Redefining Bear Necessities

In the years since Castello’s visit, multiple private animal collections had amassed within Denver’s elite, the most comprehensive being John and Mary Elitch’s Zoological Gardens. But John C. Gallup, President of the Denver Board of Park Commissioners, had long believed that his city should have a public zoo; an accessible attraction in the city’s largest park. And so, with a solitary bear and a single animal caretaker, Gallup founded Denver Zoo—a humbly-born institution that would soon be leading the pack. 

Rising Above the Rest 

In turn-of-the-century America, zoos were a relatively new concept; many of the day’s best practices for caring for wildlife in captivity were gleaned from circuses and traveling menageries—the only available source of knowledge. Barred and heavily meshed enclosures were the status quo. But as Denver Zoo was gradually expanding its collection in the early years, leaders wanted more for both animals and guests. 

Enter Carl Hagenbeck: the German zoo designer who was making waves across the pond. Hagenbeck believed that people should be able to experience wildlife at eye level, in authentic environments unhindered by bars or fences—and his work in Stellingen (near Hamburg) was garnering worldwide attention. Originally a circus impresario, Hagenbeck was fundamentally a showman. But in this case, his knack for illusion would ultimately change the face of the entire zoological park industry...for the better. 

An Idea that Bears Repeating 

By 1916, Denver was also in thrall of a nationwide City Beautiful movement, which beseeched municipalities around the country to consider aesthetics as well as industrial progress. The park board secured leading landscape architects to develop Denver Zoo’s first comprehensive master plan. The resulting “Zoological Garden” plan, submitted in 1915, is a study in contrasts—featuring tennis courts, cages and formal plantings as well as dedicated space for the first Hagenbeck-style “habitat zoo.”  

Mayor Robert W. Speer was an ardent supporter of naturalistic zoo improvements, saying in a civic address, “Our animals in the City Park need new homes. Prison bars can be done away with...concrete rocks, waterfalls, trees, etc., with a moat in front, would make animals even in captivity look and feel at home.” Within the next few years, this idea would blossom into the blueprint for Bear Mountain, and be brought to fruition by landscape architect and planner Saco Reink DeBoer.  

The Summit of Natural Exhibit Design

DeBoer took Hagenbeck’s philosophy to heart. Insistent that the topography of the Bear Mountain exhibit be authentic to the region, he ordered his team to take plaster casts of the natural cliffs at the summit of Dinosaur Mountain, just north of Morrison. Mule trains packed casting supplies up the rocky slope, then hauled the completed casts down the hillside—where waiting trucks transported them back to City Park. 

The iconic 185-foot rockwork sculpture was then cast in concrete and secured to a soaring superstructure made of solid steel. As described in a 1919 Denver Municipal Facts, “The rear cliffs rise in two tiers, the first tier being topped by a shelf which forms the roof of the sleeping dens and runway...on this are planted pines and shrubs, and a water course leads a stream along the top of the first cliffs...a wide moat runs in front of the entire arrangement.” One of the most ambitious zoo habitats in history at the time, the project ultimately cost more than $50,000—more than $650,000 by today’s standards.