A Bearly Close Encounter
A
Beary Surprising Moment
It was an unseasonably hot May morning in the foothills of the great Smoky Mountains National Park. According to the radio, it was already 77 degrees, with an expected high in the mid-80’s. This was the beginning of a hot, dry summer that would lead to drought and forest fires in the area. Eventually one would spread from the national park into the town of Gatlinburg, causing the loss of life, destroying homes and businesses, and triggering a mandatory evacuation of the area.
While driving into
the park that morning, checking out the scenery through the windshield, I
recall thinking that there was still plenty of water in the streams and the
fishing was in full swing. Looking out at the ancient, round-shouldered mountains
and their diverse species of plants and wildlife never gets old to me. These
mountains are a part of me and although it was already steamy outside, I
ignored the humid climate that causes the greyish mist that these mountains are
named for.
The temperature
would not have felt so bad had there been a nice breeze drifting down from the
higher elevations, but it was not to be. Instead, the humidity was slightly suffocating,
and I was forced to turn on the Durango’s air conditioning. After I arrived at
the Sugarlands Visitor Center, where I would meet my husband-and-wife clients
for the day, I was hopeful that it would be cooler in the higher elevations. It
was already hot enough, that I worked up a sweat while assembling and rigging
the fly rods.
Bill and his wife
Brenda were experienced anglers from Missouri, but they had never fished the
small streams in the southern Appalachians. Bill explained to me their goal was
to learn as much as they could about fishing these streams, so they could spend
time on their own, fishing the area. This is as close to perfect clients as you
can find.
I took the couple
to the Elkmont area of the park. The fishing there had been good lately, plus
there is a lot of history around Elkmont and I enjoy explaining about the old
railroad and logging village, and how the area became a weekend getaway for the
financially elite people from Knoxville and other southern towns.
There are a few
old houses left standing in Elkmont and the Appalachian Clubhouse has been
restored and is available part of the year for weddings and other events. The
Little River Trail parallels the stream for much of its journey and provides
easy access for anglers. The trail is easy walking because it follows the
original railroad bed that was used to remove timber from the area when the
Little River Lumber Company was in business.
Elkmont, like much
of the Smokies, has a wide array of trees. Oak, Beech, tulip poplar, hemlock,
mountain laurel, rhododendron and flame azalea are prevalent throughout. The
East Prong of the Little River flows through this section of the park and
provides both rainbow and brown trout.
Elkmont is also
home to a sizeable bear population. Nearly every run-in I’ve had with a
bear, either while guiding or fishing on my own, almost always happens in
Elkmont. I’ve had them cross the trail and creek where my clients and I are,
had them pop out of the brush directly across the stream, and have even stepped
off the trail to allow a sow with two young cubs to pass by; however, none of
those encounters prepared me for what would happen on this day.
The day was going exceptionally
well. Bill and Brenda were good anglers that knew there way around a trout
stream. They immediately picked up the line control to achieve a quality drift,
which is the most important factor for success on these streams. We were
getting into fish and having a good time. It was getting close to lunch time,
which consisted of club sandwiches, a variety of chips and a selection of sodas
and bottled water. I was ready to unpack the coolers and chairs, but my bladder
had been protesting for several minutes. I sauntered over to Bill and said
discreetly “you keep an eye on Brenda, you two keep fishing, I’ll be back
shortly.”
I walked around a
bend out of sight, next to a rhododendron thicket, unfastened my waders,
unzipped, and let fly. As I was finishing up, I noticed the rhododendron start
shaking. I instantly looked at the treetops around me, expecting to feel a bit
of relief from the breeze, but all was still. As I glanced back down, the rhododendron
parted, and a black bear head the size of a basketball poked through. I was 10
feet or less from this bear that was pushing 200 pounds. This is by far the
closest I had been to one of the icons of the Smokies and it was uncomfortable.
The National Park
Service has a law that you should not be closer than fifty feet from wildlife.
Through no fault of my own, I was much closer. Had a park ranger showed up, I
would have been happy to see him and would have asked him to cite the bear for
breaking the fifty feet barrier. Unfortunately, there was no one to help me.
I am sure I was
quite the spectacle as I tried walking backwards down a rocky creek bank with
my pants still unzipped, holding my waders up with my left hand and my bear
spray in my right. The bear walked out of the thicket and stared. I was
relieved That he showed no apparent signs malice. I managed to get back to Bill
and Brenda, make myself presentable, and tell them the story. They immediately
walked around the bend with me and got some fabulous photos of the bear, who
stood, sniffed the air, and then appeared to pose for the camera, while making
his way downstream. I admit that every time I have peed in the woods since, my
heart rate picks up and I scan all the brush.
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