The Last (Natural) Bear on Pine Valley Mountain
as told to Budd Iverson by Mitt Moody

Dixie National Forest was established near the turn of the century, probably about 1903. Mitt Moody was given the job of being its first ranger. He was a young man at the time, still in his 20's. The intended purpose for establishing this governmental unit was to preserve the forest land and use its resources wisely for the benefit of the local people. Mitt lived at Pine Valley, Utah in the summers and St. George most of the time in the winter. Horseback was his mode of transportation.

A couple of years after he became the ranger, 3 steers were killed one night not far from the ranger cabin in Pine Valley. From all indications it looked like the work of a big bear, but no bears had been seen in the Pine Valley area for 15 years or more and none had ever been known to kill 3 head of large animals like these and all in the same night and place. Never the less it surely had to be a big bear by the fact that death resulted from a broken neck and deep rake marks along the bodies of 2 of the victims. Several men, with Mitt, cut for tracks in all directions but no identifiable marks could be found. There was one other steer missing and several days later circling crows over on the mountain side showed them where the remains of the partially eaten animal lay. Here they definitely identified huge bear tracks. He had killed the 8 or 9 hundred pound steer in the pasture, carried it a quarter mile, and then 50 yards up the steep mountain slope without making any drag marks. There he fed on it and left the remains for the crows.

Four or five days later someone rode over from New Harmony with the news that several head of cattle had been killed there during the previous night. The Gardners, Brackens, and other cattlemen who ran stock up on top of the mountain saddled up to ride the high country looking for dead cattle and a big bear. They found the remains of a partially eaten steer on the lower west end above the Blake Ranch, near Cottonwood Canyon, but no sight or other signs of the bear.

During this time Mitt had been doing his share of riding and looking with a 32-30 in the scabbard slung on his saddle. It was one of the best guns of the time. He rode the trails to White Rock, across to Mill Flats, to Anderson Valley, off the Syler Spring Trail to Browse Creek, then over the hump to Wet Sandy Trail to climb again to the top through Whipple Valley and all the meadows in that area, then back across Further Water to drop off the Big Hump down onto the west end and back into Pine Valley. Always looking and hoping for signs of the bear, but found no tracks or sign at all, he rode every day for more than a month crisscrossing the mountain and searching everywhere his horse could go.

The cattlemen got together and offered a reward of $250.00, which was a summers wages and then some for a cowhand, so there were quite a few riders, armed for bear, searching all over that mountain. The only things they found were more dead cattle or deep rake marks on some that had just gotten in the bear's way. The reward was raised to $500.00 but still no one reported even a glimpse of him.

The depredations ceased when wintertime came, giving the ranchers a breather from their worry, but in the latter part of May, the next spring 2 yearlings were killed at the mouth of Hunt's Canyon on the upper mountain meadows. About a week later some more were killed over by Pages Ranch. At each of these places of slaughter Mitt inspected and rode searching for signs. The cause of death at every place the bear made a kill was by a broken neck. Apparently he would race up along side the running animal and knock it down with a terrific blow to the top of the head. Sometimes the carcass would be slashed and raked with his great claws as though he was venting terrible anger or uncontrolled furry because the animal had run from him. The tracks indicated this bear had a left front paw that had been severely injured at one time, leaving it sufciently deformed as to make an identifiable track in soft earth or mud. Probably he had ripped his foot out of a bear trap which had left it badly damaged.

As the depredations increased the bounty was raised to $1,000.00. Two brothers by the name of Ganet from Colorado, came in with a pack of hounds to get him. They were old time professional hunters, wise in all the ways of predators and fur bearing animals. They had been engaged in this sort of occupation all their lives. They didn't think it would take them long to apprehend this cattle killer and collect that $1,000.00 it seemed to be easy money. Within a few days after they arrived a big steer was killed in the meadows east of Grant's Ranch. Here the dogs picked up the bear's trail which led south onto Paradise country, then across the face of the mountain west of New Harmony. Impassable for a horse and very difficult for a man to walk over, one of the hunters followed the hounds on foot while the other, with Mitt and the camp jack leading 2 pack horses, rode south up on the first elevation of the mountain.

