A bear's track in the first autumn snow! This was a sure sign, Old Jim said, of a mild winter. Yet Old Jim had just been telling me that all the signs said the coming winter was to be a cold, snowy one; the geese had raced south early, squirrels had been gathering cones late into the night, beaver fur was the heaviest ever seen, several kinds of birds would soon be wearing feathers enough for a pillow—all these were preparations for a long and cold winter.  On February second the ground-hog was sure to look forth on snowy distances, see his shadow, and then retreat to the bottom of his den, for winter was scheduled to last still six weeks longer. Off I went to try to discover if other bears were making the mistake of contradicting famous weather signs. Either this bear did not know what he was about, or else the hard winter signs were not correct.
 Bears hibernate every winter. But if they are still about and making tracks in the first snow this is a certain sign that winter will be slow in arriving and that, of course, they will be in no hurry about turning in. For two days I searched the mountains for bear tracks. The snow was dotted and splashed with tracks—deer, sheep, mice and birds. A snowshoe rabbit made a track large enough for a lion; while a cottontail and a magpie left record of their misfortune, each had lost a foot. Late afternoon of the second day I found a fresh bear track and on the way home another—the track of a grizzly. Now a grizzly is one of the wisest fellows in the woods, and the fact that he had not heard that there was to be a long, cold winter was almost enough to cause me to doubt the signs said to have been made by many other wild people.
 Old Jim had complete confidence in the weather wisdom of the ground-hog, as did everyone else whom I had ever heard mention him, so I quietly resolved to keep track of his doings and to pick up ground-hog infor-mation even though I neglected a number of good books which people had been kind enough to loan me. The ground-hog weather lore says that on February second this animal wakes from his hibernating sleep and comes out of the den. If he sees his shadow on the snow there will be six weeks more of winter; if he does not see his shadow winter is practically over.
 Every near-by ground-hog den was located. Only one track was found. Ground-hogs commonly are hog fat by late August and den up by mid-September. With the first coloured leaf that autumn flutters they make haste to dig a new, clean den in which to sleep until the first flower of spring.
 In looking up Ground-hog Day I learned that it was also Candlemas Day and read,

 Observe which way the hedgehog builds her nest,
  If by some secret art the hedgehog knows,
 So long before, the way in which the winds will blow,
 She has an art which many a person lacks
 That thinks himself fit to make our almanacs.

 I thought that Ground-hog Day would never come. Winter, as Old Jim had said it would be, had been cold and snowy. If the ground-hog saw his shadow February second he would return for a sleep while winter lasted six weeks longer. But if it was a cloudy day spring must be near; in a day or two the ground-hog would be hunting for the sunny side of a cliff to find the first green salad on which to break his long fast.
 February second I was out before daylight. But the morning was cloudy and unless there was a clearing the ground-hog could not see his shadow. The predictions for six weeks more of winter might be over thrown, that is, they might be if the ground-hog sign was correct—and everybody had said it was. I started off as soon as I could see. There were fourteen ground-hog dens to be visited. I wanted to know if ground-hogs came out on this day and if they did I wanted to see at least one.
 The first animal I saw was a rabbit. He sat up straight, in fact he almost stood up. When rabbits sit up straight it is a sure sign, so I had heard, of cold weather. Surely the sky would clear so that the ground-hogs could see their shadows!
 I nearly wore out a pair of boots rushing from ground-hog den to den. Dark, low-drifting clouds filled all the mountain valley. It did not look hopeful for sunshine and ground-hog shadows. But shadow or no shadow I wanted to see a ground-hog show his head from the entrance to his den. The highest den visited was one far up the mountain side which I hoped might be above the clouds and in the sunshine. Its snow-filled entrance holes showed that the weather-maker had not even looked out. February second had been cloudy from morning to night. I had not seen a ground-hog. What would the remainder of the winter be? That night I went to sleep while repeating:

If Candlemas be bright and clear
  We'll have two winters in the year.

