Goin' on a Bear Hunt: A Preposterous First Experience

The author and one of the hunt dogs

I sat shivering, feet and calves soaked from water with the rest of my body damp from sweat, in the early morning light on the side of a ridge.  Early in the walk, about one-third of the way to my destination, there had been one of three mountain streams to cross.  This stream in particular was noteworthy because it was the one responsible for my currently half-frozen state while bear hunting in the middle of the ruggedly beautiful Cherokee National Forest.

Rising at 4 a.m., we had left the semi-comfort of the ‘motel, lodge and trailer camping’ long before the first glimmers of sunrise could begin to hint at the sky.  Arriving at the trailhead in the pre-dawn hours, we had donned loads of gear and guns to begin our trek into the wild.  I had a headlamp – a light affixed to a strap that could go around my head – but the battery in mine was dead so it laid impotent back at the hotel.  One of my party had a spare hat-light and handed it to me as he grabbed a flashlight.  Not far into the trek, I hear my name called and turned to see why I was beckoned. “Don’t go too fast,” Daryl (“D”) says, holding up his flashlight which shone with the weak light of a firefly in the dark, battery dead.  From that point on, I steadfastly held my own small light shining behind me, giving D (who was the last in our party) any benefit of its glow.  I, on the other hand, decided to test my resolve and grace by carefully watching the silhouettes of Heather’s feet and tried to mirror any steps she took ahead of me.  In front of Heather was her dad and, at the lead of my group, Ed.  Most of the walk was relatively uneventful with only an occasional stutter-stepped stumble on the odd root or rock.  All, that is, save for the 2nd creek crossing.  Here, the water was about 9-inches deep.  My boots, on the other hand, were only water-proof up to around 6-inches deep.  Determined to not be “that girl” who forces others to look for a better crossing (after all, they slogged through just fine), I set my chin and simply slogged through as well.  Funny thing about waterproof boots… they hold water in just as well as they can hold water out. 

For the next 2 miles I squished up the side of the ridge as the sky slowly took on the glow of early morning light.  Here my party came to a split in the trail.  It was at this point that we were going to separate.  Ed, Robert (the dad), and Heather were going to bound up the right fork (with Ed splitting from them shortly thereafter) while D and I took the left fork to cross a waterfall and continue up the ridge a ways.  We keyed into our hand-helds, ensuring we all had contact with each other and with various others in our 75-man hunting and dog-handling party.  Satisfied, D and I continued on our way.  We trekked up the hill, no longer needing the light, and decided on a "finger" of the ridge that, once climbed, would provide a decent amount of visibility on the "finger" we were on and the 2 fingers to either side of ours, reaching from the ridge top down into the valley.  We ambled up the steep incline and finally selected the base of a large oak tree to settle in for the days’ hunt.  Within moments, I was shivering and D, noticing the depth of my bone-chill, volunteered to light a fire. 

A fire?  Well, that’s not very hunting-savvy.  But I admit I couldn’t resist and was deeply thankful that he ignored my protests that a fire would scare all of the game away.  After a small fire was built I slowly removed my sodden boots and equally drenched socks.  My left foot had taken the brunt of the soaking and we carefully draped the sock over a stick which I held above the fire while D took the boot and, hanging it upside-down by carefully tying and then balancing it with the laces, made an effort to dry it.  An hour later I replaced my steaming sock and boot, after having also thawed my foot and hands near the fire.  We diligently ensured the fire was out and opted to trek about 20 yards further up the mountainside.  We both knew we were the epitome of how not to hunt effectively because of the fire and the not-terribly quiet conversation we had bantered during the drying process. 

In the distance, we heard the baying of dogs coming from a ridge a distance away.  We had planned for the hunt with different firearms for different purposes.  I, carrying my scoped .30-06, was meant to be useful for game – bears today – that were seen at a distance.  D, with his 12-guage shotgun equipped with slugs, was meant for quarry that was far closer.  The dogs bayed again, closer.  We used our ears to mark distance and possible trajectory. They bayed again, already obviously closer.  Another set of baying and my eyes widened, my senses suddenly straining with alertness.

“They’re coming straight at us,” I said.  D keyed up the radio, asking Robert – who was more experienced at bear hunting – if we should travel towards the baying or stay put since it was obviously coming our way.  The advice was to stay put.

