URSINE OF THE (SUN-)TIMES
RUN-IN WITH BEAR LONG AGO INSPIRED ME TO BECOME OUTDOORS WRITER
The warning came on ruled notebook paper, rolled tight and stuck in the wire of a hiking shelter on the Appalachian Trail in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park: “Beware. There’s an evening bear.”
My wife, a librarian, saw Peotone Library was hosting native son Ron Knickrehm on thru-hiking the A.T. and his book, “Chasing the White Blaze,” then sent me an email. Listening, memories washed back from 1981 of hiking the southern A.T., the world’s longest hiking-only path of 2,190 miles, marked by white blazes. It changed my life and intersected with others.
I met Tim Hogeboom when working with my oldest brother, Jim, in his TV business covering state government in Pennsylvania. Hogeboom filled in as cameraman when my brother was away.
In 1984, Hogeboom did a video project while thru-hiking the A.T. It became “North to Katahdin on the Appalachian Trail,” released in 1992. Last year, he released the sprawling raw-file book, “Triple Crown Diary: Appalachian Trail.”
That morning was an easy hike. The note caught my attention.
“Beware. There’s an evening bear.” Even so, I washed, then dried clothes and gear while journaling and reading.
In the evening, a family — parents, three teenagers and a young daughter — arrived. Rather than moping, the dad, a laid-off construction worker, took the family backpacking.
I told them about the note, yet the teenagers hiked off. The dad and I talked while he watched the young daughter as the mom fried potatoes and meat.
Frying food, after weeks of freeze-dried, drew me and probably the bear.
Black bears rarely threaten humans, other than stealing food.
We spotted the teens in the distance, running and shouting. When I asked about them, the dad snorted, “Teenagers.” As they neared, we heard them say, “Bear,” and saw a black bear loping along behind them.
The dad scooped the little one. I held the shelter gate. When the breathless teens piled in, I slammed it shut. The bear hooked her front claws in the gate wire and shook it violently, teeth popping, inches from my face. I saw matted fur around her teats, a sow with nursing cubs.
The mom finally said, “I’m going to count to three, then everybody make as much noise as possible.” I grabbed the lid of my aluminum SIGG cooking kit and a rock from the fireplace. At three, I smashed it in front of the bear’s nose as everyone yelled and screamed, a cathartic moment built of fear and adrenaline. The bear sat down on her haunches as though knocked back by a cartoon blast of sound, then walked into the woods.
The little girl whimpered, “I have to pee.” I opened the gate while the dad took her out. As soon as the bear heard the metallic creak, it galloped back. This time it went around back, then climbed on the roof to tear at the chimney stone.
Again the mom said, “I’ll count to three, then make as much noise as possible into the fireplace.” On three, racket ensued. The bear shambled off the roof, then disappeared into the woods. This time, we waited until dark to open the gate.
The next morning, I hiked off and kept going until I was out of the park. Came out of that summer knowing I wanted to write about the outdoors. It took 15 years to reach that goal.
If thinking of hiking the A.T., do it, whether high schooler, 20-year-something or 60-something. Your mind will expand; your life will change. Start with the Appalachian Trail Conservancy (appalachiantrail.org).