By Joe Woody
I have a list of things that bother me out in the woods, especially when I’m by myself. The list has decreased over the years as I’ve become more and more accustomed to what nature throws at you when you’re chasing the high lonesome.
I’m not saying I don’t get the “Heebie-jeebies” every so often, but at least I can explain those bump in the night sounds more so than I used to. Here’s a short list of things that make the hair on the back on my neck stand up:
Hikers walking past who refuse to speak or acknowledge you.
Widowmakers…look it Up.
Yellow jackets.
Rattlesnakes on the trail.
Wood knocks at night when you’re by yourself.
That’s not all of them but you get the picture.
Bears don’t freak me out as much as they used to. Most bears are indifferent to or scared of you. You may find a curious one every so often, but a simple holler or hand clap will send them running.
A coyote howl can be unnerving at times, but I can count on my fingers the times I’ve actually run into them. I now accept the howl as a cool reminder that I’m in the wilderness. Don’t get me wrong. A close coyote howl near your campsite when you’re alone can place you on high alert, but I’ve learned to just roll with it.
There are those undiagnosed sounds and occurrences that happen. If you are lucky enough to spend time in the woods alone over time, the spirit in the woods will reach out to you. It’s up to you to accept it or not. Our Native American friends are correct when they tell you that the “Great Spirit” is alive and well… especially in remote places in our Southern Appalachians, but that’s a topic for another time.
My biggest and some would say unwarranted concern is… wait for it… hogs.
I’m not talking about the cute pink variety that kids chase around during greased pig contests. I’m talking about the brown hairy ones who’ve de-evolved back to their wild state. Even scarier are the Boars. These creatures have Orc like curved tusks protruding out of their jaws like curved Arab Scimitar swords. They are thick and muscular and run in packs.
I’ve had just a handful of encounters with them, but that in no way should make you believe that they are few in numbers. All you have to do is walk up a trail in the Smoky Mountain backcountry and pay attention to the tracks and rooted up sections on the side of the trail. Hogs do that. In some places you would think heavy tracked machinery were the culprits, but that is not the case. Hogs will flat root up a place. It can be quite eye opening.
If you would like to test just how much hogs can amplify the pucker factor, take a summertime walk to one of our balds in the high country. Find a trail skirting the highest peak. You will find yourself walking through high grass on both sides of the trail. Look down and you will find freshly rooted up ground. Stop for a few minutes and don’t make any noise. You will start to notice freshly made trails running into the grass. Listen closely and you will just be able to make out little squeals and rustles in the vegetation. You will slowly realize that you are in amongst a family of wild hogs that can be aggressive in the protection of their young. They are smart and some old timers will say vindictive.
I need put out a disclaimer here. There have been no instances of fatalities from hogs in our mountains, but that does not mean you should not be on hog alert. I mean, there’s no reason to not be. Let me tell you a story of a recent hog encounter I had…
I don’t particularly like to change my plans when I’m going out into the back country. It can only lead to problems, but on a recent trip, I did exactly that…three times.
I was headed out to explore Pilkey Creek on the North Carolina side of the Smokies. Pilkey empties into the north side of Fontana Lake situated a few miles between Hazel and Forney Creeks in a very remote section of the park. I was headed out with my friends Ben Bailey and Chris Ramsey in Chris’s boat.
The plan was for the three of us to explore Pilkey Creek the first day, then leave me, my gear and my canoe on Pilkey where I could explore the creek fully for a few days after they left. But after a few hours on the creek, it was obvious that three to four hours would be plenty to fish most of the creek that was fishable.
Change 1: We then decided to drop me off on Hazel Creek where I could spend a few days fishing and exploring. But on reaching the mouth of Hazel, we discovered that the lake level had dropped to a point where it was impossible for me to get across without swimming. The wind was blowing, and the temperature was dropping, and I didn’t want to get my clothes and gear wet. So, I decided to adjust my plans once again.
Change 2: We then decided to drop me off on Olly Cove just a quarter mile out from the mouth of Hazel Creek where I could then make a short one mile hike up over Olly Gap and approach Hazel Creek from the Northeast where my camp site at Proctor waited for me. I waved goodbye to Ben and Chris, then turned to start my hike. Not long into the walk, I noticed the obvious signs of Hog Wallers. They had completely rooted up the ground in all directions. If you listen, the wilderness will let you know.
