Mattie Mitchell by Gary Collins Page A

the hill above, one on top of the other, which he figured had
caused the talus slide.
    Some of the winter snows had fallen among the boulders, but
several feet of them remained visible. This furrow had taken more
than its share of drifting snow. It took a while before he found the
den opening, so carefully was it hidden. The bear had walked
around the site many times before it had finally left the area. Its
tracks were everywhere. The smell gave its den site away. It was
a heady, musky odour like no other. It wasn’t a sharp, tangy, eye-burning scent like castor, or the throat-sticking gland smell from
the stag caribou that could sometimes be confused for another
animal. This was a strong smell that a man would never forget as
being “bear smell.”
    To get out of its winter home, the bear had pushed aside a
mix of boughs and sticks, clumps of moss, and straggly yellow
grasses, all of which it had pulled over the opening just before
last winter’s big snowfall. The “doorway” was big enough for
Mattie to squeeze through on his belly, but the debris the bear had
piled up in front of the den allowed very little light in, and Mattie
wriggled back out without getting a good look inside.
    Standing up, he studied the way he had come while followingthe bear’s tracks. He would not be returning to his camp the same
way.
    Walking down over the rock avalanche, he stopped and
looked around. He would come back in late autumn to hunt the
bear. He knew that if he came back here again and there was little
or no snow at all, the place would look much different. Turning
his head slowly, he took in every detail of the place. And then he
walked back to his wigwam.
    In the early days of the next trapping season, Mattie set out
for the bear den. The sky looked like a storm was brewing. He
hoped he had timed it right. The going was much harder than it
had been in the spring. He walked in a straight line as much as
the terrain allowed. Twice he had to veer away from his course
to get around small ponds that had not frozen solidly enough for
safe travel. By late evening he reached the talus slope below the
cave where the bear had sheltered from the freezing cold of the
winter past.
    Mattie wondered if his long walk had been in vain. Maybe
the bear had not returned here this year. If it had, it would be
days before the animal decided to enter the den. But a heavy
snowstorm this time of year would decide for the bear, and the
sky looked ready to snow. Mattie had seen the big bears foraging
for food even in mid-January. However, when a big snow came
and made food hard to find, even this early in the season, they
always “denned up.”
    Mattie was prepared to wait. He wanted to catch the bear
near its den. During his walk he had crushed the green needles of
the white spruce into his hands and smeared their pungent scent
all over his clothing several times. It was his proven method of
approaching game undetected.
    He would have to be extremely wary. Black bears had poor
eyesight, but their sense of hearing and their incredible sense ofsmell more than compensated for that. They could detect and
identify the wind-borne scent of food miles away. They especially
hated the smell of humans, and when they sensed it they made
every effort to avoid its source.
    The full carcass of an adult black bear would keep Mattie in
fat for frying and tallow for light, and proved a ready supply of
delicious meat for most of the winter. The animal’s fur, which
would now be at its prime, was another bonus. For now, though,
Mattie wanted bear meat. He loved the taste of it.
    Mattie knew the bear would disappear inside its den for
the winter after the first big snow. He knew of white trappers
who shot the bears, males and nursing females alike, while they
slept inside their caves. But Mattie Mitchell always called it the
coward’s way of hunting, and he was no coward.
    He decided not to climb the scree slope. To do so quietly
would be