 Winter ended early; it was not a long or a severe winter after all. The bear was correct, and so, too, was the ground-hog; that is, if they had anything to do with weather predicting and arranging. But the birds, squirrels, and beavers who had made such extensive winter pre-parations had made a mistake. But did human weather prophets understand the plans and preparations of any of these wild people?
 Down the mountains I walked fifteen miles for a visit with another boy. We talked over weather signs, planned to meet next Ground-hog Day, and above all to be alert and learn all we could about the ground-hog and other animal ways.
 Squirrels commenced gathering pine cones for winter as early as the cones were ready—the last week in July. These cones were piled by stumps, logs, and tree roots and in hollow logs in small nests. The nests or little holes were about the size of a robin's nest dug into the leaf and trash coverings of the forest floor. Each nest had from five to ten or sometimes twenty cones, and these cones were never more than two deep. All the cone piles of each squirrel were within a space ten feet square and within thirty feet of the tree in which the squirrel had his winter home.
 One squirrel had stored one hundred and fifty-four lodge-pole pine cones; another, one hundred and sixteen yellow pine cones; a third, two hundred and fifty-seven spruce cones; and still another, more than four hundred assorted pine and spruce cones. Each had gathered the cones that were closest to his home. During the preceding autumn these same squirrels had gathered nearly the same number of cones, had stored them in the same spaces as this year, and had arranged them in almost the same manner.  As more cones were gathered each year than were used I saw now way safely to predict the weather from information which squirrel harvests furnished.
 One afternoon George came riding up on horseback.  He left his pony standing and hurried over to me faster that I was rushing to meet him.  He had the startling news that a big ground-hog had just made a den by one corner of their garden.  His grandmother was certain that this was a sign for a cold winter.  Whenever animals and birds come to live close to your house a cold winter is not far off.  This was something new in ground-hog lore and I heard it with startled interest.
 I could not just make out if there might be some other reason for the ground-hog's den at that place.  I figured that this must be a wise ground-hog.  And he was.  Before the summer was half over he was the fattest ground-hog in the region.  He had eaten everything in that corner of the garden closest to him.
 During the summer I dug into a number of ground-hog dens.  All but one were more than four feet beneath the surface. Each den was about two feet across and more than a foot high. The den was reached by one or more tunnels from the surface. Two of these dens reminded me of a big, four-legged spider; the body was the den and each leg a tunnel to a different place in the surface.
 In digging into these dens I must have moved tons of earth and rocks.  One day a prospector asked me if I was after gold. He looked at a number of pieces of mineral-ized quartz which I had dug out and told me of an exper-ience with ground-hogs.  He had found a mine by follow-ing up a piece of gold quartz which a ground-hog had dug out.
 When I asked him about Ground-hog Day he laughed and said that it was a superstition based on the assumption that the ground-hog does come out of his den February second. "But," he said, "there is not a record that he comes out, and I have not been able to find any one who has seen him on this particular day. I have repeat-edly watched for ground-hogs February second, but without seeing them or finding any record, in snow-filled entrance holes to their dens, of their coming out. A ground-hog, a bear, or any hibernating animal may come out on this day or any day, but this has not the slightest influence on the weather."  Before going on with his pack burro the prospector took a piece of charcoal and on the white bark of an aspen showed me how to make drawings of the dens which I dug into.
 Where conditions—food and digging—are favour-able there sometimes are numbers of dens in a compara-tively small area.  Conditions must be favourable for the making of a den.  Often the den is by an outcropping rock ledge, preferably in gravelly soil.  Sometimes along the side of a rock and in fractures of it there is oppor-tunity to dig down. Other dens are by and beneath boulder piles or beneath the roots of big trees.  In any case the ground-hog desires a background—some place where he can lie in the sun and feel secure.
 Ground-hogs become so hog fat that they make a comical show with tail flopping as they go on hasty, short gallops for the den.  A ground-hog has a heavy body and short legs and at best is a low-geared animal.  Having enemies he generally keeps close to the den.
 There are exceptional cases where old ground-hogs do wander far away.  Two summers while I was guiding on Long's Peak a ground-hog had located on the summit.  A few minutes after I arrived on top with a party of climbers he would show himself and wait for lunch scraps.  After he was better acquainted he did not wait but expected to have helpings from the first table.  His winter den was two thousand feet below the top.  Ground-hogs, especially in spring, search for the first green plants; judging from their tracks, they know just where these are most likely to be found.
 I tried to weigh a big ground-hog near my cabin.  While he was out I plugged entrance holes then got him into a sack.  He was a fat pig and weighed I know not how much more than the twenty-four-pound limit of the scales.  He was yellow-brown over back and sides with an orange-coloured belly, cheeks nearly white, paws black, and forehead nearly black, his ten-inch tail covered with hair from four to six inches long.  This tail was like a big dust-brush. This fellow and numbers of others became half tame and would come close for turnips and other things which I carried to them.
