It is ever a joy to watch a grizzly and her children. A mother grizzly crossing a lake just south of Long's Peak swam low in the water with a cub sitting contentedly on her back. She came directly towards the shore where I was standing concealed behind trees. As she approached I threw a stone into the water close to her. Wheeling about like lightning, Mother Grizzly started at full speed for the farther shore. The cub tipped over in the water, but hastily took a tail-hold and was towed rapidly away.
I once saw a grizzly and cub walking leisurely along the top of a ridge above timber-line, the cub with long strides following in mother's footprints. There were perhaps six or more inches of snow. I sat still. They were coming almost towards me. Watching carefully with my glass, I noticed that the cub was limping. He suddenly sat down and bawled. The mother, after walking on several steps, turned to look at the cub, who was holding his hind foot between his fore paws and examining his hurt. I heard him whimper two or three times, and finally mother went back. She looked down at the bottom of the foot rather indifferently, then turned and walked on. The cub followed after.
When they passed near me the mother rose suddenly on hind legs, stood with fore paws held against her chest, and looked and looked, and sniffed and sniffed. Little cub, forgetting his sore hind foot, stood up with little paws against his breast, stretched his neck, looked, and sniffed--a perfect little imitation of the mother. She moved off several steps and stopped on the very edge of a precipitous ridge to scout. The cub placed his fore paws against mother's side and from this secure position peeped over and beyond her. But they did not detect me and soon went leisurely on.
Two miles farther I crept as close as I could and paused to watch. The mother was digging, the cub watching eagerly. As her digging continued for some time, he moved away, sniffed two or three times, and then began digging rapidly on his own account. While both were digging, there was a whir of wings and a sweep of shadows, and a flock of white ptarmigan alighted among broken ledges near by. While I was watching them, a flock of mountain sheep came along the out-thrusting ridge and paused to play for a few moments on the sky-line. In pairs they faced, then reared up and sparred with their horns; they cut lively circles around one another. A rugged, snowy peak loomed grim behind the scene, and the dense forest spread away for miles below. The bears, the ptarmigan, and the sheep, the white peak, the purple forest, and the blue sky gave me a striking experience and left a splendid picture. As I turned to go, the cub was giving all his attention to the play of the sheep.