One man’s wilderness (37 page)

They were digging for roots or ground squirrels and rattling an occasional boulder down into the timber. Now and then I could hear a growling followed by the cubs bawling their answers. I saw one cub start a rock going and stand there spraddle-legged following its progress as if contemplating the wonder he
had wrought. If they made as much racket all the time, it would be no trouble locating this crew at work. The last I saw of them the old mother had lain down nearly on her back, and the little guys moved in for supper.

A bunch of sheep bedded down on the skyline high above them.

It is good to see bears on the mountain again—a mother and three fine-looking cubs. Good company for a man out here.

April 23rd
. Calm and plus twenty-one degrees. Moon nearing the half.

I spent the day following a fresh wolf track to the upper end of the lake and beyond.

I saw a cow moose and calf leaving the country. Very interesting when I came to where the wolf track intersected with their trail. The cow had led her yearling down the running creek. I found where she had crossed over two ice bridges. This was definite evidence of the wisdom of the wild. She had succeeded, temporarily at least, in giving the wolf the slip by taking to the water.

Many ptarmigan in the willow flats, a regular convention. The roosters are full of cackle, with bright red splashes over their eyes, their heads and necks a glinting copper color. They are fast coming out of winter plumage.

Those cubs are wrestling and rolling like balls on the grassy slopes. Such carrying-on up there in the high country.

Several eagles sailed the thermal updrafts this evening. There is a wild freedom about their presence.

April 24th
. Fifteen degrees.

The falls across the lake is trickling a very tiny stream.

A wedge of about fifty swans flew high and rained their music down on the land. They sound happy to be back.

Time to retire the snowshoes.

April 30th
. Thirty-three degrees. A strong breeze down the lake.

I spotted the bear family again today. The cubs were playing “King of the
Hill” on a snowbank. One of the little guys put on quite a show, waltzing with a small cottonwood. He tried to climb a larger one with no apparent success. The old mother appears to be unconcerned about their antics, but the way she tips and tosses that muzzle into the air, you know she is on the alert all the time.

Ants on the ice—but in the glasses they were caribou, five head trailing across from the gravel bank toward Emerson Creek.

When they disappeared, I decided it was time for an Emerson Creek patrol. Off I went over the ice.

Bear tracks were mixed with the caribou tracks in the gravel. I moved on to the top of the rise and saw about thirty-five cows—but no calves yet.

Two caribou bulls on the flats, with new antlers more than a foot high.

A small trickle of water courses beneath the ice flakes on the mud banks. The clear song of a robin is heard now and then.

The days of snow and ice are numbered.

Breakup

May 4th
. Feathers of blowing snow. Thirty-two degrees.

Back in late November I had cut my cache logs at the far side of Hope Creek, about forty of them, and I had peeled the frozen bark with a drawknife. These logs were four to six inches through at the butt. I had cut four other heavier logs about fifteen feet long and seven inches in diameter at the butt, and peeled them also. These would be my stilts to hold the cache aloft. The logs had been seasoning all this time.

It is my birthday today. I spent it chasing the bear family, and they obliged with what I hope will be some fine pictures.

This evening the robins are singing.

For my special supper, a thick ram steak fried in a salted skillet. Red in the middle with the juices running all over the plate. Blueberries for dessert.

This country makes a man younger than his birthdays.

May 6th
. Thirty-five degrees. A light breeze down the lake.

I was up at four. I looked out, and there under the trees no more than thirty-five feet from the cabin door was the largest rabbit I have ever seen in my life, at least two feet tall. It was still snow white except for a dark trace in its ears. It had to be an arctic hare. Its ears worked like a pair of scissors and its
nose twitched as if with an itch within it couldn’t reach. Then it flowed into motion, traveling like a ghost off into the shadows.

May 7th
. An inch of snow during the night. Clear, calm, and twenty degrees.

Tracks of Super-Rabbit outside my cabin door. Still a good tracking snow, so I decided to find out something about him. He was a busy rabbit. The snow was all packed down around some willow brush where he had fed. Then I came to the smooth, snow-covered creek ice, which must have been a speedway to him. He really got into high gear. I measured a good fourteen feet between the tracks of the hind feet. His hind foot track, where he sat down, measured a shade better than six inches in length and a strong two and a quarter inches in width. The arctic hare is no midget.