It is necessary only to sit perfectly still in your
canoe among the water-grasses near shore. When near a lake, a bear
will almost invariably come down about noontime to sniff carefully all
about, and lap the water, and perhaps find a dead fish before going
back for his afternoon sleep.
Four or five times I have sat thus in my canoe while Mooween passed
close by, and never suspected my presence till a chirp drew his
attention. It is curious at such times, when there is no wind to bring
the scent to his keen nose, to see him turn his head to one side, and
wrinkle his forehead in the vain endeavor to make out the curious
object there in the grass. At last he rises on his hind legs, and
stares long and intently. It seems as if he must recognize you, with
his nose pointing straight at you, his eyes looking straight into
yours. But he drops on all fours again, and glides silently into the
thick bushes that fringe the shore.
Don't stir now, nor make the least sound. He is in there, just out of
sight, sitting on his haunches, using nose and ears to catch your
slightest message.
Ten minutes pass by in intense silence. Down on the shore, fifty yards
below, a slight swaying of the bilberry bushes catches your eye. That
surely is not the bear! There has not been a sound since he
disappeared.
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