 Many times I have seen four youngsters around a den.  Often they were asleep in the sun, and other times chasing one another around a stump or having a game of tag over the rocks.  Several times in August I found young hogs alone each digging a den for himself.  I do not know if they left home, or if mother sent them away.
 The ground-hog hibernates, but the prairie-dog, closely related to him, usually does not.  In watching the ground-hog one day I noticed that two kinds of chip-munks hibernated and that bumblebees were also hiber-naters. It was fun to examine a nest in which the bees were having a peace sleep with stings not working.  There was no need of a fellow running and striking after making a friendly call, which bees so often pretend to understand is not friendly.
 Ground-hogs are found in a majority of states in the Union.  They are also called wood-chuck, rock-chuck, chucker, and marmot.  If their home is close to a garden or grain field they are likely to be unpopular with the owner because of too many raids on those things which the owner wants for himself.  They are sometimes dug out by wolves, foxes, and even by bears.  I often wonder-ed how all this weather lore was given to the ground-hog.
 The second autumn I still half believed in signs and wandered looking for bear tracks and everything that was supposed to reveal advance weather secrets.  A number of hunters and trappers and also other people were asked how to tell for certain that birds and beavers were wearing thicker or thinner coats than usual; but no one appeared to know any certain way.
 I dropped these signs and investigated beaver colonies.  One beaver colony began work extra early, but as they were building a new house they naturally began work earlier than other colonies. One colony cut and piled in the pond two hundred and ninety-three aspens for winter food; another colony, just one minute's walk up stream, harvested only sixty-eight. The dams that were repaired appeared to need repairs; those not touched did not need attention. In trying to see how to predict weather from beaver work I got a headache.  Each beaver colony appeared to have its own way of doing things or else each was doing what it needed to do. The big harvest may have been for a colony with many beavers and the small harvest for a few beavers.  I do not believe the beavers did any guessing about the winter. They were prepared for any weather.  The beaver is an animal with unusually interesting ways.  Many of his customs are not well known.  It is said that if he lays up more supplies than usual, or grows thicker fur than usual, the winter will be colder than usual.  But any boy who has had the fun of watching a beaver colony in autumn will realize that the beaver prepares at the beginning of autumn for a real winter every year.
 Most ground-hogs were not seen after early Septem-ber. Many of those around me dug a new den. A number who had summer dens out in the meadow by rock piles moved back into the woods.  The entrance ways to dens in which hogs were hibernating appeared to be partly plugged a foot or two beneath the surface.  There was no plan that I could see for coming out on Ground-hog Day.  Each winter den examined had a short tunnel which led off into the gravel and in the end of this tunnel there was buried excrement.  Evidently when a wood-chuck enters his den for the winter he plans to stay inside until spring.
 Two nights in advance of Ground-hog Day I arrived down the mountain at the home of my friend George.  I wanted to be on time.  George was still strong for signs and all this mysterious weather lore.  After I had related a number of my observations and facts I had read or heard, he continued to believe but he wanted to see what might be discovered.
 Ground-hog morning was absolutely clear.  There was five inches of snow; we wanted snow because there was a dispute among the prophets as to whether the shadow of the ground-hog would count if not seen on the snow.  We were two miles from the house when the sun came up.  We wondered if ground-hogs were early risers as we shivered nearly frozen in a place where we were close to three dens.  Nothing showed up, so we moved on.  These entrance-ways to the dens were partly full of untracked snow.  We planned to return later in the day and see if anything had made a footprint in the snow.
 Hours were spent crawling and looking. Not a ground-hog nor even little pig children were seen.  In going across an opening we saw a line of tracks reaching from a den into the woods.  While I was looking into the woods George, all excitement, grabbed my arm and pointed at a brown head poked forth from the hole and making a shadow on the snow.
 Then this shadow maker climbed out and hurried off in a crippling gallop. It was a three-legged coyote. When one goes out looking for something he is certain to see something of interest even though this is not a ground-hog shadow on the snow. Two of the surprises I had in wandering the wilds hunting with a kodak were that frequently animals are crippled and that they so often play.
 Late afternoon we returned to the first dens watched in the morning.  The snow in the entrance-ways was still untracked.  Our shadows showed upon the snow—where ground-hog had not shadowed.  But the shadow of a big peak to the west would soon slip across the den and it would then be too late this year for a ground-hog shadow to produce six weeks of snow and cold.  We had almost lost faith in all forecasting weather signs.  What was the use bothering about signs that at best did not agree?  We could not change the oncoming weather, and we could have fun outdoors in all kinds of weather.
 We started for the house and on the way we talked about a number of catchy but unreliable weather signs— signs that we knew had not made good in the mountains.  Among these were:

  Rainbow in the morning,
  The sailor takes warning.
  Rainbow at night
  The sailor's delight.

 If March come in like a lion it will go out like a lamb.  If it come in like a lamb it will go out like a lion.

 Cold weather comes quickly and warm weather comes slowly.

 George said that he remembered once when a hot day had come quickly in winter. One cold morning he went out for a look at the thermometer before breakfast.  It was twelve below zero. But he could hear a wind-storm coming out of the west. It was the Chinook wind—a warm, dry wind which melts snow quickly and carries the moisture off on the wind without ever wetting the earth.  The Indians call it the "snow eater." George had breakfast and did a few chores, then had another look at the ther-mometer. It was up to forty-one and the snow was rapidly melting.
 I then told him of a night I had had camping out in an old cabin.  I was cold in my sleeping bag in the early evening. During the night I had got so warm that I though the cabin was on fire. But it was just a Chinook. At five o'clock in the evening there had been seven inches of snow over the earth.  At six the following morning it was gone and the ground bare and dry.
 Near the house George and I were overtaken by a man on horseback.  During the day's ride he had seen coyotes, prairie dogs, deer, and mountain sheep; but not a ground-hog.  He had ridden up from the plains where it had been snowing all day.  So several miles away the ground-hogs could not see their shadow while those up here could have seen theirs if they had cared to look.
 What kind of weather would we have during the next six weeks?  Would it be determined by the ground-hogs of the plains or by those in the mountains?  What kind of weather would result if there was sunshine in New York and cloudy weather in Pennsylvania on the same Ground-hog Day?  If——.  We gave it up.
  The ground-hog in common with other animals has lived upon the earth for countless ages, perhaps about three million years, so geologists say. Long before he had been heard of there were both weather and climate over this good old world of ours. There had been Ice Ages and world-wide climate so balmy that palm trees had grown in the Far North—not far from the Pole.
 However, there are a few weather signs, or more correctly indications, that are closely allied to woodcraft. Through them one can usually tell in advance when there is to be a change in the weather. Among these indications are unusual gatherings of birds, listlessness of animals, smoke drifting down and around as though lost, and animals showing interest in a particular direction or collecting at a sheltered place. Often animals realize hours in advance that there is to be a change in the weather. Each human and animal is a delicate barometer which responds to air changes. Animals appear particular sensitive and responsive to these changes.
 The actions of mountain sheep have several times suggested to me that wind or snow-storm was coming. One cold morning I was crossing the Continental Divide. On the skyline I saw a number of sheep pointing their noses into the west. Closer to me another flock walked directly to the plateau rim and pointed their noses into the west. There I left them standing. Early the following morning a Chinook came roaring out of the west. Another day three separate flocks were watching the northeast sky. Twenty-four hours later a blizzard arrived from the northeast. But there probably isn't anything in the make-up of animals that will give long-range weather infor-mation. These sheep simply had delicate advance wire-less messages of what already was coming.
 Just as George and I were parting at the house some-thing stuck its brown head out of a hole beneath some bushes, then ducked back. Both thought it was a rabbit but it might be a ground-hog. We had lost faith in the weather business of ground-hogs but if one was loose on Ground-hog Day we wanted to be sure and have a look at him.
 We made haste to try to rout the fellow out. George was prodding away at a lively rate in one entrance hole with a long, slender pole, while I was watching the other entrance and trimming another pole with which to ex-plore in case George failed to start anything.
 "I'm prodding something," called George, "it feels like a fat pig." He pulled out the pole and looked at the end to see what kind of hair might be sticking to it. Then he went to poling again.  I lay down with my ear close to my entrance hole. There was a clawing inside, and excited, I called, "He's coming out!"
 George came on the jump, pole in hand, to see what HE was. Out rushed a badly frightened rabbit. It never occurred to us that there might be something behind this rabbit to give him such a fright. Out came a skunk!  He was not at all frightened; but we were. Our poles fell as we jumped back. These fell on or by the skunk. This was too much. A "polecat" should never be pole-prodded. We moved quickly, but the skunk went into action so speedily that we were shelled with skunk gas.
 
 

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