A Stupid Thing to Do

One of my earliest long-distance backpacking trips was in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. It began a few days from my 16th birthday and my actual birthday occurred at a trail shelter near the summit of a 6,000-foot mountain called Big Cataloochee. I recall that it got very cold that morning--close to freezing (June 28).

This was back in the early 1970s when the Park still had chain link across the fronts of the trail shelters to protect overnight backpackers from bears. Because in those days most such folk did not practice safe bear-country habits and bears were attracted to the shelters because of the smell of food and actual food items left out where the bears could take them. Back then it was nice to be able to close and secure that chain link door and go to sleep knowing that a bear couldn't get in.

A couple of nights after that we were staying at another shelter called Peck's Corner. It got kind of crowded as this shelter was at the Appalachian Trail and lots of hikers use it. Fortunately, as things turned out, it also had the chain link barrier. Why 'fortunately'? Because one of the backpackers had brought along a can of tuna fish. For lunch he opened the can, walked out in front of the shelter, and drained all of that oil and fish juice on a large flat boulder a few feet from the chain link door. Then he came back in and prepared his meal.

In a few minutes a mother bear and three tiny cubs showed up. I suspect they smelled the tuna fish. But before the mama bear could get to the shelter she pointed her nose to the sky and seemed to be sensing something the rest of us could not. Then she rushed back to the tree where she'd stashed her tiny babies, called them down, and retreated to the deep forest.

Why? We found out.

In short order a very large, very scarred male bear appeared. A few people who'd been outside the shelter rushed in and the chain link door was closed and secured just in time, for he then came right up to it and peered in at all of us humans 'safely' inside.

Then he went to the big boulder where the idiot had drained his can of tuna fish. This boulder had about the same surface size on top as a big dining room table. Let's say four by six feet. But it was also about two feet thick. We're talking a mass amount of stone. Immovable, you might say. Here's what happened.

That big, scarred up bear began to lick the oil from the boulder. He licked it all off the top where the idiot had drained it, and then followed the streamlets of oil down the side of the boulder. Some of the oil had followed the contour of the rock and were now under the weight of it. So the bear stood to the side, hooked his claws under the lip, and lifted that mass so that he could lick the tuna fish oil from underneath the boulder. He hefted it up like it was nothing. They way you might move a dining room chair out of your way.

I kid you, not. (Keep in mind he did this with one arm while standing three-legged to do it.)

When he had gotten all of that smelly, delicious, yummy fish oil he released the boulder and it fell back into place with a thump that I felt through the soles of my boots.

At that point he turned his attention back to the shelter. He walked up to the chain link that was protecting us and he peered inside with those beady, dark, black-bear eyes. There was no humor in those eyes. There was no pity hiding in the depths. He was trying to figure out how to get to the food that he knew was in there with us. His nose was going snuff-snuff.

It was at that moment that he stood up on his back legs. I'd already realized that he was an enormous bruiser, but when you see one stand up like that you realize how big they are. The bear placed his paws on the chain link and he began to push. Yeah. He was trying to use his sheer bulk, and the power of the same muscles that had hefted that massive boulder to shove that damned chain link fence right the heck in. With every push he would give out with this little grunt.

Push! Oof! Push! Unh! Push! Grar!

After a few such efforts he seemed to realize that the steel was stronger than he was and he settled back where he sat and stared at us for a little while, those dark, black eyes smoldering with the frustration of a missed opportunity. If only he'd arrived a second or two sooner, before the door had closed in his face.

A few minutes later he was gone. Poof. Vanished back into the forest. Everyone came out of the shelter. He did not return.

I was reminded of this memory because I heard the story of a guy who backpacked into a remote part of Yellowstone National Park a couple of years ago. On the second day of his journey into the wilderness, thick with Grizzly bears who are far larger and far more aggressive than black bears, this shit-for-brains opened up his backpack to discover that the tuna fish he had brought along with him had leaked out and the liquid inside had permeated his pack and his clothing and everything in it and on it with the pungent scent of tuna fish.

To make a longer story very short, nothing happened to this idiot. No grizzly bear appeared to eat the now tuna-flavored moron. But I was reminded of the incident with the black bear. And it was all part of the lesson that I learned that day at Peck's Corner. And that lesson was never to bring any food item that is so pungent that even humans can smell it from a distance. Especially something like a can or packet of tuna fish that can leak out and turn you into a predator's target.

I mean...don't. Just don't.

See that kid inside the Laurel Gap Shelter? That was me. On June 28, 1973, the day of my 16th birthday. This was back in the days when the National Park Service had chain link on the fronts of the shelters to protect dumbass backpackers from bears. These days the chain link is gone. The Park Service has pretty much trained backpackers to not do stupid shit like get tuna fish all over the shelters, and to be sensisble and hang their food in bags away from the overnight shelters and tents.

One Moomaw and A Bear

A silly name for a very beautiful lake, Moomaw. It's named, apparently, for some local dude who had the unfortunate last name of Moomaw. Whenever I see a lake in the Appalachians I wonder about the natural resources buried perhaps forever beneath the waters of the impoundments. This comes from watching Carter Reservoir forming over the years in the north Georgia county where I went to high school. I watched the earthen dam being built and the river being plugged and the lake forming. That one buried a vast canyon hundreds of feet deep and which was untouched woodlands with no structures at all. Scores of miles of roadless wilderness was covered by water by the US Army Corps of Engineers to create their hydro electric project.

