DUEL WITH A BEAR

Shannon News, 13 April 1926, Page 2

DUEL WITH A BEAR

FUR-TRAPPER’S CLOSE CALL TERRIBLE INJURIES INFLICTED. VANCOUVER, Feb. 10. By a curious turn of fortune's wheel, Mr. James Christie, a wiry little Scotsman, is to-day protecting- grizzly bears from promiscuous hunters along the boundary of one of Canada’s national parks. Not long ago, as a furtrapper, he had a duel with a grizzly that should have made him put the Atlantic between him and their haunts. , The scene was an isolated valley in the Yukon,- 350 miles east of Dawson. Having completed their cabin, Mr. Christie and his mate were surveying the country for their trap-lines. They went in different directions. On his first day out, Christie shot a moose, and buried the meat under snow and earth, piling stones on top of the “cache.” Swinging in a wide circular route, he was back in two days, only to find half-a-dozen grey wolves scratching in the dirt. Scattering them with a shot, he discovered that a grizzly had rifled his meat store. He found the track where the moose carcase had been dragged across the' riverjbed and into the wood on the opposite side. Seeing that the track was fresh, Mr Christie decided to retrieve some of his meat, and get the pelt of the spoiler to boot. Prints showed the bear to be of very big stature. Mr. Christie did not know that he was exasperated by snarling wolves. The bear appeared in a thicket not far from the shore. He flame forward, mane erect, in menacing attitude. A soft-nosed bullet took him fair in the chest, but he came on, without wincing. Another ball did not halt him in his horrible, menacing stride. The bullet buried itself in his huge body. A Life and Death Struggle

“He was only a few paces from me when I discarded my rifle and got out my knife,” said Mr. Christie. “I skipped by instinct to one side, tripped on a snag and went down, -with the bear on top of me. He did not attempt to use his paws, but tore at me with his teeth. I felt that part of my head was between his teeth. Bringing my right arm upward, 1 tried to insert it in his jaws, hoping to pry them'apart. He broke it like a dry twig. He was snipping with his teeth, as a dog does at fleas on his coat. One bite laid my cheek open, another broke my jaw. I prayed for the end to come. It did, in an unexpected way. He let go my head and sank his teeth into my thigh. But they did not go far for, with a horrible groan, the bear rolled over on top of me and lay still. I did not know if he was dead. I was long past caring.” • With all his remaining strength Mr. Christie managed to crawl from beneath the bear. He thought all the bones in his body were broken. His scalp lay on the nape of his neck. Camp was seven miles away. How was he to reach it? “I knew my partner would not miss me for several days,” he said, “so I set about taking,stock of myself, to see if I could do anything. I fashioned some bandages from my handkerchief and a scarf I had around my neck. I found, to my surprise, that I could walk so I took a course along the ice fringing the river, and the foothold was better. If I Avent down, I'am afraid I Avould no 4 have bothered v:ith it any more. Wounded Man Reaches Gamp “At times I stopped to rest, but I kept sleep away. J knew that, lr I dozed, I was at the mercy of a heterogeneous pack of AvoWes. Half a mile or so off the trail was an ancient hut, and I made for it. Here I wrote a short rough note Avith my left hand, in case anything happened to me on the last stage of my' journey. I set out on the trail again, and reached camp as dusk Avas falling. “Thank God, my mate was not there. The shock of my appearance might have been too much for him. Presently, I heard him mushing along the soft snow with his measured, youthful tread. When he reached the door, I hailed him with Avhat voice I had left. I told him, before he lit up, Avhat happened to me. It seemed too hard a burden to throAV on him, but he did not flinch.” The younger man set out at midnight for an Indian camp, ten miles doAvn stream, at daAvn, he returned, bringing tAvo teams of dogs. They made Christie as comfortable as they could, and the little hospital carrier took the trail. It Avas a severe trail. The journey lasted four days, to the nearest trading post, 50 miles across a trackless waste.

The trader was a friend of Mr. Christie, and had some surgical skill. He sewed up his scalp, set his broken bones, and with the help of the wounded man’s mate, nursed him back to life after two months. Then Mr. Christie went “outside,” reaching Dawson City at New Year and Viictoria a little later, recuperating his strength for another long spell in the silent places of Canada’s north-west.