Far to the south and east they heard the faint bay of the pack. "Sounds like they jumped him," commented Jack Ganet, "but he's still traveling." They rode on over to Mill Flat and passed by the steam powered saw mill. Here they turned east to Anderson Valley where they left the pack horses with Bill Bracken to unpack and make camp. The time was getting late, with the sun laying low behind the tops of the tall trees. Mitt and Ganet rode down the trail toward New Harmony a ways where the bay of the dogs came to them from out on a high rugged ridge that projected eastward to the south of New Harmony. Ganet said the tone of the dogs bay indicated the bear had stopped to fight. While he tried to determine if there was enough daylight left to walk over to where the dogs had him stopped, another note from the hounds told him Bruin was moving again.

"Well, that's it for today. Can't travel this kind of country in the black of the night. We'll pick up his trail in the morning." He blew on his horn to call in the dogs and let his brother know the camp's location. "Hope those dogs come in before they wear themselves out," he worried. As they rode toward camp the sound of another horn came from the north. Ed was letting them know he was coming in. It was about dark when they got into camp and Bill Bracken had supper nearly ready. Every 10 minutes or so Ganet sounded the come in horn for the dogs and the sound of Ed's horn called come in also. Within an hour or so 8 dogs showed up and were fed. That left 2 dogs missing, a yearling pup and one of their best trailing hounds. The next morning the 2 dogs were still missing.

Just before daylight both Jack and Ed left camp with the hounds to go back over and pick up the bear's trail where they'd left off the night before. Here they circled for a little while then one of the old dogs bellowed found and they all streamed off the mountain to the south edge of New Harmony then turned down the creek for a mile or so then westward over onto the high rough ridges again, After an hour or so of scrambling and scratching for a foothold on some steep ledge mountainside they gave up so the Ganets horned in the dogs.

Mitt had listened and watched the route of the dogs through his field glasses and when they headed down into the pastures of New Harmony decided he better go investigate. The sun was just topping out over the big Kolob ledges to the east. The temperature was down to the cool 30's with the cow cabbage up on top of the mountain being nipped by a summer frost. He found Milo Schmutz and several neighbors skinning and cleaning out 2 heifers the bear had killed during the night. He had torn out and eaten the liver and other internal parts of both animals. The old milk cow was piled up down on the far side of the pasture where a hard blow from the bears paw had broken her neck. No other animals were in the pasture.

The time was about noon when the hunters and dogs returned to camp. Jack Ganet said he'd found one of the missing dogs where the bear had backed up to a ledge to fight his tormentors. He had been hit and crushed with one blow. He said the bear was a grizzly and wise to trailing dogs. He swore vengeance on that blankety-blank so-and-so. They figured he might top out south of where the camp was located. Mitt gave them the lay of the mountain and where trails and creeks were so they took the dogs and headed south. Mitt and Bracken packed up to move camp around to predesignated location. When the Ganets came into camp about dark, they said that Bruin must have doubled back or angled off to the lower ridges, no sign on top. The dogs were getting sore footed so they decided to ride back to Whipple Valley and then on down into Pine Valley to wait for his next kill where the scent would be fresh.

