Wolves with big shiny teeth; bears with razor sharp claws; wildcats with blood curdling screams; these are some of the monsters that roam our woods in the minds of many. They lurk there in the shadows, waiting to reach out and grab any careless interloper. Many of us know they are there waiting to get us because of the stories of our childhood and our fear of the unknown wilds.

    The more practical among us are pretty sure the booger bears, if they exist at all, are not likely to eat us. But just in case, these folks approach the forest with caution and never enter one alone at night. The rest of us are comfortable in the deep woods, even at night, because we understand the animals that live there and the precautions to take to minimize the dangers. We know that hereabouts no wolves are born and a cougar or bear would be rare indeed.

    But we still embrace the “Big Bad Wolf” concept just enough to enhance our outdoor lives with mystery and adventure. For even the seasoned outdoorsman knows that bears and wolves and mountain lions have, on rare occasions, harmed and even killed human beings. So the element of danger is there for us to exaggerate or downplay as we choose. More people overstate the dangers of things which could “get” us in the woods than people who disregard them. But we outdoor types would not want our woods to be void of a certain amount of danger lest our adventures be diminished.

 

Feared beast

 

    Few wild animals in the southern states have spawned more tales of danger than wild hogs. Curiously, these tough beasts come largely from previously domesticated livestock, relatively harmless swine. But left to fend for themselves, they have become among the wildest of the wild in our woods. And they fascinate us. And so it was with this fascination, curiosity and a little bit of plain fear that I shouldered my rifle, checked my permit in my pocket and ventured forth through a tangle of mountain laurel toward the land of wild boars and the adventures which awaited me.

    The scene was the picturesque Smoky Mountains near the little town of Tellico Plains, Tennessee. Besides the wild boars, I also was hunting black bears which share the mountainous wilderness with the wild hogs. Either of these animals will most often run like the wind from any human sighted or scented. But that fact violated my sense of adventure, so I was hunting vicious boars with long, white tusks and giant bears with paws eight inches across, this being before I became experienced in the ways of these beasts.  At the time, I had never encountered either animal in the woods so it was easy to add unsubstantiated mystery to my quest.

    I made my way to a high saddle, which connected two of those beautiful Appalachian peaks, and sat down on the downwind side. Presently, I heard a pack of hounds far below. Mountain people are hound hunters. Their Walkers and redbones and black and tans run and bay the bears and boars, and their fearless curs and Airedales nip at the bayed animals until the hunters arrive. I could hear the hounds stop and bay about every 10 minutes. I guessed by the race they were after a bear.

 

Here he comes!

 

    Eventually the chase ascended the mountain and the pack was getting closer. Soon they headed straight for me. I checked my safety and gripped the .308 a bit tighter. My eyes strained toward the oncoming hounds and I noticed the hair on my neck was tickling my collar. I prepared to face a charging bear. Suddenly there he was, a black, blurred streak flying straight for me across the saddle and sending the fallen leaves helter-skelter. Just as I raised my rifle, he crossed the saddle at the point where I had walked and got a snoot full of my scent. His reaction was a heart-stopping sound which I would describe as a combination scream, grunt and roar.

    At the instant of the scream, I saw that the bear, as Jerry Clower might say, “wasn’t a bear.” It was a very black wild boar, the meanest looking beast I ever had charge me. This unnerving turn of events, especially the roar, caused a moment’s hesitation in getting the brute into my scope and he dashed behind a log I could almost reach out and touch, and off the side of the steepest mountain in Tennessee.

    I was left shaking and just a little glad I had not shot the boar and had him pile up in my lap with enough life remaining to impale me on his tusks. Besides, if I had his carcass, it might have weighed somewhat less than my current estimate of 400 pounds. And his ivory tusks might have actually been 4 inches long instead of the 8 inches which is recorded in my memory. My story, and the “Big Bad Wolf” mystique, could have suffered. But because of my split second of sheer fright, the monster boar of those dark mountains, with his 8-inch tusks, is still “out there” lurking  among the laurel bushes in his domain. Waiting to “get you!”