“I mean it,” I exclaimed excitedly, “they are coming right at us,” I said as we both turned and took a few steps closer to the ridgeline from behind which the sounds were emerging.  We stood there, the baying of the dogs feeling so close that there was a palpable sense of anticipation, knowing we were just on the verge of something happening but unsure of exactly what.  Our guns were off our shoulders and clasped in our hands but neither exactly at the ready.  Our eyes and ears were straining, desperately striving to provide more information to our minds.  The ridge of the finger across from us was about 40-yards away and clearly visible.  The ground cover wasn’t too thick and even less directly in along the path in front of us; we stood on an obviously well-used game trail, giving us a clear view of the next crest.  Being a finger like ours, reaching out from the top of the ridge and extending to the valley floor with us being near the top, there was a gentle slope down the adjacent ridge and then gently back up to our location.  My mind was blank, thinking nothing, as my senses were alight with the anxious tension of knowing I was about to have an experience I had never had.  The next events, which I will express in detail, took all of 5 seconds in reality.  To help you understand the event, which like all exciting events means that time loses all meaning, I will preface each with the second that marks the event. 

Second 5- A black head, heralded by ears immediately followed by face, chest, and front legs of a bear crests the top of the finger directly across from me on the game trail. My mind registers "bear!" and sees the path and trajectory of bear meeting up with where I currently stand... forty yards from me and coming towards me in a full-bore run.

Second 4- I raised my gun, scope to eye level, as the bear begins the downward decent.  In my scope, I catch just the hint of the bear’s body as it races down the gentle slope (though even now I have no idea what part of the bear glanced through my scope's view) and squeeze the trigger.  Nothing happens and instinctually I click the safety off.  In the sudden need of my gun, I had neglected this matter.  It wouldn’t have mattered though; as quickly as the bear was in my scope, it had vanished.  The bear is thirty yards from me. 

Second 3- “Shoot the bear, Steph!” I hear from my right and just behind me.  Keeping my gun snuggly against my shoulder I lower the barrel.  I already know I can’t get a shot at the bear, running straight at me at full speed going down a slope.  Not with this gun... not with my scope zoomed in for long range shooting. Even in this last passing second, the bear was now at the gentle curve marking the bottom and about to start up my slope.  The path of the beast hadn’t changed; it was still coming straight at me, now closing to 20 yards and not slowing. Time was so slow that I drank in every detail of the bear.  Its muzzle was light but not brown and I wasn't sure if this was from tint or thinness of hair.  Its ears were forward and eyes gleaming like dark marbles set just behind the lighter area of its muzzle.  Not large but not small, it ran in lumbering up-and-down strides.  I felt no danger from attack, the bear didn’t care about or even notice me as its instinct merely relayed one message to it: “Run”. Twenty Yards.

Second 2- “Shoot the bear!” now yelled from the same area behind and to my right.  “Can’t” is all I reply.  The barrel of my gun now pointed in the direction the bear will travel, placed purposefully because I already know I have to wait until it's right in front of me. Only then - when the bear is literally about to run me down - will I have the ability to shoot my long-range rifle with any sense of accuracy.  The upward slope the bear runs up hasn’t slowed its progress at all.  The bear is staring both at me and through me.  I am nothing more than something in the way.  I have no sense of fear, no sense of panic.  The situation is what it is; I know that the bear will be to me in another second and, only then, will I have any hope of hitting it with my bullet.  Ten Yards.

Second 1- In some other world I hear the click-clack of a shotgun shell being chambered followed by the deafening report of a shotgun fired around 18-inches from my right ear.  It doesn’t even startle me.  An intense high-pitch trill fills my ear before the second immediate shot is fired, which I barely hear.  The bear, mere feet in front of me now on its near-collision course (I think it was actually going to run between the two of us) and 4 feet from where my own gun would have been effective veers slightly to its right, my left. It swerves, suddenly aware from the gun report that it needs to change course.  Because of that change in course, my barrel is no longer facing it and I won't get a shot after all.  As it veers course, I turn simultaneously with the bear as it passes to my left, six feet from me.   

I can’t hear anything but the head-splitting whine in my ear.  I take two ardent strides back up my ridge in the direction the bear was headed, trying to figure out which way it went but unable to hear any indicators. My eyes catch a glimpse of movement from low shrubs and brush settling back into place.  “It went that way!” I likely yelled (not meaning to but unable to hear very well) and desperately scan the hillside for some indicator of the bear.  It’s no use.  The bear’s course had taken it directly towards a rhododendron thicket and it had disappeared.  A moment later I turn to see the first of the dogs, 2 blacks ones, as they bounded up the hill and began baying up the tree we had been standing by. 

