As maternity wards go, this one was a bit on the rustic side. The mother’s “room” was actually an overstuffed tangle of downed trees, briars and other growth, all perched on a bench halfway down a steep, rocky, snow-covered hillside. The lack of amenities hadn’t kept anyone away, though. A crowd of about 40 people — hunters dressed in their camos, teen-age girls in fashionable jeans, a mother carrying a baby dressed in a sweatsuit with feet and rabbit ears — had turned out to see and hold the new baby. That’s the allure of black bear cubs. The Pennsylvania Game Commission sends crews into bear dens each March. It’s scientifically-valid work that’s carried out for several reasons, said Matt Ternent, the agency’s black bear biologist. For starters, entering bear dens allows biologists to monitor bear reproduction. They learn things like how many cubs Pennsylvania black bears typically produce in a litter, and the ratio of male to female cubs. Entering bear dens also helps the PGC to monitor the state’s bear population, estimated at 15,000. Crews put numbered ear tags on the cubs; when those bears grow and perhaps turn up at a check station in bear season, biologists can compare the percentage of tagged to untagged bears to get a handle on overall bear numbers. Crews also weigh the mother, tattoo her lip with an identification number, fit her with a radio collar and pull one tooth to age her. On days like this one, though, such particulars matter little. The people here had gathered for one reason only — they wanted to hold a bear cub. PGC officers occasionally take groups along when doing their bear-tagging work. As long as no one returns to the den later for a second peak, such visits don’t harm the bears. Bob Ambrose, the Shahlstown farmer on whose property the bear was found, was here, along with some family and friends. The hunters who discovered this particular bear den were on hand, as were a few other neighbors and sportsmen. All were anxious to get their hands on a bear cub that, at eight weeks of age, would weigh about four pounds, far less than the 80 to 100 pounds it will weigh by November. Getting to hold a bear cub, though, is not as simple as driving to a bear den and charging out of the vehicle, as Ternent explained. The safety of the bears comes first. That’s why Ternent and a few officers go to the den alone to tranquilize the mother bear. Having too many people on the scene too soon might cause the mother to run off. “And then we have to carry her back,” said Barry Zaffuto, land management supervisor in the PGC’s southwest region office. “They may go a mile, and they always run down hill and into the multiflora rose,” said Joe Stefko, PGC wildlife education supervisor. “And we don’t want that.” That knowledge doesn’t make the wait any easier. When the time came to march to the bear den, though, no one was willing to be left behind. More than a few slipped and slid trying to reach it, but that was OK. Everyone — the adults no less eager than the children — made it eventually, snuggling the single cub inside their coats for a picture before prying its cat-like claws loose and passing it to the next person. A smiling Ambrose got his turn, grinning as if he were the father. “That’s my bear,” he said. Carrie Derco, from the University of Pittsburgh at Greensburg, and Molly Giles, from California University of Pennsylvania, two interns working with the PGC, even became stars. Holding the cub before it was weighed and tagged, they had their pictures taken by people they’d never seen before and will likely never see again. A few people tore themselves away long enough to get a peak at the mom, but, just like at a hospital, the baby was clearly the main attraction. “It really gives people something to remember,” said Tom Fazi, a wildlife conservation officer in Westmoreland County. Indeed it does, bringing cold science to life in the form of a furry, sleepy-eyed and yawning bear cub.

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