A week later one of the Lytles rode over from Mountain Meadow to say he'd found a fresh kill that morning. The hunters followed a trail from Grass Valley that wound its way westward in the direction of Mountain Meadows, a big area of rough hills and draws covered with a heavy growth of brush, mostly scrub oak 10 or 12 feet high. Hard country to ride through horseback. Before they crossed the St. George/Enterprise road the dogs picked up a scent that took them southeast. By hard riding and round about ways the men were able to keep track of the hounds as they worked in the general direction of Pine Mountain. The dogs circled and doubled back a lot, having a hard time staying on the bear's trail. The line of their travel crossed Pine Valley Creek a mile or so above Central, heading southeast. In the heavy oak brush the dogs finally caught up to him and bayed a running fight as the bear moved on up toward the steeper slopes. Getting through the heavy brush was impossible for men on horseback so Jack and Ed left their horses with Mitt and traveled on foot, trying to overtake the fracas and get in a shot, but that wise old bear moved fast enough that a man could not overtake him. The brush was thick and very difcult to penetrate. Even if they had caught up to him a good shot was unlikely. By midafternoon the fight was moving up through thick mahogany on the steep mountainside and the bear continued to travel. They blew the come in to the hounds. By sundown 5 dogs had responded, 3 still missing. The next day they found 2 dogs badly hurt and the other dead. Ten good dogs to start with, now only 5 left. A bear hunter without his dogs isn't very effective. "Sorry, but we don't want to lose the rest of them to that devil." So they got on the train and went back to Colorado.

About a week later Mitt rode up to Whipple Valley then north through Long Valley and as he crossed over the east ridge he found a big bull standing by a narrow pass between high rising rocks, with his guts hanging out onto the ground. Apparently the bull and the bear had met in this narrow pass and the bear had raked him, cutting into his belly.

All the stockmen were gathering their cattle off the mountain to take to other ranges. The nearby towns such as Pinto, New Harmony, Central, Veyo and Pine Valley were putting their cattle in corrals at night and posting a guard over them. The same was true with the outlying ranches. They couldn't stand the losses. This method cut the depredations way down but still occasionally he would kill one during the night and carry it to heavy cover to eat where it was difficult to find.

The hunt for the bear continued with many men riding and walking over every part of the mountain and its foothills. The bounty was raised to $2,000.00 to help intensify the hunt but no one got sight of him, nor was much sign reported. A heavy snow fell in early November, then the sky cleared off. Mitt, with a light pack on his back, a pair of government snow shoes and his 32-30 Winchester, climbed the mountain cutting for bear sign. After 3 days he was traveling to the southwest a couple miles from Bear Valley when he came upon the tracks of the killer bear which had been made during and after the previous storm. As Mitt trailed him it became apparent that old Bruin was looking for a place to bed down for the winter. Here and there at likely looking places, such as piled up windfalls he had dug back into the snow searching for a satisfactory spot and then he had moved on.

Anticipation was high for Mitt as he carefully followed along the tracks even though they appeared to be several days old. He knew the bear might find a place to suit his liking at any time and there the tracks would end. The direction of travel was mostly south through a heavy growth of timber not far from the bottom of a canyon thick with boulders and jumbled deadwood. No cattle or riders ever penetrated into this area. It was almost dark when Mitt found shelter under a big log that lay over other downed timber, 3 or 4 feet above the ground. Dry pine needles and bark provided an insulated place on which to lay his blankets. No fire tonight. He didn't want to alert that old bear if he was nearby. The sky up through the tall trees seemed to be overcast and he worried about the possibility of more snow. During the night the rush and roaring wind woke him. Sounded like a real blizzard up there. Even though there was scant air movement down at ground level the tall timbers bent and strained as winds of high velocity swept through the branches, creating the sounds of the sea as it labors in a heavy storm. Fine particles of snow sifted down from above in an ever thickening shower. the entry way to his bex under the log became closed off and now he knew that Bruin's trail was obliterated. He woke when his instincts told him that night had passed, but, though muffled, the sound of the blizzard was still out there. He slept more, waking occasionally. Finally he burrowed his way up through the soft sifting snow, beating on it with his gloved hand to compact it. As he neared the surface the sound of the raging storm came in so he crawled back to his blankets to wait. He knew he couldn't move on till the storm passed.

