Larry’s Lowdown: The Difference Between Grizzlies, Coastal Brown Bears, and Kodiaks
Hang on, folks! I’ll be with you in a second. Just getting out of bed. All my parts don’t wake up at the same time. You know how it is.
Full disclosure: I am an Alaskan brown bear. I live on the southeast coast of Alaska, in the Katmai National Park, across the strait from the Kodiak Archipelago. If I seem overly sensitive about my identity, I would remind you it’s all your fault. It’s not like we started inventing names for ourselves. You people are obsessed with labels. And you’re arguing about them and changing them all the time. Speaking for all bears, if I may, we’re sick of the hubbub. So, once and for all, I’m going to set the record straight and put this subject to bed. Then, I’m going to put myself to bed.
The internet, the greatest repository of human knowledge, is frequently contradictory and confusing. Consequently, humans are frequently confused about the most simple concepts, because you rely almost exclusively on information that is distorted by conflicting opinions, factual inaccuracies, prejudice, and self-interest. Spend five minutes on Twitter, and you will become completely untethered from facts or reality. Oddly enough, you often seem to take pride in your misinformed worldview, staking claim to the “truth” as you see it. In extreme cases, you are willing to defend your claim with your lives.
You humans are so weird.
This is nothing new. Human history is littered with confusion and conflict. If there is a behavior that defines humanity, it is mostly this: people fighting with each other for reasons they don’t entirely understand.
I certainly don’t want to make that situation any worse for you, so I’ll try to make this particular piece of internet information as simple and not-worth-fighting-over as possible.
Calling Us Names
There are a bunch of very similar bears — which you have chosen to call “brown bears” — circling the globe in a vast (but constantly narrowing) strip of the northern hemisphere. Following centuries of heated scientific debate, North American brown bears are now variously identified as “coastal brown bears”, “Grizzly bears”, or “Kodiak bears”, mostly based on where they live. Scientists have recently determined that these distinctions are, genetically speaking, not as complicated as they could be, and have reignited the debate, suggesting that a brand new batch of names is required. Scientists are essentially arsonists. When the general public threatens to comprehend any concept, scientists will immediately rush into the room and set it on fire. This definitely applies to the study of bears. They’ve managed to keep the subject dangerously flammable for over 250 years.
Carl Starts the Fire
In 1758, Swedish naturalist Carl Linnaeus was the first to recognize the species, choosing the name “brown bears” for a local population of bears that were, by and large, big and brown. So far, so good.
Carl had also invented a spiffy new system of scientific classification (Taxonomy), so he classified this unique species as a member of the genus Ursus (Latin, for “Bear”) and the species arctos (Greek, for “Bear”). So, “Bear Bear”. Okay, not particularly creative, but still fairly straightforward.
Carl’s youngest child: Girl Girl
New Century, New Frontier, New Bear
In the early 1800’s, explorers Lewis and Clarke were wandering around the American west, exploring stuff. They kept running across (and from) enormous, irritable bears they hadn’t seen before. With limited knowledge of Carl’s European brown bears, they figured they had a new beast on their hands (or, perhaps, chewing on their leg), and decided to call it the “Grizzly Bear”.
In 1815, American naturalist George Ord noticed that Lewis and/or Clarke hadn’t bothered to assign a scientific name to the new bear, so he dubbed it Ursus Horribilis (“Horrible Bear”, which I think we can all agree was way cooler than “Bear Bear”), and it joined the happy family of recognized North American bears: the Grizzly, the black bear, and the Polar bear. This reasonable and satisfying (if not entirely accurate) situation endured for around a century, until the “Splitters” showed up.
Invasion of the Splitters
Science marches on, and at the turn of the 20th century, it marched off a cliff. Up to this point, European biologists had argued that Grizzlies were simply the same brown bears first identified by our old friend, Carl. They were right, of course, but where’s the fun in that? Any random yokel could understand that. This is why North American biologists rejected the assessment of their European colleagues, and made fun of their outrageous accents.
Also, they were positively thrilled when the scientific community formally adopted new taxonomic classifications, including the “subspecies”, which offered far greater opportunities to confuse people. This set in motion a stampede of biologists and naturalists — the “Splitters” — running around “discovering” a staggering number of new subspecies practically everywhere they looked. The race was on to identify all the subspecies you could find, and name them after your drinking buddies, before some other scientist did.
