
animals, however, bring only a small price.
In earlier days nets were spread beneath the water around rocks shown by
the hair rubbings to be resting places of otter. The method was often
successful, as the poor beast swam over the trap in gaining his rock,
but when leaving dove well below the surface, and was caught. This
barbarous custom, together with the netting of ducks in narrow
passageways, has, fortunately, long been a thing of the past.
In Kadiak Village, we met a Captain Nelson, the first man down from the
north that spring, who had sledded from Nome to Katmai on Shelikoff
Straits in two months. At Katmai he was held up several days, his men
refusing to cross the straits until the local weather prophet, or
astronom, as he is called, gave his consent. Seven hours of hard
paddling carried them over the twenty-seven miles, the most treacherous
of Alaskan narrows.
These astronoms are relics of an interesting type, who formerly held
firm sway over the natives. They are supposed to know much about the
weather from reading the sunrises, sunsets, stars, moon and tides, and
often sit on a hilltop for hours studying the weather conditions. They
are still absolutely relied upon to decide when sea otter parties may
start on a trip, and are looked up to and trusted as chiefs by the
people of the villages in which they live.
At Wood Island we heard of Messrs. Kidder and Blake, two other sportsmen
from Boston, who had already left for their hunting grounds in Kaluda
Bay.
The spring was backward, and the bears still in their dens, but Merriam
and I decided to take the North American Company's schooner Maksoutoff
on its spring voyage around the island, when it carries supplies and
collects furs from the natives. We were to sail as far as Kaguiac, a
small village on the south shore, and were here promised a 30-foot sloop
by the company. We added to our equipment two native baidarkas for
hunting and a bear dog belonging to an old Russian hunter, Walter
Matroken. Tchort (Russian for Devil) looked like a cross between a water
spaniel and a Newfoundland, and though old and poorly supplied with
teeth, many of which he had lost during his acquaintance with bears, he
proved a good companion, game in emergencies, and a splendid retriever.
Our rifle and camera batteries were as follows:
Merriam had a.45-70 and a.50-110 Winchester, both shooting half-jacketed
bullets. My rifles were a.30-40 Winchester, a double .577, and a
double .40-93-400, kindly lent me by Mr. S.D. Warren, of Boston, and on
which I relied. Besides the pocket cameras and a small Goerz, I carried
one camera with double lenses of 17-1/2-inch focus, and one with single
lense of 30-inch focus. The last two were, of course, intended for
animals at long range.
Hoping to prove something in regard to the weight of the Kadiak bear, I
brought a pair of Fairbanks spring scales, weighing up to 300 pounds,
and some water-tight canvas bags for weighing blood and the viscera.
We selected two good men as hunters for the trip, Vacille and Klampe.
On the second day out from Wood Island a storm came on, and though the
Maksoutoff was staunch, we could not hold for our port, owing to the
exposed coast, where squalls come sweeping without warning from the
mountain tops, driving the snow down like smoke, the so-called
"wollies." It was wild and wintry enough when we turned into the
sheltered protection of Steragowan Harbor.
A few mallards and a goose were here added to the ship's store next
morning from the flats, and the weather clearing, we made Kaguiac, and
found our sloop in good condition. In addition we took along an otter
boat, a large rowboat, from here, as our baidarkas proved rather
unseaworthy. Besides Mr. Heitman, the fur company's man, there was one
other white settler in Kaguiac named Walch, who came to Kadiak
twenty-seven years ago at the time of the first American military
occupation, and though he had served in many an exciting battle in the
Civil War, the Kadiak calm appealed to him. He married, settled down
among the natives contentedly, and has never moved since. This,
curiously, is the case of many men who come to the North, after leading
wandering and adventurous lives.
Unfavorable winds at Kaguiac delayed our sailing, so we passed the time
in excursions after ptarmigans and mallards. We also secured here
another native, a strong, willing worker, who knew the coast.
The weather cleared suddenly, the wind shifting from northeast to
northwest, and enabled us to make a run to our first good hunting ground
in Windy Bay, a large piece of water five miles long by three wide, and
surrounded by rock mountains covered with snow, the only bare ground to
be seen at this time being on the low foothills, and in the sunny
ravines. We made ourselves at home at the only good anchorage in a small
cove with high crags on two sides and a ravine running off toward the
east.
