MONTAGUE, Siskiyou Co., Sept. 11.--Joseph V. Hessig suggested today that the ghost of Clubfoot be laid. Clubfoot is the famed bear which no one has been able to find in London, England, or Paris, France, where he has been reported during the last year. He was killed in1890 near Hornbrook.
    Hessig is the county's mightiest bear hunter. He has been hunting them for 58 years with his own dogs, killed four last year and plans on a couple more this winter.
    Hessig's story follows:
    In the first place, the bear they are making the fuss over is not Clubfoot, but Reelfoot. Clubfoot ranged Butte Valley from the eastern edge of the Cascade Mountains into Modoc County. He had one foot taken off by a trap and was poisoned near the old Dorris Ranch in Butte Valley in the early 1890s.
    Charlie Lough was coming into the ranch one evening and heard a steer bawling up on a ridge. He went up and saw the immense bear had the steer by the nose and was beating it with his paws.
    The next morning Lough and others found the steer dead, with his shoulder and neck partly eaten. They filled the carcass with strychnine, and the next morning found Clubfoot dead. That was the end of the grizzly known as Clubfoot.
    Reelfoot, the grizzly mistakenly called Clubfoot, was a more intelligent animal. He ranged from Camp Creek, near Hornbrook, to the eastern edge of the Cascades but did not trespass on the real Clubfoot's territory.
    Russ Grieves of Hornbrook caught Reelfoot in a trap, probably in the 1870s. He left two of his toes in the trap, and George Grieves of Eureka, Humboldt County, has them yet. Reelfoot lost several teeth and damaged others trying to tear the trap off.
    Reelfoot was so bold he killed a milk cow on the old Varnum place once just a short distance from the corral. He seldom went back to a carcass the second time, which was why ranchers were unable to poison him.
    When William Wright and Purl Bean killed Reelfoot in 1890 they had him mounted and exhibited him in a wooden box with the sides let down. He changed hands several times.
    Finally Frank Pickard, Wright's father-in-law, owned him.
    Pickard, like previous private owners, became tired of the old bear because he brought in little money at 25 cents a look.
    The Academy of Science was then nearing completion in San Francisco. Newspapers devoted columns to its wonders, including a mastodon. Its staff scoured the country for big, stuffed animals. At this time Pickard sold Reelfoot for approximately $250.
    Hessig was attending school in San Francisco when the academy opened. He visited it and saw two grizzly bears, one of which he is positive was Reelfoot.
    The bear was in the same box with the sides let down he had seen before, but he had deteriorated badly.
    In 1906 the academy and all of its contents burned to the ground.
    Hessig feels sure that that was the end of the 2,000-pound, horse-killing grizzly correctly known as Reelfoot.
Sacramento Bee, September 11, 1950, page 18

    To the Editor: Commenting on the letter of Bert Kissinger on Old Reel Foot, killed by Purl Bean:
    I met Purl Bean in 1926 and became well acquainted with him; we opened up the old Bolen placer mine as partners. He also had a mine two miles east of Bolen Lake, and I made a trip with him to it in March, 1927. At this time an old friend of Bean's, Jess Barnett, was operating a shooter on a high channel at the mouth of Grizzly Gulch. When Purl asked if he was taking out anything he pointed to the end of the sluice box at a quart fruit jar full of nuggets as large as the end of one's thumb, with a large nugget lying on top that would not go in the jar.
    We continued our trip up Grizzly to the top, walking over the tops of tall trees on the frozen snow to his cabin on the divide, just east of Bolen Lake, where he showed me pictures of Old Reel Foot and several newspaper articles. Purl said that a reward of $1,400 had been offered for the bear, of which he received $400.
    Bean was asked to take the bear to Chicago for the World's Fair; however, it was sent to San Francisco, where I had the pleasure of seeing the last big grizzly in the Ferry Building.
    Yes, if one met Old Reel Foot in the woods he would look like two tons instead of the 1800 that Purl said he weighed.
Medford Mail Tribune, February 14, 1957, page 4

    To the Editor: I would like to add my knowledge to the history of Old "Reel Foot," the grizzly bear. I heard the story many times from my father, James B. Brown, and many other bear hunters. Old "Reel Foot" was caught in a bear trap, injured his foot, lost a couple of toes. His foot reeled sideways when he walked. Seven hunters surrounded him. He was shot at 36 times with 40x82 and 45x90 caliber Winchester rifles. They were closing in on him. He was headed toward a young man and his partner, 18 years of age. The bear turn his head to look at the other men, and was shot directly in the ear with a 45.90 slug. In 1893 my aunt, Josie Hurd, told me "Reel Foot" was at Corvallis, Ore. The bear weighed 1,800 pounds, was 48 inches high; his forehead was 18 inches across.
Medford Mail Tribune, February 15, 1957, page 4


    I wouldn't believe this unless I'd talked to the people personally. But Siskiyou County--a piece of Northern California real estate as wild as you could wish--is still looking for a stuffed bear name of Clubfoot.
