Chapter 52 - The Grand Bear Hunt by Mayne Reid
Fishing-Bears
Previous to starting forth in search of the Kamschatkan bear, our hunters collected all the particulars they could in regard to the haunts and habits of this animal.
They learnt that there were at least two varieties known to the Kurilski and Koriac hunters. One of them was the more common kind—a brown bear, closely resembling the ursus arctos; and the other also a brown bear; but with a whitish list running up from the under part of his throat, and meeting like a collar over the tops of his shoulders. This latter kind was undoubtedly the species known as the “Siberian bear” (ursus collaris); and which has an extensive range throughout most of the countries of Northern Asia. The native hunters alleged that the two kinds were of nearly similar habits. Both went to sleep during the winter—concealing themselves cunningly in caves and crevices among rocks, or among fallen timber, where such could be found in sufficient quantity to afford them shelter.
One remarkable habit of these bears indicates a very marked difference between them and the ursus arctos, with which they have been usually classed; and that is, that they are fishing-bears—subsisting almost exclusively on fish, which they catch for themselves. During their winter sleep, of course they eat nothing; but in spring, as soon as they emerge from their retreats, they at once betake themselves to the numerous streams and lakes, with which the country abounds; and roaming along the banks of these, or wading in the water itself, they spend the whole of their time in angling about after trout and salmon. There, fish, thanks to their immense numbers, and the shallowness of the water in most of the lakes and streams, the bears are enabled to catch almost at discretion. They wade into the water, and getting among the shoals of the fish as they are passing to and fro, strike them dead with their paws. The fish are killed as instantaneously as if impaled upon a fishing spear; and in such numbers do the bears capture them, at certain seasons, that the captors grow dainty, and only eat a portion of each fish! They show a strange preference for that part, which is usually considered refuse, the head,—leaving the tail, with a considerable portion of the body, untouched. The rejected portions, however, are not lost; for another animal, still hungrier than the bears, and less skilful in the piscatory art, is at this time also in search of a meal of fish.
This creature is the Kamschatkan dog—not a wild species, as you may suppose, but the trained sledge-dogs of the Kamschatdales themselves; which at this season forsake the “ostrogs,” or villages, and betake themselves to the borders of the lakes and rivers. There they remain during the whole period of summer, feeding upon fish—which they also know how to capture—and eating up such portions as have been refused by the bears. In fact, this is the only food which these poor dogs can get; and, as they are not needed during the summer season, they do not think of returning home until frost sets in. Then, strange to say, one and all of them go voluntarily back, and surrender themselves up to their old masters—hard taskmasters too, who not only work them like slaves, but half starve them throughout the whole winter. This voluntary submission to their “yoke” has been quoted as an illustration of the high training and faithful disposition of the Kamschatkan dogs; but it has its origin in a fur different motive than that of mere fidelity. Their return to the snug shelter of the balagan is simply an instinct of self-preservation: for the sagacious animals well know, that in winter the lakes and streams will be completely frozen over, and were they to remain abroad, they would absolutely perish either from hunger or cold. Even the wretched winter allowance of heads and entrails of fish—the only crumbs that fall to their share—is better than nothing at all; which would be their portion were they to remain abroad among the bare snow-clad hills and valleys of Kamschatka. The Kamschatdales have various modes of taking the bear. In early winter they sometimes find his track in the snow; and then pursue him with a gun and a bear-spear, killing him as they best can. Later still, when he has gone to sleep in his den, he is often found—by similar indications as those which guide the Laplanders, North American Indians, and Esquimaux—such as the hoar caused by his breath showing over the spot, or by their hunting-dogs scenting him out, and barking at the entrance. The log-trap, or dead-fall, is also in use among the Kamschatkan hunters; and the penn formed around the mouth of the bear’s cave, shutting him up, until an entrance can be dug into it from above.
In the summer time the mode is different. Then the hunter lies in ambush, with his loaded rifle—for the Kamschatdale carries this weapon—in such places as he expects the bear to pass. These are on the banks of the streams and lakes that abound in fish; and as the bears ramble along the edge of the water, or are even seen swimming or wading into it, the patient hunter is pretty sure of getting a shot. Should he fail to bring down Bruin at the first fire, the game becomes uncertain; and sometimes dangerous: since the animal often charges upon the hunter. Even though the latter may be concealed among the long reeds and bushes, the sagacious bear, guided by the smoke and blaze of the powder easily finds out his assailant. The hunter, however, never fires without taking a deliberate aim. He carries a forked stick, over which he rests his piece, and never fires off-hand. To miss would not only endanger his life and the loss of his game, but what is also of consequence to a Kamschatdale, the loss of his powder and bullet—costly articles in this remote corner of the earth. In case of missing, he has still his bear-spear and a long-bladed knife to fall back upon; and with these he defends himself as well as he can—though not unfrequently Bruin proves the victor, and the hunter the victim.
There are certain times when the Siberian bears become exceedingly dangerous to approach. The season of rut—which occurs in the latter part of the summer—is one of those; but there is another period of danger—which, however, does not happen every year. When the spring chances to be late—on account of a prolonged winter—and when the lakes and streams remain frozen over, after the bears have come forth from their hiding-places, then “ware Bruin” is a caution which it is prudent to observe. The fierce animals, half-famished for want of their usual diet of fish, roam over the country in all directions; and fearlessly approach the “ostrogs,” roaming around the balagans and jourts in search of something to eat. Woe to the Kamschatdale that gets in their tray at such a time—for the bear, instead of waiting to be attached, becomes himself the assailant; and, as great numbers of these quadrupeds often troop about together, of course the encounter is all the more perilous.
It was just in such a spring that our young hunters had arrived at Petropaulouski; and stories of numerous bear conflicts, that had recently occurred in the neighbourhood, were rife in the village; while the number of fresh skies every day brought in by the Kurilski hunters, showed that bears could not be otherwise than plentiful in the country adjacent.
Guided by one of these hunters, our party set forth upon a search. The snow still covered the ground; and, of course, they travelled in sledges—each having one to himself, drawn by five dogs, as is the custom of the country. The dogs are harnessed two and two abreast, with the odd one in front. Each has his collar of bearskin, with a leather thong for a trace; and five of them are sufficient to draw the little sledge with a man in it. The sledge, called saunka, is less than four feet long; and, being made of the lightest birch wood, is of very little weight.
A curved stick, called the oschtol—with an iron point, and little bells at the other end—is used to direct the dogs; and, urged on by this and by well-known exclamations of their driver, they will go at a speed of many miles an hour.
In this slight vehicle, hills, valleys, lakes, and rivers are crossed, without such a thing as a road being thought of; and when the dogs are good, and have been well cared for, an immense distance may be passed over in a day.
In less than an hour after their departure from Petropaulouski, our hunters had entered amid the wildest scenery—where not the slightest sign of either cultivation or human habitation was to be seen, and where at any moment they might expect to come in sight of their great game.