C. Hart Merrian Lights Everything on Fire
When it comes to brown bears, the leader in this field, by an Alaskan mile, was C. Hart Merriam, Head of the U.S. Bureau of Biological Survey. His particularly disturbing methodology, from a bear’s perspective, involved collecting and measuring the skulls of bears, and designating species and subspecies based on the results. In 1918, he identified 78 individual species of North American bears, including five on one island alone. But he didn’t stop there. He also identified several subspecies, which brought the total to over 90 distinct lineages. None of them, as far as he was concerned, was related to Carl’s brown bear.
Merriam was collecting skulls and names the same way children used to collect baseball cards, and with the same general intent: so that he could get together with other science nerds and say, “I’ve got more species than you do!”
I will totally trade my Ursus idahoensus for your Pitcherus awesomus!
Bob Rausch Leads the Lumpers in Revolt
Most of Merriam’s contemporaries realized he was a loon, but his body of research (pile of skulls) was daunting enough that it remained unchallenged for many decades. Eventually, in opposition to the “splitters”, a brave new band of researchers arose to take up the challenge: the “lumpers”. In their eyes, the distinctions between existing species were too fine and, frequently, entirely arbitrary. Their goal was to reduce the number of superfluous species that was bloating up their science books. Those things were getting tough to lug around. Robert L. Rausch to the rescue!
While Bob was a researcher stationed in Alaska, he hung out with a population of bears in the Brooks Range. Utilizing the novel scientific strategy of looking at them for a while, he noticed there was a wide variation in the size, color and appearance of bears in the group. By the standards of Merriam, siblings in the same litter could be classified as unique species. Bob set out to prove this was stupid.
Side note: To study the physiology of hibernation, he entered the den of a sleeping black bear to record its rectal temperature. Bob was a badass.
He amassed his own collection of skulls (%$#*!!) from brown bears all over North America. He concluded that any differences in size and appearance were more of degree rather than kind. That is, they were minor, overlapping variations between and within populations that did not warrant any specific taxonomic designations. In 1963, Bob published his findings, arguing that a) these North American specimens were all brown bears (Ursus arctos), first identified over 200 years prior (shout out to Carl!), and b) there was only one truly distinct subspecies inhabiting the continent: Ursus arctos horribilis.
Bob had ruthlessly eliminated dozens of species and subspecies, issuing a long-overdue “suck it” to Merriam after 50 years. That is some impressive lumping.
And suddenly, we were all Grizzlies. Almost.
My neck of the woods!
(USGS, via Wikimedia Commons)
The Kodiak Question: Let’s Consult the Skulls Again
The Kodiak Archipelago is separated from my home on the Alaska Peninsula by the Shelikof Strait, 22 miles of moody and intimidating ocean. The bears of Kodiak have been completely isolated out there since the end of the last ice age, over 12,000 years ago. Well-fed and without any competition at the top of the food chain, they were free to evolve in any direction they wanted. They chose, as a primary design theme, “absurdly large”. An adult male can stand over 10 feet tall, and weigh up to 1500 pounds.
Bob also noted their skulls were wider than mainland brown bears, with a distinct domed forehead. He decided these features were sufficiently unique to justify one more subspecies designation: Ursus arctos middendorffi, the Kodiak bear.
I would just like to state, at this stage in our report, how happy I will be when we stop talking about bear skulls. Frankly, the scientific community’s historical obsession with them is extremely creepy.
Any peace among science types following Bob’s proclamation was short lived. Splitters renewed hostilities, insisting that more North American subspecies be recognized. In the decades which followed, anywhere between two and 10 subspecies were considered in various proposals, with Grizzlies and Kodiaks the only universally accepted designations in all classifications.
Bob’s idea remained the prevailing assessment, but it would take a very persuasive development to finally placate the warring factions.
Pictured: Biological scientists reaching a consensus on the underlying evolutionary ontology of species taxa.
Another Century, Another Log on the Fire
In the 21st century, science took another lurch forward. By the 1990’s, biologists were less interested in collecting skulls, and more interested in studying genetic information. Samples of DNA could now be collected from fur, or even poop. Bears viewed this as a very positive development.