    If you are planning a trip to Europe, they would be mighty obliged if you could keep an eye out for him.
    Supposed to be in a museum, either in France or England.
    In a long and dashing life, Clubfoot was known as "the scourge of the Siskiyou."
    He was old enough that they said he stampeded Fremont's horses when the Pathfinder passed through en route to Southern Oregon.
    He was trapped on the Klamath by the Grieve brothers. Pulled his mangled paw free and thereafter was known as Clubfoot.
    His favorite dish was steak. And since he took it rare, right off ranch cattle, local ranchers were anxious to get him off the grocery list.
    In 1889, William A. Wright and a companion named Pearl Bean ran onto Clubfoot's tracks in the snow near Camp Creek, a few miles from Hornbrook, California.
    They opened up with 50-70 Sharps rifles. And Clubfoot passed to his reward in snarling defiance.
    He had been shot at so often that they shook a quart measure of old bullets of his remains.
    Clubfoot was skinned and stuffed in Ashland, Oregon. (His pelt measured eight feet from nose to tail.)
    He was exhibited up and down the coast. And in 1892, a Doctor Jordan bought him for $500 and exhibited him at the Chicago World's Fair--"10 cents to see the man-eating grizzly!"
    And there Clubfoot vanishes.
    Well, there is nothing like a bear hunt. The other day I called up Mr. Gordon Jacobs, a power of the Siskiyou County Historical Society.
    He said: "Right after the war, two fellows who were in the Army came home and said they saw Clubfoot--or anyway a stuffed bear supposed to be a California Grizzly.
    “They couldn't remember just where. One of them thought it was in a museum in Paris. And then Thomas McHenry, who lived near Hornbrook, he was sure he'd seen it in a London museum.
    "Said he remembered a card saying that the bear had weighed 1850 pounds and was killed near Hornbrook. That being his home, he would notice a card like that.
    "We got hold of Congressman Clair Engle--he wasn't Senator then. And he got us in touch with the embassies in France and England. We put some ads in some foreign papers that go to museums.
    "But we never got a line on Clubfoot.''
    Naturally, it would be a fine thing if someone would discover Clubfoot and send him back to the snowy Siskiyous.
    The California grizzly was wiped out by advancing civilization. He remains only on the California state flag.
    The only existing stuffed grizzly is Monarch, who was caught in a log trap near Los Angeles in 1889 and brought to San Francisco for publicity stunts. He was shown in Golden Gate Park. Old age caught up with him in 1911 and he is now displayed stuffed.
    The Siskiyou County people don't think Dr. Jordan would have tossed Clubfoot into a closet and forgot about him after the Chicago Fair.
    "That was a valuable bear," said Mr. Jacobs. "He paid $500 for him. And that was real money in those days."
    So if you are bound for Europe and you see a bear--.
"Stan Delaplane's Postcard," Humboldt Times, Eureka, California, October 26, 1963, page 6


    A giant grizzly bear suddenly burst from nearby bushes into the unsuspecting herd of cattle, killing a calf standing beside its mother. Instinct brought the cow to the defense of her calf, but one mighty sweep of the bear's huge paw downed her. In an instant, the bull in the herd had lowered his head and rushed at the common enemy, but though he knocked the bear down, the grizzly, cat-like, was quickly on his feet. With fantastic speed the bull was killed, too, his backbone crushed from a vicious bite from the grizzly's powerful jaws. After making a leisurely meal of the calf, he wallowed for a few minutes in a nearby mudhole, then lumbered off into the mountains.
    It was the spring of 1882 and, from his vantage point in a tree some fifty yards away, J. D. Williams of Ashland, Oregon, watched with awe-filled eyes as the "Scourge of the Siskiyous" struck again. Williams was herding sheep near Bald Mountain, close to the Oregon-California border, when he saw Old Reelfoot approaching the herd of cattle in a nearby glen. Being a wise and prudent man, he quickly climbed the nearest tree, and became a horrified eyewitness to another of the famous old bear's bloody triumphs.
    Reelfoot (or Clubfoot as he was called by some people) was a giant whose amazing feats of strength, whose cunning and incredible slaughtering of livestock, made him a fearful legend in his time. For more than twenty years the wily killer roamed the mountains on the Oregon-California border. From as far east as Silver Lake and as far west as the Pilot Rock area near Ashland, reports came in about the cattle killed by the canny old veteran. Sometimes he would disappear for months, leaving the stockmen breathing sighs of relief, and with the hope that, at long last, he had died or left the area for good--for wherever he appeared, there was a bloody trail of dead livestock behind him. In his many years of eluding man, he had somehow learned it was unsafe to return to a kill, and consequently selected a new victim for every meal.
    By 1890, reward offers from local cattlemen totaled some $2,700 for his death. Major Barron, a cattleman near Ashland, who had suffered frequent and heavy losses, personally offered a $500 bounty. Considering the value of the dollar in 1890--the average cowboy or ranch hand earned only $30 or $40 per month in wages--this represented a rather enticing sum of money.
