Grizzly of Logan River
A True Short Story:
In the course of many years research on the wild mammals of the Wasatch Mountains it has been my good fortune at times to have incidents related to me that for sheer peril excel the most romantic fiction. From this rich storehouse of notes I have selected one that illustrates how common the dangerous grizzly bears were in early days in these now verdant and populous valleys. This particular strange and horrifying adventure was detailed to me several years ago by the late John E. Godfrey of Clarkston, Utah, an intelligent old gentleman who appreciated the necessity of the utmost fidelity to fact.
In the month of February, 1863, when Mr. Godfrey was but a lad of ten years, a man named (Thomas B.) Graham, who was famed throughout the Wasatch Mountains as a bear hunter, one day went with his son-in-law, Andrew P. Shumway, to what was known as Little Bear River or Logan River, a verdured stream flowing from the Wasatch Mountains on the west side of Cache Valley through a settlement called Mendon.
Having placed his ever-present gun on some willows and taken up his axe, Graham started to cut down some Hawthorne limbs with which to make pitchfork handles, when suddenly, without any warning or provocation whatsoever, he was attacked by a she-grizzly whose den he had unwittingly invaded. With a mighty swipe she knocked him down, one of her enormous claws, which were almost as long as a man's fingers, tearing into his face, and puncturing the roof of his mouth. Pouncing upon him, with one bite she all but severed his head; and not content with that, in her savage vengeance, she continued her mutilation.
Meanwhile Shumway was so horrified at the suddenness and brutality of the attack that he fled towards the sleigh, which he barely reached before the horses, catching sight of the monstrous bear, themselves ran away in panic, with the terror-stricken young man clinging to the side as best he could.
Soon after Shumway reached home with the direful news, a party of twenty-five armed men on horseback was organized, some of them being from Wellsville and some from Clarkston. Among them was a brave old bear-hunter named (Alexander, Jr.) Hill, who for years had been one of Graham's companions.
When the determined riders arrived at the scene of the attack, the grizzly had ambled down the creek a short distance as was apparent from her tracks and those of two cubs following her. When at last her whereabouts was definitely ascertained, several dogs were urged into the thicket after her; but, when two of them sprawled out with broken backs, this method of routing the furious grizzly into an open charge was abandoned.
At last the experienced Hill dismounted, and holding his muzzle-loading rifle in readiness, astonished the other men by approaching the bear-copse alone. He had only neared its verge when the bear rushed out, rose on her hind legs, and, with her small eyes burning with rage, lunged at him. Taking careful aim, the fearless old hunter pulled the trigger of his rifle, which to the horror of the helpless spectators merely snapped! Apparently not disconcerted at all, however Hill, who stood between the men and the bear, thrust the barrel of his gun down her throat, and then while holding it there as the bear was chewing and pawing at it, actually turned his head around and exclaimed: Boys it's the first time it has refused to go off.
Worried probably by the impression that her cubs might be in danger from other enemies, the bear unexpectedly whirled and ran into the brush to them. Hill squatted down on the ground, calmly took out his powder horn, reprised his gun, and was just fitting on a new cap when the infuriated bear charged him again.
At that instant from his rear came the voice of his son, James H. Hill (by the way, still living at Mendon when this occurrence was related to me): Pa, sit still and I'll fetch her,
the son shouted, and an instant afterward shot the the grizzly, which fell directly in front of his father. Old man Hill thereupon sprang up and emptied his six-shooter into the butt of her ear.
Many shots were taken at the cubs as they swam the river; one of them was killed instantly; the other a few days later was found dead with sixteen bullets in its body.1
- The Grizzly of Logan River, Claude T. Barnes, undated newspaper article..