As I approached Proctor Campground, I looked across the bridge and just to the right of The Calhoun House, standing in the field, was a large solitary animal. At first, I thought it was a big bear, but as I got closer, I realized it was a huge hog. I still can’t believe how big these animals get.
I walked past to my campsite, found a suitable spot and began setting up my tent, then built a fire. I walked over to the river, near the bend just above the spring hole, to admire its water and dream about the fish I’d caught out of it in years past. As I stood there, the serenity of the evening was interrupted by a huge “ker-plunk” in the water.
At first, I thought someone had thrown a rock at me, but there were no signs of anyone else in the campground and in fact there we no signs that people had been there for days or even weeks. I then thought it had to be a beaver slapping its tail at me to warn me off, but I saw no beaver. I shook this off and started walking down the muddy bank to check for animal tracks, which I do almost everywhere I go. There were dear, fox and hog tracks, all made recently by my calculations. I thought I saw the remnants of a bear, but it was old and hard to make out. I then returned to make my dinner.
I was making my favorite dehydrated meal of Peaks Beef Stroganoff when I made a bad mistake. When pouring boiling water into the bag, my hand slipped on my pot causing the hot water to land on my hand instead of the noodles. In response, I dropped the aromatic contents directly on the ground. Now, some of you realize that I had just rung the dinner bell for all hungry animals in close proximity to follow their noses into my campsite to investigate the delicious goodness I’d just spread all over the ground adjacent to my tent.
I cleaned it up as best as I could, brushed my teeth, completed my necessities and decided to hit the rack, forgoing the dinner now spread over the dirt. I wanted an early start and would make a good breakfast the next morning.
I fell asleep quickly and deeply, but around midnight I awoke to a god-awful sound. I don’t know if you’ve ever been in close proximity to a bunch of hogs fighting, squealing and God knows what else right beside your head, but it will clinch up your cheeks.
I did not make a sound. For twenty to thirty minutes these animals continued to circle my tent. Then… they all screamed at once and ran into the night. What had scared them? In a few seconds, I figured it out. Right outside my tent where I’d dropped my dinner, I heard a very large grunt, then scratching on the ground followed by more snorts and grunts. Either this was largest hog I could imagine, or a big bear had moved in to claim the remnants of my supper. I could feel its breath right beside my head. It would make lunges at my tent trying to scare off the Big Agnes logo across the front of it. This went on for another fifteen to twenty minutes. The big animal finally ended its standoff with my tent and moved away. I eventually went to sleep, but to say the sleep was restless would be an understatement.
I exited my tent early the next morning to survey the carnage I knew had happened the night before. Just as I thought, the ground had been rooted up and there was a suspicious dig next to my campfire, but all the participants had disappeared. I made breakfast, did my necessities and walked back down to the river to ponder everything that had happened. As soon as I approached the water, another “ker-plunk,” bigger than the day before, exploded in the middle of the creek, but again, the guilty beaver was nowhere to be seen. Concerned but not deterred, I walked back up the creek to study any new footprints in the muddy bank. There, plain as day, were two children’s bare footprints. I’m pretty sure they were not there the day before. Matter of fact, I was pretty sure people had not been at the campsite for several days, especially children.
I pondered this for a while, then decided that nothing was worse than not fishing, so I readied my fly rod and walked down the trail to the spring hole where I intended to fish. Before I could make my first cast, I bent my fly rod up in a laurel bush and broke the tip. My fishing trip was over before it began. I usually carry an extra rod, but on this occasion it was safely in my truck under my seat. I decided it was time for Change 3. I packed up my gear, walked the mile back to my canoe and cut my trip short by two days. There were other weird occurrences on the trip back to my truck, but I’ll have to tell that story another time.
I guess the moral of these misadventures is to stick to your original plan or chaos might ensue… but chaos can sometimes make the best story. Oh yeah! Hogs are freaking terrifying.
Joe Woody is Co-Publisher of The Angler Magazine Great Smoky Mountains with his wife Debra. He is an Army Veteran and a self proclaimed “Adventure Angler”. You can usually find him wandering around Western North Carolina telling fishing lies. He is also a baseball nut and a crazy FCS Football fan. He has a Bigfoot magnet on the back of his truck.