So it was when I first saw Lake Moomaw. Similarly, this one is formed by another giant earthen dam (the Garthright) to back up a river hundreds of feet deep and for twelve miles. It makes for a very pretty watery scene, but my mind dwells on the wonders of the old Kincaid Gorge which is now gone. Are there even any historical photos of that gorge? How many waterfalls were submerged? How many groves of rare plants and trees were cut and drowned?

Carole and I spent a whole day exploring the lake in our kayaks. We had a great time paddling around the shores and stopping here and there to investigate, to eat lunch, and to go swimming. It's a particularly pretty lake completely surrounded by public property which precludes it from being exploited by millionaires building expensive homes to shut the rest of us out of the shoreline.

That little red dot on the far left is me.

Taken on my cruise alongside the cliff.

Carole leaving the dock. The boat beyond her was owned by the Army Corps of Engineers. The lake level is obviously down--about eight feet according to the locals.

This is the Garthright Dam which creates the lake.

And this cliff was obviously created to supply the earthen (rock) building material for the dam construction.

We had stopped on an island to rest. Far across the water on the opposite shore Carole spotted some movement. She thought it was a raccoon but when I focused on the animal with the camera on telephoto setting we saw that it was a bear. It was the second bear of the trip for me. Very exciting!

There was something about this bear that did not look healthy to me. I think he/she was rather thin, but I could be wrong. It was obviously exploring the shoreline for something to eat. Its movements were fluid and seemed strong, so perhaps my impression about its health was wrong. I hope so.

This was the last we saw of the bear as it returned to the forest. I wish I'd had a better camera along, but I don't like the idea of risking my better cameras to a dunking.

And here's a stitched panorama I took from a very small island where we had stopped to eat lunch.

Questionnaire

Over the past few days I've begun working with my editor at Tor Books. This has been a bit different, so far, to my experience with Five Star. I filled out a relatively detailed questionnaire for the folk in the promotions department. Now I have to send a photo. I'm pretty sure I know which one I'm going to send them...it's one that Carole took of me when we were in Key West.

Got the desktop up and working so that I can do the scans for the post I've wanted to do for two days.

More tomorrow...

This has nothing to do with the subjects on my mind. But I just stumbled across this photo I took when Carole and I were on a hike in Beartown State Park in West Virginia. It was the first bear we've ever encountered while hiking.

Old Photo

I was searching through my back-up hard drive looking at old photos. And I stumbled upon shots from the last time Carole and I went tent camping. This was in summer of 2005. We were staying at the Standing Indian Campground, which is a National Forest facility not far from Franklin, NC.

The bear population in that part of the state is extremely heavy. There are as many (or more) bears there than in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. And that's an impressive number. Understanding that, we were always very careful with food and garbage. We stored all food in the back of our truck, and garbage went into the bear-proof receptacles located all around the campground.

This was our site (#13) at Standing Indian Campground in the mountains of North Carolina. This was probably the day before the bear raided us.

However, a bear who did not know this raided our campsite one night. He was quite the large fellow and proceeded to smash things apart and make himself the resident alpha male. I scared him off, initially, by coming out of the tent during his midnight raid with a flashlight and yelling, "Go away, bear!". He did go away, for a short while, but came right back to finish what he'd started. I wasn't going to try facing him down again, so we retreated to the cab of the truck. When I started the engine, he finally fled for good.

Well, not quite for good. He showed up again within thirty minutes, but was happy to harass the campsites adjacent to ours and leave us alone.

We really had the tent camping thang down to a science. We had everything we needed. Alas, the bears scairt us!

Well, that was our last tent camping trip. After that we shopped around for a few months (two months to be precise) and bought our treasured Casita trailer, which we've named ZOLOFT, due to the fact that I refer to it as our fiberglass sedative.

At any rate, here are shots from that very last trip with our tent set-up. (Which was pretty nice, I have to say.)

Ah, the luxury of our little travel trailer. Now we can play in the sun all day, then retire to the trailer and eat ice cream from the freezer and feel safe inside our solid fiberglass walls. Just don't tell the bears that they can probably break in without much trouble.

Death Penalty

Humans spend trillions screwing up the Earth. But no money can be found to safeguard Nature from the depredations of those who would destroy it all for profit.

Bears

By
James Robert Smith

Bears
have got it
made
They sleep
all winter
and
half the summer.
They eat
berries
They get to shit
in the woods
and go fishin’
anytime they
please.
They screw for
two weeks
solid,
Then forget sex exists
the next 50
weeks.
Nobody messes
with bears.
Not even other
bears.
Not really.
Hey, bear.
I’ll trade you.
You’ll have to walk
upright.
My hands for
your paws.
We have chocolate.
Lots of
chocolate.
Whaddayasay?

The Return of the Creature from 1957.

We went to West Virginia again. I love that place.

Late and I must go to work tomorrow. Just a quick note that we had much fun and encountered a bear in, appropriately, Beartown State Park as we were finishing up our hike and returning to the parking lot. Here he (she?) is:

Animals are Persons.

I saw these photos on one of the backpacking forums I frequent (whiteblaze.net). I never failed to be amazed at the personality and individuality of animals. I truly wish people would stop thinking of them as mindless, emotionless automatons.

These photos illustrate a young bear tenaciously pursuing some bird-seed.