    Over the years, the reward had attracted hundreds of hunters, each eager to kill the mighty old monarch of the mountains. Experienced hunters and trappers from all over the West tried to shoot him, trap him or poison him, without success. They brought in packs of bear hounds for trailing, but each time he would either kill the dogs or elude them in the rugged mountainous area.
    One noted hunter and guide, George Cook, spent a great deal of time searching for Old Reelfoot, and eventually got one shot at him. When the tough old animal was killed, years later, the .38-55 slug was found flattened against the shoulder bone.
    Reelfoot was extremely leery of traps, probably from numerous encounters with them. In the 1870s, Bruce Grieve, a rancher and trapper, succeeded in capturing a huge female grizzly (Reelfoot's mate) in the vicinity of Skookum Gulch. He later--temporarily--caught a huge male grizzly by three toes on the bear's left front foot. These were severed in his escape from the trap, giving him a peculiar walk, hence the name of Reelfoot or Clubfoot. So, even though he had obviously been ravaging the area for many years and was already known by the vicious manner in which he killed full-grown cows and steers, it was only after losing the three toes, which gave his left front footprint an appearance of turning in, that he acquired a name and a tally was kept of his kills.
    On April 4, 1890, Billy Wright, a little but tough old pioneer rancher and frontiersman, was returning from Hornbrook, California, when he met Pedro Smith, a homesteader, who told him of Old Reelfoot's killing a cow along nearby Dry Creek. Off and on, over the
years, Wright had made numerous attempts to get the bear. He had tried hunting, trapping and poison, but all efforts had failed. He had even rigged up a baited gun trap, by using his old .50-70 Sharps carbine, which the bear had harmlessly set off by merely reaching around the tree, holding the gun, and tugging at the bait. The intelligence and cunning of the bear had overcome each of the rancher's efforts.
    On the way home, Wright stopped at the Bean ranch and invited seventeen-year-old Purl Bean to accompany him the following day in a hunt for the cattle-killing bear. Purl Bean had been raised in the mountains and, although young, was an experienced outdoorsman and a good hunting companion.
    That night they prepared their packs, loaded up on ammunition, and planned to meet the next morning at the Bean ranch for an extended trip through the mountains. The following morning Wright found three other hunters at the ranch, also anxious to participate in the hunt.
    On the morning of April 5, the five hunters carefully planned their strategy, determined to end, once and for all, the long. bloody career of Old Reelfoot. Two hunting parties were formed, three men going in one direction, while Wright and Bean went in another, with the understanding that if they picked up the trail they would contact the others.
    This part of Southern Oregon and Northern California is extremely rugged, with rocky canyons and steep hills. Much of the area was covered with heavy timber and brush, which offered easy concealment for an animal; it was a mighty difficult country for man or beast to travel. Considerable snow still lay on the north slopes.
    Within a short time, Wright and Bean discovered fresh tracks. Reporting their find to the three other hunters, the five men converged in their pursuit of Reelfoot. The tracks were followed for several miles before they caught a glimpse of the bear in the distance. One of the hunters had brought along his dogs and, despite the arguments of the others, turned them loose. The dogs immediately began the chase but, to the despair of the hunters, were soon lost from sight.
    For the next four days, the hunters and dogs kept after the bear but were unable to catch up with him again. Time after time he would outwit and elude the dogs. Finally, completely exhausted and discouraged, the three hunters persuaded Wright and Bean to give up and return home.
    Wright and Bean hadn't given up, however, and knowing approximately where the old grizzly was, restocked their supplies at the ranch and at dawn on April 10, with two dogs, began the hunt for the second time. Within a few hours they picked up the bear's trail. They climbed a little ridge some three miles south of Pilot Rock, near Wildcat Gulch in Siskiyou County, California, close to the Oregon border. On reaching the top, the object of their search unexpectedly came into view. Approximately 125 yards across a little gulch was Old Reelfoot.
    Aroused by the sounds of the approaching hunters, the bear lumbered up from his bed on a flattened woodrat's nest and headed in the opposite direction over the next little ridge. The men quickly raised their rifles and fired. Both bullets hit the bear and, although the wounds were not fatal, they would have made it quite painful for him to sit down for some time. The angry bear immediately turned around and charged.
    In the meantime, the two dogs had been released and were growling and snapping at the furious old giant as he rushed down the little hill toward the hunters. Shot after shot was fired as he roared toward them. It was kill or be killed and Wright's .56-46 repeating Spencer rifle and Bean's .44-40 Winchester '73 were being put to full use. Yet on he came, apparently oblivious to his wounds, down to the bottom of the little gulch, only a few yards from where the men stood. Wright and Bean were getting desperate, but, fortunately, at this point the dogs caught up with Old Reelfoot again and he stopped for a moment to make a few angry swipes at them. This opportune pause gave the men time to hurriedly cram more cartridges into their guns.
