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Return to bear cave

By Tony Robinson | Sportsman

Published: November 6, 2008

Arriving at Buck Creek Gap at the McDowell and Yancey County lines was like entering the doorway to the first 20 years of my memory.

I was en route to meet a group of bear hunters who were camping on a section of national forest known as the Victor Fields. It was the opening day of this year's bear season.

For many years, groups of hunters have been coming here to spend a week in the woods. Carrying tarps, tents, dogs and supplies, hunters arrived throughout the day and into the late hours.

Throughout the night, old friendships were renewed and new ones made.

With the hounds keeping a constant chorus, there was little, if any, sleep for two-legged or four-legged hunters.

With two hours of darkness still left, I pulled into camp. The soft glow of the campfire and the aroma of fried bacon greeted me.

An older hunter sat by the fire and worked a large, cast-iron pan with at least two-dozen eggs. The seasoned and older hunters seemed to be handling the lack of sleep better than the younger ones.

After a quick but much-appreciated breakfast, the hunters decided who would be going where. I was to hunt with Jessie Buchanan of Bakersville, and a father and son team, Steve and Steven Walters. Our destination was a trail I remembered well but had not traversed in nearly 40 years, the Woods Mountain Trail.

Soon, the dawn began to reveal silhouettes of neighboring mountains in all directions. A half-mile in, Jessie's two Walker hounds picked up the fresh scent of a bear.

The location brought back memories from many years earlier.

At age 18, I had only one year of bear hunting experience behind me. I learned that being able to stay with the dogs would increase the odds of bagging the bear immensely. With youthful legs that loved to run and a spirit that did not know the word quit, I was determined to not lose sound of the dogs if my group struck a track.

The predawn twilight of opening day 39 years ago found a handful of hunters and myself, leading six or so good strike and tracking dogs out the Woods Mountain Trail.

Soon, the dogs bellowed and tugged at a hot track. The older veteran hunters carefully surveyed for physical evidence of the track and its direction. There was no mistake in their findings. Seconds later, walkie-talkie signals relayed the message to neighboring groups. Dogs were unleashed and the chase was on.

The hillsides echoed with the hounds' loud chorus and the race was on.

Out the trail I ran.

Although the bear and dogs both could run faster than I could, I traversed the trail in nearly a full run. After some distance and the realization that I was in woods I had never been, I stopped and listened.

The faint howls of a couple of dogs were just off the trail a couple-hundred yards away. The steepness of the downhill drop made the short distance a slow and careful trip.

Before I knew it, I was on top of a rocky outcrop that was as big as a house with the muffled howls coming from underneath. Realizing I had to go around the ledge, I carefully crawled and scooted over the steep and thick terrain.

Now only yards away, I realized that the dogs had the bruin at bay in the corner of a rock cliff. The problem was that the sounds resembled those from a large cat more than those from a bear. Knowing that at any moment I would be staring face-to-face with whatever creature the dogs were fighting, I shouldered my old bolt-action .30-caliber rifle and inched closer.

Soon I was in spitting distance and in full view of the battle. To my surprise, the only things visible were the back halves of two extremely fired-up hounds protruding from the small entrance of a cave in the rocks. There was little doubt that something was deeper in the cave and would only allow the dogs to come in so far.

At this point, all I could do was sit and wait for some of the others to arrive.

Before long, several of the older hunters joined me. After securing the hounds, a hunter decided to stick a long pole back into the narrow cave's entrance as I readied myself for a possible shot.

The surprise came when a bear suddenly bolted from the cave the instant the pole started in. My instincts took over and the rifle fired. Ten feet from me, the bear dropped and to our dismay, slid back into the darkness of the cave.

Before us now was a dead or wounded bear that was somewhere in the darkness of a small cave.

The word went out on the radio for a flashlight. Finally, one arrived and I quickly volunteered for the mission.

Since no one argued my decision, I moved closer and closer to the entrance.

Not hearing or seeing anything, I was now lying face down and having to crawl. With only my feet protruding from the cave, I discovered that the bear was dead and lying directly below me.

The others had to hold my feet while I dangled upside down in the narrow rock cavity as I secured a belt around its foot.

As the others pulled me, I pulled the bear. Before I could come to my senses, we had removed him from the cave.