heart of the alleyhames
The bear, wllk shaggy hide
Rcd-stalned from blood of slaughtered swine,
at night
Slain by him on the mountain’s lower side,
Roused by the breaking light.
Cornea growling to hU lair.
Distant, the baying of an eager pack,
Like chiming bella. sweeps thro’ the chilly
air
Abat e the scented track.
The writer proposes to convey to
the reader some idea of what bear
hunting in the heart of the AUcghanics
is like; what one must expect to en¬
counter. and what sort of friends he
is likely to make on such expeditions.
Besides the usual equipments carried
by every hunter, it would be well to
take a rubber blanket and have the
guide carry an ax.
It was one night about the 1st of
December that we were in camp; eight
of us. huddled together under a low
bark roof, and within three frail sides
of like material. Around the camp lay
seventeen dogs. The ground beneath
us was cold and bare, except for a
thin layer of ferns lately bundled in
by some of the party. Before the front
of the shelter, lay a great fire of heavy
logs, heaped close enough for a long-
legged sleeper to stick his feet in, while
his head rested on the bolster log. The
hot flames, fanned by a strong wind,
leaped high and struggled up into the
darkness. On long sticks, several of the
group were toasting chunks of fat pork;
others were attending to black tin pails
of water boiling for coffee, while the
remaining few were eating lunches al¬
ready prepared. The wood crackled,
and occasionally the unseasoned chest¬
nut timber snapped, sending out show¬
ers of sparks. Around and within the
circle of firelight, stood the trees with
stripped, gaunt limbs swaying in the
wind. Above, clouds rolled darkly,
concealing the face of the sky.
balsam
bear
hunt
16
by ziegler and crosscut»
The temporary camp of a party of
mountaineers on the hunt for Bruin,
as viewed by night, presents a scene
of unique interest. It is a shelter only
for the time being; no one expects to
return to it, for by the following night
the hounds may be 20 miles away,
and the drivers and slanders toasting
bear steaks in their cabins, or en¬
camping on some distant height pre¬
paratory to resuming on the morrow
the chase of a bruin who had through
one day eluded their pursuit. The
mountain straggler often sees by the
trail which he follows, the ashes and
scattered black brands of an ex¬
tinguished fire, and the poles and birch
bark of an abandoned camp. At this
view he imagines he has some idea of
a hunter's camp; but it is like the con¬
ception of the taste of an oyster from
a sight of the empty shell.
Situated as above described, we
were improving an opportunity af¬
forded for devouring the whole oyster.
Our encampment was on Old Bald; not
the famous shaking mountain, but of
the Balsams, eight miles south of
Waynesville.
Israel Medford, nicknamed Wid,
the master-hunter of the Balsam range,
is a singular character, and a good
representative of an old class of moun¬
taineers. who. reared in the wilder¬
ness. still spend most of their time in
hunting and fishing. He possesses a
standard type of common sense;
an abundance of native wit, un-
strengthened by even the slightest
"book-lamin';” is a close observer, a
perfect mimic, and a shrewd judge of
character. His reputation as a talker
is wide-spread; and. talking to the
point, he commands the closest atten¬
tion. His conversation abounds in
similes; and, drawn as they arc from
his own observation, they are always
striking. He is now sixty-five years old.
and has been all his life a resident of
Haywood county.
That night as he sat cross-legged
close to the fire, turning in the flames
a stick with a slice of fat pork on it,
with his broad-brimmed hat thrown on
the ground, fully exposing his thick,
straight, gray locks, and clear, ruddy,
hatchet-shaped face, bare but for a
red mustache, lighted up with youth¬
ful animation, he kept shaking the in¬
dex finger of his right hand, while in
his talk he jumped from one subject
to another with as much alacrity as his
bow legs might carry him over the
mountains.
"What I don't know about these
mountings," said he, directing his keen
blue eyes upon one member of the
group, "haint of enny profit to man
or devil. Why, I've fit bars from the
Dark Ridge kentry to the headwaters
of the French Broad. I’ve brogued it
through every briar patch an' laurel
thicket, an' haint I bin with Guyot,
Sandoz, Grand Pierre, and Clingman
over every peak from hyar to the South
Caroliny an' Georgy lines? Say?"
"What do you mean by ‘brogued it’?"
was asked.
"Crawled, thets what hit means; just
as you’d hcv to do cf you perused
every pint o' the mountings; cf you
went through Hell’s Half Acre; cf you
slid down the Shinies, or dim the
Chimblcys."
"Hit’s rough thar,” remarked a
broad - shouldered, heavy - mustached
young fellow, named Allen.
"Rough?" resumed Wid, "wal I
reckon hit is."
"But a man can git in rough places
right on this slope, can't he?” some
one inquired.
"In course," remarked another
hunter, "Wid. you cum powerful nigh
pcctcrin’ out nigh hyar, wunct, didn’t
you?”
"Yes," said Wid. now devoting his
attention partly to a boiling pot of cof¬
fee. "Thct day war a tough un. Hit
war a hot summer day. We, — thct
( Continued on page 22)
jin 188:5 travel book tells liow they
hunted bear in the highlands of bay-
wood county
THE STATE. August 25. 1956
