By Joe Woody
I love listening to old Warren Zevon Music. I mean it touches my soul. Maybe I relate to his lyrics about strange places, risk taking and the surreal. Lawyers, Guns and Money, and Roland the Headless Thompson Gunner are a couple classics that immediately come to mind. If you haven’t listened to these songs, do yourself a solid and check ‘em out.
Which leads me to this story…
I set off one Saturday morning to do some “Modified Blue Lining” in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park…more specifically, Cataloochee Valley. I want to say the year was 2009 but it could be three years on either side. I call it “Modified” because although remote, Cataloochee Valley is wide open, with traffic jams caused by cars stopping to look at the abundant wild life in clear view. It’s not as congested as Cades Cove in Tennessee…but give it a few years. My dastardly plan was to get away from it all and go bush whackin’ in a much less traveled section of the creek. I planned to park down by the Gauging Station and walk as far as I could down the creek toward Waterville Lake.
If you’ve never been in this section of Cataloochee, you’re not alone. There is a trail on the right side of the creek for about a quarter of a mile, which abruptly stops at a river crossing. From this point on, for about seven to eight miles, Cataloochee Creek runs through a deep holler, protected by Rhododendron, Dog Hobble and fairly big waterfalls. If there is a trail, I’ve obviously missed it. Maybe some Haywood County locals can enlighten me. The lower section is what I refer to as “Snaky”. I am absolutely convinced that this is one of the few place left in WNC where a panther could exist without ever coming in contact with a human.
I pulled into the parking area near the bridge almost giddy with the adventure spirit. I specifically remember Warren’s “Werewolves of London” playing on my stereo. There are no radio signals there so it had to be from my phone. I was hollering the words. I would say singing, but anyone who’s heard me sing would strongly disagree. “Ahoo…Werewolves of London…Ahoo,” I was belting it out. I had to sit in the car and finish the song…”I saw a werewolf drinking a Pina Colada at Trader Vicks…His hair was perfect…MIP.”
I jumped out of the truck full of Zevon Motivation, grabbed my gear and hit the stream. I did the obligatory, fruitless five casts under the bridge then crossed the creek, climbed the bank and joined the old stream bed used as a trail. Wasn’t long before I began seeing very large bundles of “deer” poop. Many of you will quickly recognize these bundles as elk poop. At the moment, it went straight over my head.
Needless to say I was intrigued. I followed the large tracks that accompanied the poop on down the trail to where the trail ended near the bend. The water was high and swift and it took a good deal of effort to cross over so I concentrated on the crossing. To say I lost my situational awareness is an understatement. I got to the edge, placed a foot on the bank and began hoisting myself up to continue my journey. Mid-hoist, I found myself face to face with a large female elk. We just stared into each other eyes.
The elk was not concerned. In fact, I kinda felt like she said, in elk language of course, “Hey dude, what cha doin?” I actually said, out loud, “Oh…hey.” We continued staring into each other’s eyes for about ten more seconds. Then it got awkward. I pulled myself up on the bank and walked right past her. I could have touched the large tracking collar on her neck. I continued fishing down the creek for a couple of hours then followed my tracks back to where we’d met. She’d moved on. I was sad. I wanted to tell her bye.
Now, reading this, you may ask, “How exactly does anyone miss a five hundred pound animal, standing in the sunshine, on a creek bank, clear as day?” Believe me, I’ve asked myself that question hundreds of times. I was fortunate. It could have been during the rut. I could have meandered head long into a bull full of the mating fever. This story would be much more grave if that had been the case.
I’ve pondered this encounter over the years. Self reflection and study has led me to this conclusion. I was not in the spirit world. Months of alone time in wild places has taught me to condition my mind before entering the wilderness. I left the paved road with Warren Zevon blasting on my car stereo. It left me blind to the hidden world around me. I may as well have been wearing a blindfold.
When I get close to the wilderness these days, I turn my radio off. When I park my car, I spend a few minutes taking in everything. There’s not a set amount of time to condition your mind. It could take five minutes or it could take half an hour. You’ll know when you’ve entered a more spiritual state. Bird sounds come out of nowhere…sharp and clear. Colors become more vibrant. The sound of the stream, although loud, becomes distinguishable from other noises. This is just the beginning, your senses will sharpen with each second you invest in the process.
If you follow the advice I’ve given you in the preceding paragraph, perhaps you won’t come face to face with a big elk. But then again, where’s the fun in that? A man I know once said, “Wisdom is based on the experiences you garner from poor decision making,” or something like that. The rating system for wisdom is subjective at best.
Keep your feet wet and your eyes dry…unless you’re in the military, then keep your feet dry.
Joe Woody is Co-Publisher of The Angler Magazine WNC 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.