By feel he found his food and ate. Snow readily quenched his thirst so he slept, then woke, then slept some more as the hours went by. That killer was probably not far away, snug in his winter's bed. Mitt had been so close, but that bruin seemed to have a charmed life and nature was always there to protect him. He figured another night, day and third night had passed, so again he began to tunnel his way upward, tromping and beating as the soft snow caved from above and exposed the forest in twilight. The wind had died down to a soft moan. Strapping on his snowshoes and with the pack on his back and rifle in hand he climbed out on top. The snow looked to be about 6 feet deep and it must still be night time for stars twinkled down through the trees. He veered to the west and when he topped out on the next high ridge familiar landmarks verified his position. He then moved toward Water Canyon and the south end of Grass Valley. The stars were just fading by the time he walked up to the ranger station cabin in Pine Valley. It didn't take him long to get a fire started and warm food prepared. After awhile the neighbors came over to say they were sure glad to see him back. They'd been afraid either the bear or the blizzard had got him and it was a big relief to see that neither had happened and he was still alive. The winter storms laid down a lot of snow on the mountains and surrounding country. When it melted the feed was good but no cattle were moved into the meadows at the base of the mountain.

The last part of may, bear hunters from Wyoming came in to try and collect that $2,000.00 bounty. Mitt and two hunters on snow shoes climbed the mountain to the location where he had waited out the blizzard. They brought along 4 of their best trailing hounds in hopes they might sniff out his den, but the dogs could pick up no scent. This hunting outfit consisted of 4 men with saddle horses and pack mules, a dozen tracking hounds and 2 terrier dogs that followed the hounds till the query was sighted. Those terriers were so fast and quick and fearless they could make a bear stop to protect his hind end, thus giving the hunters time to catch up and get in a killing shot.

About the middle of June a horse was killed on one of the pastures near Pinto as old Bruin broke his winter fast on horse meat. The trail led to the southeast up past White Rock into the country north of Mill Creek where snow still covered much of the land, then crossed on south to Bear Valley and southeast to the high rim of the mountain above Syler Spring, here they lost the trail The camp tenders set up in Mill Flat by the saw mill and a short while after the men had gone to bed the 6 hounds that were being used at this time piled into the tent, trying to get in bed with the hunters. The 2 terriers were making an awful ruckus outside. The night bells on the horses were clanging loud and hard as they stampeded down the flat. The men scrambled out of the tent to blast off several shots into the night. By the sound of the barking terriers, Bruin was headed east away from camp, but he might circle back and try for some horse meat, so Mitt and all 4 hunters grabbed head gear to go fetch the horses back to camp. Those critters were now mighty boogery and it took a lot of soft-talking to even get up to them.

The next morning the bear hunters trailed northeast and off the mountain into Comanchee Canyon. Mitt rode down Mill Creek to Grass Valley then south into Pine Valley. This was the last time he camped with those Wyoming bear hunters. Bruin led them over a hard, difficult trail all through the rest of June and July. Sometimes they lost his trail for a week at a time. He killed very few animals that summer but in the course of events he did kill 4 hounds and one of the terriers. That Wyoming outfit finally gave up. They couldn't afford to operate any longer on nothing. In the early part of August they took their outfit up to Lund, along the railroad, and shipped out for Wyoming. They went back to country where the bears were not so mean an tough, the mountains so darn rough, and the brush didn't pull a man out of his saddle.

The month of August started out hot and dry but within a few days big thunderheads gathered over the mountain. The good rain came down to renew the earth, washing away the dust and heat. That good moisture came to bring up the grass for winter feed. Every man traveled with his gun close at hand but there was no sight or sign of the bear and no loss of livestock. Maybe he had left the country, after all, everyone had moved their cattle to far out ranges and the hunters and hound dogs had given him a hard summer.

One evening in late September, just before sundown, Mitt rode in toward Pine Valley town from the west end of the mountain. He crossed a small stream of water about a mile from his cabin. There, in the mud at the edge of the stream was a fresh track of the bear, still with muddy water near its edge. Thinly scattered yellow pine trees grew on the grassy landscape toward the mountain with a heavier stand about 200 yards distant. Mitt pulled his rifle out of the scabbard and loped up into and on through the thick bunch of trees. On the other side they thinned out again and there, about 100 yards distant, was the big bear moving rapidly through the trees toward the mountain.