    The wounded bear, having backed off the dogs a bit, turned, and roaring with rage, tore his way through the bushes and up the side of the gulch to where the men stood. Billy Wright told young Purl that when his gun was empty again to run and he'd stay and fight it out. But the game young Bean had other ideas and said, "No, I came with you and I'll stay with you." "All right," Billy shouted, "you shoot for his heart and I'll shoot for his head."
    On came the grizzly, with the men pumping shot after shot at him. Suddenly, within fifteen yards of his tormentors, the giant old bear stopped and crumpled to the ground, dead at last. The days of his cattle killing were over.
    The two men returned to the Bean ranch, jubilant in their success where all others had failed for more than twenty years. Getting horses and a sled, they hauled the dead bear out of the mountains and down to the ranch. There it was skinned and cut up into pieces small enough for weighing on a steelyard scale, as there was none other in the area big enough. Old Reelfoot weighed over 1,800 pounds.
    The bear was mounted by J. Lomas, an amateur taxidermist, but it was not a very good job. The hide began to spoil and though another taxidermist tried to undo the damage, a good job of mounting was impossible.
    Old Reelfoot was placed on a wagon drawn by two mules, and hauled to nearby towns and villages in Oregon and California, where he was put on display at ten cents a person. Then in 1892 the famous old cattle-killer was sold for the princely sum of $500 to a Mr. Abbott, who showed the mounted giant throughout the United States and, it is rumored, even in Europe.
    Billy Wright returned to his ranch and cattle and Purl Bean to the Bean ranch, both to bask for the rest of their lives in their moment of glory. As to the $2,700 reward, only a portion of it was ever collected, reportedly around $1,700, which was still a lot of money in that day and time.
    No one knows what finally happened to Old Reelfoot. Returning servicemen from World War II reported they thought the bear was in a London museum. It is also rumored that he was sent to Seattle for the Alaska-Yukon-Pacific Exposition in 1909 and never returned. Probably the most logical explanation is that he was on display in San Francisco and was destroyed in the great earthquake and fire of 1906.
    All that is now left of the "Scourge of the Siskiyous" are two giant 4½-inch claws in the Siskiyou County Museum in Yreka, California, a few pictures, and a series of exciting stories about the giant grizzly bear who ruled his domain for more than two decades, making man wait until he was old, with worn-down teeth and slowed with age before he could be conquered. Even then, it took ten bullets, including three in the head, to stop the tough old cattle-killer.
Frontier Times, August-September 1966, page 32

    He was huge and he was gutsy. He traveled the trails and wagon roads at night, breaking into corrals and carrying off a calf or a pig. He learned to let down the bars at the gates, and if the rail fences were too high he would tear down a rail or two and crawl over. They called him Old Clubfoot.
    Old Clubfoot was also known in these parts as Old Slewfoot and Old Reelfoot, possibly to distinguish him from the other bears known as Clubfoot. It was apparently a common practice to call a maimed grizzly "Old Clubfoot," and this may be the reason why the same bear has at times appeared to have covered an enormous territory, although it is the natural habit of the grizzly to range over a large area. And too, it was not uncommon for a grizzly to be caught in a trap, although it was an uncommon trap that could hold a grizzly after catching him. The trap naturally resulted in a deformed foot for the bear, and his track was easily recognized thereafter. And that is why, wherever grizzly bears roamed, it was quite a common occurrence to call any bear "Clubfoot" who had lost toes in a trap. There was a bear known as Clubfoot in the Tehachapi Range and there was a female with a foot deformity who was captured alive and exhibited for a number of years at Golden Gate Park. And there was a Southern California grizzly, killed around 1890, who was also called Clubfoot. Siskiyou County's own silvertip grizzly, known as "Old Clubfoot," was a very hip bear who eluded capture for forty years, so cunning and trap-wise was he. This enormous bear terrorized the cattle country of Northern California and Southern Oregon. Though he roamed and pillaged the entire area for four decades, he was caught only once in a trap. He had a reputation which spread throughout California because he was a notorious killer and had successfully eluded all efforts to exterminate him. Though he was also called "Slewfoot" and "Reelfoot" (and certainly a few other unprintable names) he will be referred to herewith as Clubfoot in order to avoid confusion.
    This famous old outlaw created quite a little disturbance over a long period of time during the last century and was finally killed near Pilot Rock over by Hornbrook in 1890.
    Almost flagrantly he took what he wanted when he wanted it and continued to do so through the years until the day he died. Bullets meant nothing to Clubfoot. They took about a quart jar full out of his smelly old carcass after his demise.
    It is said that anyone who has ever skinned an old grizzly bear will realize how little bullets affected them--they could not penetrate the accumulated dirt, grease, mud and grime in his fur. One oldtimer said that he had taken bullets out of a grizzly's fur that had only battered against the animal's hide, and had been held in place through the years by about three-quarters of an inch of grease and mud. It should be pointed out, however, that the pioneers of that era had no high-powered guns. Some used old muzzle-loaders or .44 Winchesters and black powder. The gun that finally killed Clubfoot was a 56-46 Spencer with a barrel made by G. A. Nordheim, who lived in Yreka. The gun had a hair trigger, needing to be cocked every time. It had a muzzle-loading barrel with magazine in stock. It fired seven shots and weighed thirteen pounds.
