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By Susan McCarthy Franciscan monk Father Juan Crespi records in his diary that on March 27, 1772 he and his compatriots, who were exploring the San Francisco Bay, came upon a grizzly bear on "the bank of an arroyo." Crespi was part of a Spanish expedition that had come up from the garrison at Monterey, and he remarks that the bear was a stroke of luck because it meant the soldiers had "fresh meat to go with." Alongside his diary entry, Crespi drew a pleasing map of the area that might be familiar to readers--the "arroyo" he describes was none other than Strawberry Creek (though his map omits such key landmarks as the Campanile).
But now the California grizzly is being resurrected--in spirit, at least--at an exhibit at the Bancroft Library called "Bear in Mind," which catalogues this magnificent beast and its diverse images. Crammed into a small room just off the library's main entrance, it shows off dozens of rare books, prints, diaries, letters, songbooks, and other artifacts from the Bancroft collection and elsewhere.
"Most urban people seem to carry around these simultaneous, conflicting images, which I call Jaws and Yogi," says Dave Graber '71, a senior scientist at Sequoia and Kings Canyon National Parks, who studied black bears for his doctorate. Graber says that the Jaws image is enhanced by the fact that stuffed bears are often mounted standing on their hind legs looking ferocious, "when, in fact, the reason bears stand on their hind legs is to see." Neither image--ferocious killer or friendly-but-mischievous prankster--captures the bear in its entirety. "Bears aren't vicious; they're not out to get you. They really don't think about you very much at all," says Graber. "I've discovered that it bothers people when I tell them that." He adds as consolation: "Bears do think about your food sometimes." The Jaws image prevailed throughout the 19th century, when bears were hunted ceaselessly. Nevertheless, the grizzly's image came to symbolize California. The 1846 Bear Flag Rebellion--in which Mexico lost California to the United States--featured several variations of a flag with a star and a bear, the animal chosen for its strength and because it was "distinctive to the region." The bear flag was officially adopted by the California legislature in 1911, but grizzlies had already fared badly under the stewardship of the United States. Bears were served as stew in boardinghouses to hungry '49ers; pitted in mortal battle against bulls for entertainment; shot to protect livestock (mysteriously, they were said to be particularly fond of she-asses); and pursued for the excitement and prestige of the hunt. Hubert Howe Bancroft, founder of the Bancroft Library, interviewed early settler George Nidever, who claimed to have shot more than 200 grizzlies. The tame bears exhibited by Grizzly Adams at P. T. Barnum's circus got a cushier deal, demonstrating their wrestling prowess and being rewarded with tobacco, "of which they seemed very fond."
While it is remarkable to contemplate the speed with which the new Californians simultaneously eradicated these bears and embraced them as a symbol, it's possible that grizzlies were on a collision course with humans anyway. Dave Graber and his wife, archaeologist Kristina Roper '82, are writing a paper focusing on grizzlies and the indigenous peoples of the Sierra Nevada foothills. Even if gun-toting Europeans had never arrived, Graber argues, grizzlies and humans were too similar to coexist indefinitely. "They're species that are about the same size and eat the same things. This is theoretically unstable. Somebody's going to lose and somebody's going to win." By the time the settlers arrived, says Graber, the Indians were winning. Despite their former abundance, few actual specimens of the California grizzly remain; Berkeley's Museum of Vertebrate Zoology has one of the best collections, containing skulls, bones, claws, and pelts, but no complete animal. And while we now mourn the passing of the California grizzly, it was good news for the smaller black bear. Grizzlies exclude black bears from any area they view as their territory; with no inhospitable grizzlies to bar the way, black bears now range much more widely. (The problem is the pesky humans.) In the last few decades, says Graber, black bears have begun poking their noses into areas they never occupied before, up and down the coast range. Noting that a bear was found (and shot) last year in the Crystal Springs watershed on the San Francisco Peninsula, Graber says: "It wouldn't be extraordinary if, one of these years, one showed up in the regional parks like Chabot or Tilden." From Tilden, it's an easy ramble down to campus, so a wild bear could appear on the banks of Strawberry Creek once more. If you happen to see one, please, don't eat it. |
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