The Scene Captured!

We start yelling (not angrily but in amusement) to the dogs that we hadn’t treed the bear and that, being obvious amateurs, they should continue their pursuit.  After a moment, they gave us a blatant yet thoughtful look of "Ah, I see! You idiots missed it!" and realized their (or perhaps our?) error and did just that.  A few moments later 4 or 5 more hounds followed, baying.  At this point we were able to rationally start laughing about the odds of being nearly run-over by a bear at a full run that just so happened to be on the exact game trail we had chosen to stand on.  Two more dogs, the stragglers, arrived and carried on past us, almost without noticing us. 

From this point the bear had run back down the hill and into the valley, crossed over the creek near the waterfall area and then headed back the way it had started.  Not too long a distance from where the chase possibly began, the bear was taken by a man named Curtis, another hunter in our party.  D and I had already started down the trail at this point, eager to tell those in our immediate group of the preposterousness of the event after D had fielded questions about our luck via hand-held when others heard 2 gunshots.  We regaled the story over and over throughout the remainder of the day, laughing at the absurdity of the bear being on a literal collision course with us, my resolute (and probably daft) decision to not fire until the bear was directly in front of me, and D’s 2-shot miss… divulging that the first “click-clack” I heard was him unthinkingly ejecting an already-chambered shell and reducing his possibility of shooting the bear by one-third.  In reality, hitting the bear would have been a grand ending to the tale but his primary intent was for the bear to not run us over (which I ardently argued would have been the perfect end to the tale).

We all decided that it would have simply been too much if either he or I had shot and hit the bear in such close proximity.  Regardless of the ending of our absolutely amazing tale, we would be hard-pressed to ever find a hunter with such a ridiculously exciting and yet laughable tale of their first-ever bear hunt. 

"THE" Bear.

Author’s note:  Curtis, knowing the immediate history of his bear, gave me a chunk of the tenderloin so that I could share in the spoils of the bear that almost ran me down.  For that small courtesy, I will forever be grateful to him. OH - as a PS: the bear weighed 115 lbs.

Virgin Falls

Virgin Falls; Scott’s Gulf adjacent to the Bridgestone/Firestone Wilderness Management Area on the Cumberland Plateau dividing East- and Middle-Tennessee.
Virgin Falls has a knack for making you question your hiking skills before you even manage to get on the trail.  The moment you leave the trailhead parking, you’re assaulted with signage everywhere with various warnings ranging from:

“Stay on the trail; hikers have gotten lost here and there is no cell phone coverage so help is not going to be here quickly!” to

“Backpackers, sign this log so we know you’re here and how many are in your party!” to, finally,

“This is a very strenuous 9-mile round trip hike with a water crossings and heavy, steady ascents on exit; this trail is not recommended for non-experienced hikers and make sure you allow yourself enough time to complete the trail!”. 

When you start down the trail, you’re curious just how daunting it will become.  After all, the immediate terrain is flat and unremarkable.  Bandit McKaye and I struck out on the trail around 8 a.m. with the promise of mild temperatures and a cloudless sky.  Simply stated, it was the perfect day for a hike.  Because we have never been to this area, I wasn’t sure what to expect, but there were only a couple of cars at the trailhead and the above-mentioned signs made me think it would be a peaceful, quiet hike.  We followed the flat terrain across the top of a ridge for about ½ a mile when the trail met up with, and followed, a slow, quiet mountain creek.  We followed the creek for awhile as it slowly but steadily increased in size.  Before long it grew from a creek to a stream to a babbling brook.  At this point, the terrain went from straight and simple to a steady decent.  The footing was still easy and, in the distance, we could hear the brook growing into rapids.  It was here that we found something we have never really done before: a cabled creek crossing.  The water wasn’t very high so I grabbed onto the cable only as a gesture and we trekked across the tops of the rocks.  The trail continued downward at a steady pace and the babbling rapids soon gave way to the thunder of an upcoming waterfall.  I knew it was far too soon to be the Virgin Falls the trail was named after, so I was quite pleased to think we were going to have multiple falls to view.  With the sound of the falls calling to us, we came to a split in the trail, one sign pointing to “The Overlook 0.5” and the other to Virgin Falls… we had plenty of time and – because it was early – energy, so we decided to take the spur to the top of the ridge. 