    But let's go back to the days when Old Clubfoot was not a clubfoot--those days when he was a young silvertip grizzly not aware of the white man's traps. In those days he roamed free and wild and was known to have a mate (who was killed two years after he was). He measured nine feet in length and it is said he reached up 12 feet when standing on his hind feet. His head, from the tip of his nose to the top of his head, measured 22 inches. He measured 14 inches between the ears. He weighed almost 2,000 pounds. So anyone can see that this was no ordinary grizzly.
    It should be stated here that the grizzly was not so named on account of its ferocious disposition, but rather because of its gray coat. The silvertipped coat, humped shoulders, and the long, nearly straight claws on its forefoot are peculiarities of its particular race.
    Actually, the grizzly is basically a friendly creature in captivity. It will, in a playful gesture, probably break a man's arm or crush his back with a slap. But it does not mean any harm--it just does not realize the frailty of the human body.
    The grizzly was, by reason of its giant strength and courage, the king of beasts in western North America. It openly took what it wanted and none dared question its right. Both the Indian and the white settlers stepped aside when it loped along the trails. Despite its great size and lumbering gait, the grizzly was swift in action and could travel at the rate of a good horse. But that was before the use of repeating rifles. With the introduction of modern firearms the grizzly recognized defeat and has taught its cubs to shun the highways of civilization and seek safety in flight when the hated scent of man flows down the breeze.
    Bears had ways of inadvertently letting the settlers know they were around. Of course they leave enormous tracks, but they also, when they come out in the spring, stand up on their hind feet and bite the cedar trees.
    One day a man by the name of Bruce Grieve noticed the tracks and stripped cedars. He set a trap which he had fastened to a drag, or toggle (which was a black oak log about eight inches in diameter and 10 or 12 feet long) with the trap chain fastened in the middle so that it would catch on the brush and trees as the bear passed through.
    That is exactly what happened. The young grizzly who was to be known as Clubfoot was passing by on a trail that had a large clump of brush on each side and which had grown together over the top. When the toggle caught on the brush he tried to climb back up over the top of the brush. The trap became so tight that he was forced to twist and pull in an effort to free himself, thereby severing part of his foot, several toes and three of his claws. (The bear trap weighed 42 pounds, and was about four feet long.)
    His deformed stump of a foot was to forever give away his presence, and his rage against man was never to subside. He would never forget.
    Normally, little credit was given to a bear for instinct. The grizzly bear, particularly, was considered to be stupid, and bear-baiting was a favorite sport of the vaqueros of early-day California. The grizzly, due to his size, was often clumsy and was easily roped from horseback by two vaqueros--then stretched out with a rope on a forepaw and rope on a hind leg. It seems incredible that such inhumaneness existed, but after they had the bear secured, a wild bull of the range was then captured and the two were tied together to fight it out, with the spectators enormously relishing the roars, the blood and the rage of the unfortunate animals.
    But they were mistaken in their belief that the grizzly was stupid. Indeed, there are those who say that the grizzly was smarter than the coyote even, who is noted for his avoidance of man-set traps.
    After once being caught, Clubfoot was never caught in a trap again. But he didn't stay away from traps. Instead, he learned to rob the trap and get away. In setting bear traps, it was the custom to hang a piece of meat six or eight feet up on a large tree, or suspend it from a limb, leaving the trap set beneath. After his first dreadful experience, Clubfoot learned to climb the tree from the opposite side, reach out and secure the meat, have his feast, then amble away unharmed.
    As the years went by, innumerable traps had been set to no avail and the rewards offered by the cattlemen for his destruction were growing each year. But through four decades he continued to make depredations on the stock until that April day in 1890 when two hunters by the name of Billy Wright and Purl Bean noticed Old Clubfoot lying in the sun by Pilot Rock.
    It seems entirely fitting that the likes of Billy Wright and Old Clubfoot would meet up some day. Billy was born in 1849 and crossed the plains in a covered wagon. He settled in Siskiyou County on Camp Creek in 1879, where he raised cattle.
    Billy Wright saw many grizzly bears in those days. It is recorded that he saw seven grizzlies in one group on Cold Spring Flat. Another time he had a narrow escape when the horse he was riding was attacked by a huge grizzly. The monstrous animal pulled a lot of hair from the horse's tail, and Bill's saddle was about to come off. Billy grabbed his 50-70 Sharps carbine from his saddle horn, turned around, stuck the muzzle of the gun in the bear's mouth and pulled the trigger just as the bear had reared up on the horse's rump. Billy, the bear and the saddle were all piled up in a heap on the ground afterwards, but Billy was alive and the bear was dead.