The following morning--April 28--opened bright and calm, and we were
soon viewing the snow slopes with our glasses. Ivan, the new man, was
the first to call our attention to a streak on a distant mountain side,
and although perhaps 2-1/2 miles away, we could make out, even with the
naked eye, a deep furrow in the snow running down diagonally into the
valley below, undoubtedly a bear road. I took a five-cent piece from my
pocket, tossed for choice of shot, and lost to Merriam.
Once on land, we found the going very bad, and often wallowed in the
snow mid-thigh deep. Then was the time for snowshoes, which we had been
told were unnecessary. Floundering along in this soft snow began to tell
a little on the keenness of the party, when Vacille and Ivan, who were
off on one side, suddenly waved, and hunting on to them we were shown
the bear far up the valley in some bushes. As he lay on his side in the
snow he looked much like a cord of wood, and very large. The wind came
quartering down the valley, and made a stalk difficult, so it was
thought best to wait, as the bear would probably come down nearer the
water in the evening. We watched nearly four hours, and during that time
the bear made perhaps 150 yards in all, crawling, rolling over, lapping
his paws, occasionally trying a somersault, and finally landing in a
patch of alders.
As night was upon us, we decided to chance the situation, and approached
along a ridge on one side of the valley until almost above the bear. At
this point Tchort, the dog, caught the scent, broke away, and raced down
over the bluff out of sight. Almost immediately the bear appeared in
the open 200 yards away, legging as fast as he could in the snow, and
headed for the hillside. Merriam made a good shot behind the shoulder
with his fifty. The bear fell, caught his feet again, and was in and
over a small brook, leaving a bloody road behind him, which Tchort was
quick in following. The dog was soon nipping the bear's heels, and
giving him a good deal of trouble. Up the side of the hill they raced,
Merriam firing when the dog gave him opportunity. The bear, angry and
worried, suddenly whipped around and made for the dog, which in the soft
snow at such close quarters could not escape. But Tchort, a born
fighter, accepted the only chance and closed in. He disappeared
completely between the forelegs of the bear, and we felt that all was
over. To our great wonder in a few seconds he crawled out from beneath
the hindquarters of his enemy, and engaged him again. One more shot and
the bear lay quiet. The skin was a beauty--dark brown, with a little
silvering of gray over the shoulders, without any rubbed spots, such as
are common on bears only just out of their dens. Some brush was thrown
over the bear, and we rowed back to the sloop, well content. The next
day, which was foggy and rainy, was spent in getting off the skin,
measuring and weighing the animal piecemeal, and carrying all back to
the sloop.
Contrary to expectation, the bear was found to be still covered with a
thin layer of fat, even after his long hibernation. Before weighing, our
men, who had killed some thirty bear among them, said that this one was
two-thirds as large as any they had seen.
The measurements and weights were as follows: Height at shoulder, about
4 ft. Length in straight line from nose to root of tail, 6 ft. 8 in.
Total weight, 625 lbs. Weight of middle piece, 260 lbs. Weight of skull
(skin removed), 20 lbs. Weight of skin, 80 lbs. The right forearm
weighed 50 lbs., and the left 55. This supports the theory that a bear
is left-handed. Right hind-quarter, 60 lbs.; left hindquarter, 60
pounds. The stomach was filled with short alder sticks, not much chewed,
and one small bird feather. Organic acids were present in the stomach,
but no free hydrochloric for digestion of flesh.
It was a great satisfaction to see that none of the bear was wasted,
which fact brings up one very good trait of the Creole hunters. They
dislike to go after bear into a district situated far from the coast,
because in so rough a country it is almost impossible to get all the
meat out. They sell the skin, eat the meat, and make the intestines into
kamlaykas for baidarka work.
April 30 a strong wind kept us from trying the head of the bay, and a
short trip was made up into a low lying valley, near the sloop, but
without results.
Our men had already proved themselves good. Vacille was the best
waterman and a good cook; Klampe the best hunter, and Ivan a glutton for
all sorts of work.