We broke to the trail on the right and veered onto a steep switchback that meandered up the side of the ridge.  While the sign told us it was only a half-mile to the overlook, as with any steep trail, you start to question the validity of the distance marker about ¾ of the way up.  Breathing heavy, we came to something else we’ve never encountered before: a ladder going up a ledge next to a muddy trickling slope.  Well, McKaye, being a quadruped, isn’t exactly equipped to handle a ladder… so we opted to go off-trail for a moment and put it in 4-wheel-drive.  We slipped and slopped our way through the trickle-fed mud slope and then carried on. It was the last major hurdle, it seems, and within just a few hundred yards we found ourselves at Martha’s Pretty Point where 2 separate camping sites were set up with overnight backpackers.  It was relatively early and McKaye has a knack for making people feel intimidated, so I beckoned a hello and “gorgeous morning” to those who were awake and meandering around.  McKaye and I strode over to the bluff and sat for a moment, taking in the view of the valley gorge and the ridgeline on the far side.  Worried we were disturbing those who were asleep, we quickly departed and headed back down trail for a nearby, uninhabited rock that provided a scenic vantage.  We again admired the view (well, I admired while McKaye laid on the cool rock bluff) for a moment before heading back down the spur, making a mental note that it would be a great place to have an overnight visit as long as you had plenty of water in tow. 

At the bottom of the ridge (which felt true to it’s 0.5 mile distance on the way down) we continued on toward the first of the thundering waterfalls.  It wasn’t much further, though the terrain became distinctly more steep and the footing more rocky.  Within a mile, we spotted Big Laurel Falls, the first of the falls on our hike.  I was immediately enamored by the falls, which had gathered quite a bit of volume by this point, but the cool factor surrounded that the gorge immediately after the falls was completely barren of water.  Where was it going?  I was lookin at the falls going over the edge yet the immediate view after the falls was as dry as the top of the ridge!  We walked further down the trail and then crossed down to Big Laurel Campsite and Falls to marvel that the water came rushing over a ledge that carved itself deeply backward into the rock… the water that fell from the top ran backwards to the ledge and then disappeared under the ground.  Needing a closer inspection, we traversed over rocks and boulders to the other side of the falls – the side that is actually nearer the trail – and the cold that was emanating from the area behind the falls was almost tangible.  Even though the temperature was still very mild – maybe 55-degree – the temperature at the base of the falls’ cave was barely above freezing.  Steam rolled off of my heated body in waves and McKaye’s breath steamed the air with each huff. 

Knowing we still had quite a bit of hike to go  (and already seeing how steep the trip out would be) we didn’t linger long.  Back on the trail I continued to marvel for the next half mile on how the gorge, which was carved and lush, so perfectly hid the raging river under the surface.  I wondered for quite some time as I marveled at this on if that was the water that fed Virgin Falls. 
About a mile further ahead I heard the unmistakable sound of more water in the distance, the sound often feeling as if it just “appeared” because it’s akin to wind bustling through trees.  I strained my ears and then my eyes and, off in the distance through the bare trees I saw the refraction of sunlight from the broken surface of the river.  I wondered where it had emerged and if I was going to see that place.  I thought the trail would lead me there but, a little further, I came to another sign that read Virgin Falls to the left (0.5 mi) or Virgin Falls via Sheep Cave to the right (0.8 mi). Well, how could I pass up two sights instead of one?!  We veered to the right and before long we passed a tiny cave opening, perhaps large enough for one person and not something that I thought warranted my 0.3 mile side-trek.  But just around the bend after the cave we came to a very cool waterfall and I wondered at first it if was Virgin Falls.  While we didn’t trek to the top of the falls, it fell dozens of feet from the top of the ridge, through a crevasse, hidden for a moment where the rocks had not yet given up their grip holding the crevasse together, and then visible again for just a moment as it plunged deep into the ground.  How amazing!  Not one waterfall that disappeared immediately into the earth, but TWO!  I followed the trail for a moment, enamored by the falls when we came into view of a sign: “Virgin Falls, Left”.  Well… this wasn’t even Virgin Falls yet! 