    Then there was the time that he and two friends were riding on good, fast saddle horses. They slowed down when they came upon a grizzly mother with two very small cubs. One of Billy's friends wanted to capture one of the cubs and take it home, so they decided to chase the mother away, or frighten her so she would leave. The mother grizzly charged, grabbing a mouthful of hair out of the horse's tail while they were trying to get away. Luckily, they made a hairpin turn on the hill--which again, because of the grizzly's size and awkwardness, she couldn't make. But she convinced them that they didn't want one of her cubs for a pet.
    On another day Billy Wright was walking along a frail-looking for his saddle horses. It was a frosty cold morning and the trail led through heavy brush. He had been looking to the side, scanning the area for the missing horses when he looked directly in front of him and froze in his tracks--but not because of the temperature. He was face to face with a grizzly, so close that the steam from its mouth permeated his face. The bear reared up on his hind feet, clacked his jaws together a few times, got down on his four legs, turned around and walked away, leaving behind a vastly relieved Billy, because he had not brought along his gun that morning.
    So you could say that William A. Wright had had a few experiences with grizzly bears. And it was certain that he wanted to claim the honor of killing the notorious Old Clubfoot.
    Clubfoot still reigned supreme among the wildlife of Siskiyou County. Gifted with enormous strength, wonderful agility and almost human instinct, he had so far eluded all attempts to capture him. Just once, almost forty years earlier, he had gotten caught in a trap. Besides the lesson he had learned about traps that day, he had also learned another very important lesson. He would never again return to his kill for a second meal. (The night before he was caught in the trap, he had killed a two-year-old heifer belonging to Grieve. The trap in which he was caught had been set at the scene of the kill and Clubfoot had returned for a second feast. After the excruciating pain caused by the trap, he would never again return to his kill for another meal, no matter how hungry he was.)
    Down through the years many stories were told of his cunning and prowess. There were deadly conflicts between Old Clubfoot and his would-be slayers, human or otherwise.
    One of his mightiest battles involved a bull. In the spring of 1882 a sheepherder by the name of J. D. Williams viewed this great battle from the top of a tree about 50 yards away (he had left his gun in camp). Below him, in the glade, cattle were placidly feeding, led by a big bull. Old Clubfoot, deciding he needed some nourishment for his 2,000-pound frame, was hulking stealthily toward them. He suddenly made a charge for a calf standing by its mother's side. Naturally she attempted to defend her young, but with one powerful stroke of Clubfoot's paw, she was brushed bleeding aside. Then the bull charged the grizzly and so enraged was he at this interloper that Clubfoot was knocked into the brush. Undaunted, Clubfoot charged again and again, at last seizing the bull by the nose and then, with a powerful twist, broke his neck. Triumphant, he inspected his kill, ambled over to the nearby spring for a drink and a leisurely swim--and returned to the calf he sought in the beginning, ate his fill and shuffled off.
    The terrified sheepherder remained in the tree until nightfall in case Clubfoot had caught his scent and might come back. But how was he to know that Clubfoot never returned to the scene of the kill.
    Following this terrible slaughter, the stockmen of Hornbrook and other areas offered more rewards for the capture of Old Clubfoot, dead or alive.
    Clubfoot must have realized the heat was on because he left the Hornbrook area and turned up in Scott Valley. A farmer named Jo Doll drove into town from French Creek with his team and wagon spreading the word that a giant bear had killed one of his cows near his farm. He asked for men to go back and hunt the grizzly and five men volunteered, each armed with a rifle, one of which was a Spencer carbine breech loader owned by William Kimball.
    They went to a designated oak tree nearby the farm. Four were up the tree when one of them said, "There he is, get those guns up here!" The man on the ground handed up the Spencer carbine (loaded) muzzle first. In the rush the hammer caught under a limb, exploded the gun, and the bullet passed through the thigh of Jim Cuddy--which ended the hunt and Clubfoot disappeared out of sight.
    When all else failed, an attempt was made to kill the grizzly monarch by means of a set gun. His tracks were found on a dim trail which led through tall firs and underbrush, and an old trapper decided he would outwit this ruthless killer by means of a set gun. Choosing a point where the trail passed between two large trees, he placed a loaded gun pointing across the trail, attached a strong string to the trigger, then placed a tempting morsel of meat as bait at the other end of the string. Smugly he took his position in a nearby tree where he would spend the night and wait for Clubfoot.
    Along about daylight he saw a massive form moving in the shadows of the trail. Clubfoot was approaching. Now he scents the tempting bait. Instantly suspicious, he stops, rears aloft and keenly scents the air. His keen nostrils catch a human scent and his cunning comes once more into play. Cautiously moving toward the bait, he approaches the tree nearest, reaches around the tree with his paw, clutches the bait and drags it toward him. Then the trigger falls. There is a loud report, and the rifle's slugs are buried in the tree trunk. With a mighty roar, Old Clubfoot rushed off toward his den and the amazed trapper is left behind high in the tree shaking his head unbelievingly.