The underlying principle on which the Aleut hunter works was brought out
on our short bear hunt. After sighting the game, he waits until he is
sure of his wind, then takes a stand where the bear will pass close by,
and shows himself a monument of patience. Almost all the viewing is done
from the water, a small hill near the shore being occasionally used for
a lookout. They get up at daylight, and two men in a baidarka patrol
both sides of a big bay, watching carefully for bear tracks on the
mountain sides, as this is the surest indication of their presence. As
soon as the bears come from their dens they always make a climbing tour,
the natives claiming that this exercise is taken to strengthen
them. Personally I believe the Kadiak bear has very good reasons for
keeping on the move continually outside of his hibernating season.
If the natives find no sign on their morning tour, they rest all day,
perhaps taking a Turkish bath in a banya, which is not infrequently
attached to the hunting barabara. Another trip of inspection is made
again in the afternoon at four or five o'clock, as the bear usually lies
up between nine and three. A bay is watched for several days in this
way, and if nothing is seen the natives return to their village, or hunt
the hair seal, which are still to be found in fair numbers, especially
on Afognak Island.
When you are with these men you must either conduct the shooting trip on
your own lines or give yourself entirely into the native's hands, and do
as he thinks best. You must leave him alone, and not bother him with
many questions, and in any case you usually get _Nish naiou_ ("I
don't know") for answer. The native gives this reply without thinking;
it is so much easier. The most you can do is to cheer him on when luck
is bad, as he is easily discouraged and becomes homesick.
During the bad weather that followed we had plenty of opportunity to use
our ingenuity in extracting information from our men on the subject of
bear.
It seems that the Kadiak bear hibernates, as a rule, from December to
April, depending on the season somewhat, and the young are supposed to
be born in March in the dens. Although the skins are good in the late
fall, they are finest when the bear first comes out in early spring, as
it is then that the hide is thinnest and the hair longest. On the other
hand, in summer, when the hair is very thin, the hide becomes extremely
thick and heavy; this condition changing again as fall comes on. The
total amount of epidermis, in other words, does not vary so much as one
would suppose, and whether the hide or the hair is responsible for most
of the weight depends on the time of year.
When the animal leaves his den he finds food scarce, and has to go on
the principle that a full stomach is better than an empty one, even if
the filling is made of alder twigs. It is not long, however, before
green grass begins to sprout along the small streams, low down, and
grass and the roots of the salmon berry bushes carry the bear along
until the fish run.
The running of the salmon varies, and the bears make frequent
prospecting trips down the streams in order to be sure to be on hand for
the first run, which usually occurs during the latter part of
May. During the salmon season the bears have opportunity to fill
themselves full every night, and put on a tremendous weight of fat in
the late fall, when they become saucy and lazy, and more inclined to
show fight. Berries--especially the salmon berry--help out the fish diet
in summer time. As soon as salmon becomes their food the pelts
deteriorate, but unless living near a red salmon stream, with shallow
reaches, the bears do not get much fish diet until the second run early
in July, so that fair skins are sometimes obtained even up to June 15,
although by this time the hair is usually much faded in color.
The bear makes a zigzag course down the salmon stream from one shallow
rapid to another, standing immovable while fishing, and throwing out his
catch with the left paw. The numerous fishing beds give a false idea of
the number of bear present in a district, as it takes but a few days for
a single bear to cover the sides of a stream for a long distance with
such places. One finds fish skeletons scattered all along a salmon
stream, and it is generally easy to tell whether a bear or eagle has
made the kill. An eagle usually carries the whole fish away with him,
leaving only scales behind. A bear, on the other hand, eats his fish
where he catches him, preferring the belly and back, and usually
discarding the skeleton, and always the under jaw.
The Finn hunter whom I met on my way north, said he had seen an old cow
bear when fishing with her cubs, rush salmon in toward the shore and
scoop them out for the young. Generally they watch on a low bank, or in
the shallow water, while fishing.
During the rutting season, supposed to be in June, the female travels
ahead, the male bringing up the rear to furnish protection from that
quarter. Then if one kills the female the male gives trouble, often
charging on sight.