Excitement renewed, we didn’t bother to trek to the top of Sheep Cave Falls, deciding instead to see the trails’ namesake.  We trekked just a bit further and were almost immediately rewarded with a glimpse of the falls.  Honestly, my first thought was “well, these aren’t as cool as the others we passed to get here!” but, thankfully, the closer and closer we got, the more impressive the falls became.  While at first you can only see the top 1/3 of the falls (thereby wondering how big they are and coming up short) they steadily revealed themselves as larger than Sheep Cave Falls (the ones we had just passed) and more voluminous than Big Laurel Falls (the first one that had enamored us).  Finally we had arrived and settled onto a moss-covered rock to simply stare in wonder.  The falls were about 25-feet wide with a steady volume of water cascading over the edge of the bluff and falling over 100 feet to the rock below.  The most amazing part was the lack of water at the bottom of the falls.  There wasn’t a river raging onward.  There wasn’t a pool.  There wasn’t even a puddle.  The water immediately disappeared (likely, again, going immediately into an underground cave river system).  The surrealism of seeing that water – that much water  - and it not being in evidence at the bottom of the falls was… well, just odd.  After a few minutes of marveling I simply had to see what was at the top of the falls, so we headed up the spur.  The top was almost as amazing as the bottom… at the top of the ridge we could easily spy the water coming from the mouth of a cave and, after about 10 feet of exposure, crossing under a natural bridge for 10 feet before traveling another 25 feet to immediately cascade over the bluff.  I found myself looking from the cave on my immediately right to the earthen bridge I was standing atop to where the falls occurred on my immediate left.  It was enthralling and mystifying at the amazing features of the area.  McKaye, on the other hand, was not caring nearly as much about the view and more about the water he wanted a sip of.  We carefully walked over some large rocks (he took coercion) to where the water was emerging from the cave.  He lapped up some of the coldest and clearest water I have ever seen (I admit I took a few handfuls myself to splash on my sweat-sticky face). 

Our destination being reached, it was time to trek back.  I checked my watch and it was 10:30.  It had taken us about 2.5 hours to trek to the falls.  I knew the trip out would be more cumbersome and it was time to get moving.  We opted, on the trip out, to take the route that was previously advertised as the shorter leg of the loop, bypassing a second view of Sheep Cave Falls.  Shorter, in this case, merely meant steeper.  We huffed and puffed as we trudged up the exceedingly steep ridge, part of it being more akin to rock climbing/scrambling than hiking.  Within a quarter of a mile, we were both winded and Bandit McKaye, being the more out-of-shape of the two of us, made it to the top of the ridge and immediately threw up most of the water he had just drank.  I decided he (and I) needed a break and we were in a great snacking spot.  I set him out a small bit of water and I snacked on some trail mix.  The wind rustled from every angle and the cry of a red-tailed hawk sang to us on the breeze.  Before long a sound drew my attention (not McKaye’s… he was busy napping) and I watched three very healthy-sized white-tailed deer perusing the mountainside.  I finished my snack and watched the deer until they were near the bottom of the ridge and out of sight before coercing McKaye to get up and get going.  The trek back was, as originally advertised, a very steady incline after that which seemed to go on for eons.  The trail out brought far more people who, like us, decided it was a perfect day for a hike.  My guess is that most of the people I saw weren’t going to make it to the falls… well, not the namesake falls.  They were coming in well after noon and many of them were toting small children and, in one case, a man had a baby strapped into a backpack and was literally carrying a small dog crate… which admittedly gave me pause.  We also encountered a woman after my own heart on the way out; she had a huge backpack strapped on and was leashed to two boxers (each carrying a pack as well).  We didn’t want to pass them (Bandit has a tendency to be a little overprotective around other dogs) so we crossed the creek at a spot I knew prior to the cable crossing (where I knew she would be slow at best trying to get two dogs and that huge pack across).  The last mile of the hike was the most tiresome, not from the terrain but from McKaye wanting to lie down in the creek and relax every couple hundred feet.  Finally, at 1:30, we made it back to the trailhead where we both piled up in the Rover and, gleefully, headed for some fast food. 

In all I would recommend Virgin Falls to anyone who has the time and physical endurance for the trip.  If you’re afraid of making the 9 mile trek round trip in a single visit, take provisions to overnight.  All of the campsites – Virgin Falls, Big Laurel Falls, or Martha’s Pretty Overlook – are amazing.  The trip itself is strenuous, so be prepared for that and hit the trail at a good time.  The fact that you see multiple unique waterfalls makes the trip (which is worthwhile for any one of the falls, much less all 3!) worth every bit of soreness you’ll earn from it.