    At another time a number of sheep near Pilot Rock were killed, and worse yet, they were not killed for food, as their carcasses were still intact. It was obvious that the old grizzly had acquired a lust of killing. So a party of hunters was formed, with the best hounds in the country, in an effort to once and for all rid the locality of this killer bear.
    The trail started near Pilot Rock, led across the upper end of the Rogue River Valley, through what is known as the Dead Indian country, then went on along the shores of Lake of the Woods. They had only his unmistakable clubbed-foot impression to guide them, for they did not once see him. After continuing the hunt to the shores of Crater Lake, they gave up and started homeward.
    What they didn't know was that Clubfoot was now following them, and that night, while they camped, in what seemed to be utter contempt, he killed a young steer within a mile of their camp. He then vanished into the forest, much to the chagrin of the hunting party (when they saw the kill next morning).
    Old Clubfoot's days were numbered but he didn't know it. He was getting a little too sure of himself a little too careless in his old age. Many more incidents could be told in the life of Clubfoot--chance encounters by stockmen and sheepmen, most of whom were tremendously awed by the gigantic size, the fearlessness and cunning of this greatest of all grizzly. Ironically, his end came near his very favorite haunt in the vicinity of Pilot Rock.
    There are several versions of Old Clubfoot's last day on earth. Both the men who were responsible for his death are dead now. But it is well-known that Billy Wright and Purl Bean killed Old Clubfoot. Billy was a grown man but Purl was not yet seventeen years old.
    But they didn't get Clubfoot the first time out, as evidenced from an article published in the Yreka Journal and dated April 2nd, 1890:
    "William Wright and a son of Mr. Bean had an exciting chase after a huge grizzly up among the great snow banks of the Siskiyous recently. They were looking for stock and found the track of the bear, and concluding that it was old "Clubfoot" himself, thought the present a good season of the year in which to capture his hide and scalp and rid the range of his depredations. They came upon the bear somewhere in the region of Bald Mountain and gave him a good dose of lead to begin with, but didn't seem to damage him much and he started off on a long trip across the country, with the men after him.
    "They had snowshoes and the bear hadn't and as he was compelled to plow his way along with the snow up to his throat much of the time, they had the advantage of him and were sure they would wind up his career. But old Clubfoot had fate on his side, and the snowshoes of the hunters soon went back on them and the bear made his escape, taking with him, however, eight rifle balls deposited in his thievish hulk. He was in good flesh and as strong as a grizzly can get, or he would never have escaped. The reason of his good condition was found in the discovery that his headquarters were in the midst of the carcasses of some forty horses that had been caught in the deep snow and perished during the winter…."
    Then a short 14 days later, in the same Yreka Journal, dated April 16th, 1890, was printed the following:
    "Billy Wright and a boy named Bean killed the celebrated grizzly 'Clubfoot' one day last week, about seven miles from here. Wright and Bean found his track at 9 a.m. and followed it until noon when they located him in a thicket of scrub oak near Diehl Springs.
    "Rocks were rolled down the hill and the bear came out. Both fired at the same time and the grizzly fell, but immediately got up again and started for the boys. He got within 30 or 40 feet of them and dropped dead. Ten shots were fired and all were found in his body, two having passed through his heart. The boys skinned him carefully, and intend having him stuffed for exhibition. He has been systematically hunted for many years, and cattlemen consider this a stroke of good luck, that he has been killed at last…."
    But the newspaper didn't really tell it the way it was. Gordon Jacobs, former Siskiyou County supervisor, tells the story as he heard it:
    "Pedro Smith said he had been to town. It was in the spring, and coming back from town he saw where a cow had been killed on Dry Creek. He saw bear tracks. He went home, got on his saddle horse and went to tell Billy Wright that it was Clubfoot. Billy and Purl tracked him that afternoon and the next morning caught him in the thicket in the snow and killed him. Pedro Smith claimed the glory of putting them onto the track.
    They saw the bear and after they shot it, it charged them. The bear was above them on the hill quite aways from the creek and they were close to the creek on the opposite side. Clubfoot was going away from them when they shot the first time. Billy shot him and he charged. They poured lead into him and he kept charging. The bear finally dropped right at their feet. They hit the bear ten times, but only one bullet, the first one shot by Billy when the bear was going the opposite way, took effect. This is the shot that killed him. They say that Purl Bean got scared and wanted to climb a tree. This occurred in Wild Cat or Slide Creek…."
    Mrs. Purl Bean, who no doubt heard the story many times while her husband was alive, tells the story in her own words:
    "The bear was killed on April 10th, 1890. Purl Bean and Bill Wright with a third party who had dogs were hunting in the vicinity of Pilot Rock. The dogs were running a wildcat when Old Clubfoot was seen lying in the sun at the head of Camp Creek. An attempt was made to get the dogs started after the bear, but the bear got away. This was in the morning.