The Finn thought that, as a rule, the cow bear comes on at a gallop and
a bull rises on his hind legs when getting in close. When wounded the
bear usually strikes the injured spot, or if it is a cow and cubs, the
old one cuffs her young soundly, thinking them the cause of pain. The
nose is the main source of protection, as, like all bears, these are
followed to their very dens in the fall by the keenest of hunters, and
their only restful sleep is the long winter one. Fortunately some
excellent game laws for Alaska have been passed, and by making a close
season for several years, followed by severe restrictions, we may yet
hope that the perpetual preservation of this grand brown bear will be
assured on the Kadiak group, which, from its situation, fitly offers
him, when well guarded, his best chance of making a successful stand
against his enemies.
[Illustration: SITKALIDAK ISLAND FROM KADIAK.]
The fact that the natives make a profit from the bear skins, and that
his flesh furnishes them with food is not to be considered, as at the
present rate of extermination there will soon be no bear left for
discussion.
The natives certainly could and should be helped out in their living, as
competition in the fur trade of late has so exterminated fur-bearing
animals that hunting and trapping bring them in little, and their diet
is indeed low. One of my hunters during last fall only secured one bear,
one silver gray fox, and two land otter.
A good way to help out the food question, and compensate the native for
his loss of bear meat, would be to transport a goodly number of Sitka
deer to the three islands, and allow them to multiply. There has been a
Sitka deer on Wood Island for several years, and he has lived through
the winters without harm, as his footprints scattered over the island
testify. Afognak and Wood Island are especially suitable for such a
purpose, being well wooded and furnishing plenty of winter food for deer
in willows, alders and black birch. The clement winters make the plan
feasible, and it ought not to be an expensive experiment.
[Illustration: A KADIAK EAGLE.]
We had a very bad time of it on the night of April 30, which showed me
what I had long felt, that the dangers of Kadiak were not centered in
the bear, but in the tremendous wind blows and tide rips in its
fjords. A strong wind came on from the east, and fairly howled through
the ravine opposite our anchorage, catching our little sloop with full
force. We could not change our position, as we occupied the only
anchorage. Vacille, who had turned in, felt the anchor dragging, and we
found ourselves being blown out into the large bay, where we could not
have lived for any time in the big seas, and, should we continue to
drag, our only chance was to try to beach her on a sand shore some half
mile away.
When the boat was not dragging she was wallowing in cross seas, and
being hammered by the otter boat, which was difficult to manage. The
anchors held firmly, much to our relief, and after a disagreeable night
of watching we beat back to our mooring at the head of the little
cove. The mountains being covered with fresh snow in the morning, there
was nothing to do but eat and sleep.
The bear meat improved with age, and hours of boiling rid it of its
bitter flavor. The whole cabin--and its occupants--smelled of bear's
grease. The thermometer registered 30.
On May 2, as the wind was unsuitable for bear hunting, we made a
photographing trip to a cliff across the bay, where two bald-headed
eagles had built their nest. Merriam and I had a very interesting stalk
with a camera. We landed near the cliff, and the eagles, becoming
disturbed, flew away. The men were sent out in the boat, and we kept in
hiding until signalled that the birds had quieted down. We gained the
top of the cliff, a mere knife edge in places, where we worked our way
along, straddling the rock. The birds had selected a splendid place,
straight up from the water, where they had built their nest firmly into
a bush on the side of the cliff.
I stalked the eagle within about 75 feet and caught her with the camera,
as she was leaving her nest. The earth forming the center of the nest
was frozen and three eggs lay in a little hollow of hay on top. The big
birds circled about us all the time, but did not offer to
attack. Bald-headed eagles are very common on Kadiak, and are always
found about the salmon streams later, during the run, being good
fishermen. It seems they, of all the birds here, are the first to lay
their eggs, and their young are the last to leave the nest.
We secured some eagle eggs on these trips, of which we made several, and
found the cliff nests much the easier to approach, as it was very
difficult to get above nests built in trees.
In connection with the eagle, the magpie should not be forgotten. Of
these black and white birds there were many about, and there seemed to
be a bond of sympathy between the widely separated species of
marauders. Bold enough we knew the smaller bird to be, but to believe
that he would actually steal an eagle's fish breakfast from under his
very nose one must sec the act. The eagle appeared to mind but little,
occasionally pecking the thief away when he became offensive.