Surely, our DNA would reveal the genetic fingerprints needed for precise identification and classification. It had to be better than measuring our foreheads.
Initial studies suggested that everyone was wrong. There was no genetic evidence for any of the currently recognized subspecies — including Grizzlies, Kodiaks, and my own peeps on the Alaska Peninsula (Ursus arctos gyas, or “Peninsular” bears). Instead, researchers identified five “clades”, or clearly delineated branches, on our genetic tree.
Well, this should clear things up!
Source: Waits et al. (1998)
Clear as Muck
These early studies relied solely on mitochondrial (maternal) DNA, the genetic code passed down from mama bears. Also, the geographic borders and physiological distinctions between clades were hazy at best. Even the authors realized this was an incomplete picture, and they insisted on further study before anyone started whipping up even more new names.
Subsequent studies examined the information from nuclear DNA, which includes the genes from mothers and fathers. When it comes to brown bears (and maybe people), males are way more likely to amble off into the woods and hook up with a strange female many miles away. When their more widely-dispersed genetic code was added to the mix, distinctions became even hazier.
Not So Different After All
Genes were dispersed, willy nilly, between coastal and inland populations. Even the completely isolated Kodiaks were found to have no unique and uniform genetic markers. Furthermore, they were more closely related to some coastal populations, such as mine, than we are to some inland populations. Way back in 1963, Bob was more right than he thought. North American brown bears were, for all intents and purposes, splashing around in the same gene pool.
Basically, we’re all dipping into the same genetic grab bag, and pulling out whatever combination works best for where, and how, we live. Brooks Range Grizzlies, for instance, are the tiny 600 pound marathoners of the species, adapting for a broader feeding range and more efficient fat storage. Kodiaks and Coastal brown bears grow big and strong, because we almost don’t have to move at all. Our primary food source practically delivers itself, via mother nature’s version of Grubhub. Plus, competition for females is pretty fierce, and the big boys get the chicks.
That’s right, ladies. All this can be yours.
Get to the Point, Larry!
Alright, alright. Let’s wrap this up, before another researcher “discovers” we descended from Peruvian tree lizards or something.
Call me a “lumper” if you will, but I like this latest trend. It suggests there is much more that unites us than divides us. Genetic evidence tells us we are simply the same bears, living in different places. Your artificial attempts to categorize brown bears, mostly by poking around at our skulls and pulling names out of thin air, have proven hopelessly inaccurate. It will probably be another 100 years before you have it figured out.
In the meantime, you have to call us something, I suppose. Officially, 16 separate brown bear subspecies are still recognized by the Integrated Taxonomic Information System (ITIS). You could go with one of those, but I’m not sure even ITIS takes them seriously anymore. Or you could choose a less confusing option: Bob Rausch’s “Grizzly” and “Kodiak” designations. Either way, you are choosing names based more on scientific and regional tradition than anything else. The safest choice is simply “Brown Bear” (Attaboy, Carl! ), until something better comes along. The National Park Service seems to prefer this one.
Researchers agree that something brand new is required to clarify this naming situation. And I don’t want to be identified as “clade III” (or, worse yet, “peninsular”) any more than you do. Since no one else has the courage to step up with a bold, original, comprehensive solution, I propose that the name “Larry” be applied to all North American brown bears. The name is simple, inclusive, easy to remember, carries no historical baggage, and it makes as much sense as anything else you’ve come up with so far.
We are proud. We are strong. We are terrifying. We are Larry.
I haven’t checked with the other bears yet, but I’m sure they’ll be fine with it. As long as there are no skulls involved. I’ll ask around after my nap.
If you’re interested in more details from a human perspective, I recommend the titles below. Wilson, in particular, provided the most complete and coherent analysis I could find. He seems very nice. I’d like to go salmon fishing with him some time.
Stay wild, my friends.
Larry’s Recommended Reading:
A Bear by Any Other Name, The Many Monikers of Ursus Arctos Part 1, by Wilson Puryear
A Bear by Any Other Name, The Many Monikers of Ursus arctos Part 2, by Wilson Puryear