    "They all went to their respective homes for lunch. Purl Bean left Billy Wright at his place, telling Bill that he was going to go home, take a bath, eat lunch and go out again after the bear. Bill Wright tried to dissuade him, but Purl insisted that he would go out again. Bill Wright then told Purl that if he finally decided to go out, to stop at his place on the way and he would go with him.
    "Purl did come along in the middle of the afternoon and woke Billy up. They went back up toward Pilot Rock and found fresh tracks. They had stopped to rest and were sitting down when a dark spot on the snow over across the creek suddenly stood up and sniffed. It was Old Clubfoot. The bear started down the hill toward them through the snow, breaking his way through the mountain scrub oak. Bill Wright handed the gun to Purl to do the shooting. 'Fire at his nose or the spot under his neck,' he instructed Purl.
    "Purl continued to fire at the bear, but seemed unsuccessful in getting in a dead shot, which was not surprising considering the caliber of the gun used and the size of the animal. The bear crossed the creek and continued coming toward them. Bill Wright warned Purl to stand still until the bear came within 30 feet of the two hunters and fell dead. Bill warned Purl not to go near the bear, who was lying in the deep snow, until they were sure he was dead."
    Mrs. Bean added that although there had been a large standing reward for this notorious animal, now that the brute was dead, the cattlemen began to hedge. Only one cattleman came through. He had pledged $300 for the killing of Old Clubfoot and he paid. The others all backed down.
    Finally, a man by the name of A. E. Doney wrote to present still another version of the killing of Clubfoot. He claims to have talked with Billy Wright shortly before his death, and the following is Billy's story:
    "I found the tracks of a large bear, and the carcass of one of my large steers on a little flat eight miles up Camp Creek. That steer was killed before it could get on his feet to run. I got Purl Bean to go with me, both armed with rifles and riding good horses. We followed a trail up the creek. We saw the bear on the opposite side of the creek. Turning back a short distance, we tied the horses, then walked ahead to a place where we were in shooting distance. We began firing. The bear came toward us, but we continued shooting until he fell not far from where we stood.
    "We put eight bullets into his breast, all ranged back, each vital, but Clubfoot did not slow up but kept coming."
    Clubfoot was dead. The battle to keep living and the constant foraging for food to maintain his mighty body was over. His forty-year reign was suddenly ended, but his legend will live forever in the vast territory he roamed, high in the mountains of Northern California.
    But wait. It wasn't all over for Clubfoot.
    There was great excitement and interest when the old monarch of the forests was finally killed. So much so that Clubfoot's great form was mounted. From the Yreka Journal, dated May 28, 1890, came the following article:
    "Your correspondent visited on Tuesday last the residence of Mr. Wright, one of the slayers of 'Old Clubfoot' and witnessed Mr. J. Lomas' arrangements for stuffing and mounting the monster. This was undoubtedly the King of the Grizzlies for this part of the world. Mr. Lomas thinks he could not have weighed less than 2,000 pounds when killed. Some of the fineness of a front view of his countenance is lost, from the fact that his tusks or canine teeth are worn off to not more than one-half inch in length. But what he lacks in teeth he makes up in claws, which are simply immense. On one foot only two claws are left. He will measure nine feet in length and probably could reach up to 12 feet when standing on his hind feet…."
    Old Clubfoot went on the road with Billy Wright and Purl Bean, and drew outstanding crowds wherever he appeared. In 1893 he was exhibited at the Columbian Exposition in Chicago. The exhibit consisted of a mound of rocks, with patches of real moss, genuine ferns and native shrubbery over a large cave. Standing at the cave entrance was Old Clubfoot. The huge grizzly was still being looked upon with awe and the exhibit was an outstanding success.
    After that Purl sold out his interest to Bill Wright for $300. Billy and Clubfoot made the small-town circuit in a tent and appeared in many places in the West.
    There are conflicting stories about what happened to him after that, and there is a question as to his final disappearance. Some say that Clubfoot was purchased by the Native Sons of the Golden West to be displayed in the lobby of their headquarters in San Francisco--and that he was destroyed at the time of the San Francisco earthquake and fire.
    However, there were also rumors that Old Clubfoot had been seen in San Francisco after the earthquake. He was in a museum known as "Jordan's Museum of Anatomy" which was operating as late as 1914.
    Then a Siskiyou County resident was sent a newspaper clipping saying a doctor took Clubfoot to Europe and had made a great deal of money exhibiting him in various countries.
    It has been 83 years since Old Clubfoot met his death near his den at Pilot Rock, and it is possible that they are still spinning tales about him over in Hornbrook. It is also possible that the King of the Grizzlies is still on display in some public or commercial museum somewhere in the world. Somewhere, indeed, Old Clubfoot might still be attracting the attention that he did in his forty years of prowling his kingdom in Northern California--attention that only a silvertip grizzly weighing a ton could command.
    (The files of the late George R. Schrader were used in the research of this famous bear story, and I would like to thank Mrs. George Schrader of Costa Mesa and the United States Forest Service for allowing access to the files.)
Pacific Wilderness Journal, February-March 1974, pages 12-16