Bringing his horse to a sliding stop he whirled him sideways, then shot from the saddle just as the bear disappeared. The solid thunk of the slug told him the bullet had either hit the bear or a tree. He cautiously rode to where old Bruin had gone out of sight and presently saw drops of blood lead in the direction of a big draw bordered by two high ridges that blended into the steep mountainside. Mitt knew a wounded bear was dangerous, especially this old bear, so he turned his horse and rode over to his cabin at Pine Valley town. As soon as he finished his chores around the place, he went to see if he could find help to hunt for the bear the next day. Most of the men were away from home, but he did find 3 fellows who agreed to go with him.

Early in the morning as soon as it was light enough to see good they followed the blood drops up to the mouth of the big draw. Here the bleeding stopped so they spread out and moved on toward the mountainside. Mitt took the far right side and climbed up through heavy mahogany growth on the side of the ridge. After a little while he found some bear tracks and a spot of blood now and then. In the effort of climbing up that steep slope Old Bruin left sufficient tracks so that Mitt could stay on his trail. At the highest point when the ridge blended into the mountainside, Mitt stopped to rest and wonder where the trail now led. Here the vegetation changed from mahogany to thickly growing snow-twisted aspens about 5 or 6 feet high which extended up the mountain slope about 100 years to the base of high ledges that stretched across its face for a considerable distance. Old Bruin would have to veer either east or west or angle down to a lower elevation. Mitt was in a quandary as to what he should do. He knew he would be in a precarious position if he came onto Old Bruin bedded down on this steep brushy mountainside. He also knew he must find and kill that bear.

As he looked upward at the ledge above, he saw the bear stand up at the base of the cliff where he had apparently been lying down. Mitt took careful aim and squeezed the trigger. A blood chilling squall echoed down the canyon as the bear reared upward to clasp his front paws across his head. Then he drooped back on all fours and headed down through the aspen trees toward Mitt. The 32-30 had 6 more cartridges in it and each time he shot, Old Bruin squalled but kept coming. He was only a few yards away when Mitt shot him in the head with the last bullet and then shoved another cartridge from his gun belt into the chamber and pulled back the hammer. At the last second the rifle blasted into the bear's open mouth, knocking him down.

He lay there at Mitt's feet with his back upgrade draped across some brush, a huge animal about the size of Mitt's saddle horse in weight and bulk. Now in the stillness a cold sweat broke out over Mitt's body and his heart began to pound hard. While the action was taking place he hadn't been aware of excitement or fear, only the urgency to knock that bear down. He reloaded his gun while keeping an eye on the bear. "Maybe I ought to cut his throat," so he leaned over the bears shoulders from the top side, giving his long hunting knife a thrust downward into the hide just back of the jaw. The bears left hind foot came forward to catch Mitt and throw him 20 feet over along the mountainside where he landed in some brush that cushioned his fall. What a surprise! He thought that devil was dead!

Old Bruin still lay in the same place, so Mitt climbed over to his gun and carefully shot him down through the ear. He heard the calls of the 3 other men and hollered back for them to come on up. All the bear squalling and gunfire had made them fearful that maybe Mitt was dead instead of the bear. Upon close inspection they found that 4 or 5 slugs had hit bear's skull, flattened out and slid over to lodge under the hide. The four of them were able to slide and roll him down the steeper part of the mountain. Then with a team of horses they drug him over to a wagon and hauled him to the Pine Valley ranger station where they dressed him out. Mitt estimated that he weighed 1,000 pounds or better. The women of the town rendered out more than 100 pounds of bear grease.

Mitt's boss in the forest service business came down and took some measurements and weights. This information, along with the skull and hide, were sent to the Smithsonian Institute in Washington, DC where it was mounted and proved to be one of the largest Silver Tip Grizzly Bears ever killed in the United States. Because Mitt was a public employee and had killed the bear while on duty, he could not accept the reward money offered by the stockmen. He was indeed a valuable public servant.

I heard Mitt tell the account of this bear hunt at a Boy Scout Jamboree, below Baker Dam on the Pine Valley Creek in the early 1960's when Mitt was about 85 years old.