The bear thoroughly frightened us so we ran back to the trail, which was about two hundred yards from our campsite. When we found the trail it was using the flash light, and lucky that we noticed it. It was full dark by this point. As we stood there catching our breath I looked towards our campsite and listened, praying the bear wasn't chasing us. It didn't take me long to realize how dangerous our situation was. If the bear did chase us we'd be nearly defenseless. Though the lumbering beast didn't look fast, I knew a bear could out run a man. I also knew bears had a keen sense of smell. If it wanted to track us it could. It would have plenty of time to track us since it was a long way to the road on a trail that had been difficult to see in daylight. Following the trail by flashlight would be impossible, even if the flashlight lasted all night, which it wouldn't. Before the night was over we'd be lost in the woods with no light. We were tired before the bear appeared, and now that the original adrenaline rush had worn off, we were feeling even more fatigued.

I don't recall my complete thought process but I do remember acknowledging to myself that I was terrified of the bear. Almost unnaturally so. I have never scared easily, but the bear scared me. I assumed my fear was based on the bear I encountered in North Georgia as a kid. That was a pitch dark night too. Were I alone I would have tried to run, but Mary's reassuring squeeze of my hand reminded me I was not alone. In my other hand I hefted the hatchet and decided what I had to do.

I figured it would be difficult for a bear that size to climb a small tree because of its weight and girth, so I found a solid tree with an eight inch diameter, then I cleared off all the dead low branches to make it easier for Mary to climb. I handed her the flashlight and told her my plan and what I wanted to do. I explained that the bear might have been scared of the fire so hadn't entered our camp. I didn't believe this was the case, but it's what I told my wife. I told her that if the bear was in the camp I would leave it alone. If she heard anything, or if I shouted at her to do so, she was to climb the tree as high as she could and stay there until daylight, then follow the trail to the road and get help. Under no circumstances was she to return to the camp without me coming back to get her. Mary didn't like my plan one bit. Today she would call bull shit and tell me I'd lost my mind. She would put her foot down and say no, to which I would have no choice but to lay on my back with my paws in the air in submission. But we'd only been married twenty-three hours and she was determined to be an obedient wife, so she agreed. I took the hatchet and my metal camp plate and a vague notion that the bear might be startled by noise.

We were too far from the camp to see our fire so I went in the camp's general direction until I spotted its light. Moving as quietly as possible I eased up on the camp. I smelled the bear before I heard it, then heard it before I saw it. I couldn't see it until I was just outside of the fire's glow. The bear had already scattered the contents of Mary's backpack and eaten what he wanted out of it. From the distance I could see debris from the bear's meal but what stood out were a dozen opened packets of Swiss Miss hot chocolate that had been licked clean, and a peanut butter lid with ragged glass attached. It appeared the bear had held the lid then ate peanut butter and glass. As I watched he approached the tent, which looked untouched. He growled at the tent like he thought we might be hiding inside, then took a swat at it with his claw. What looked like a soft stroke with his paw ripped a gash down the side of our tent. He sniffed at the opening, then ignored the tent.

I kept watching as he moved slowly around the camp acting bored and ready to move on. In the time I watched he'd been down on all four legs and moving so slow he seemed lethargic. Between that and the molting state of his coat I began to think he might be sick. This thought encouraged me so I decided to try to scare it off. I had expected the hatchet against thin metal plate to be louder, but a symbol it was not. I added my voice, careful not to holler too loud least Mary think me mauled. I made plenty of noise but the bear didn't so much as glance in my direction. I had hopped he'd run off, thought he might chase me, but didn't expect him to ignore me. When I gave up on noise as a weapon the bear had his back to me and was swaying back and forth with out moving from his position. Looked like me when I try to dance.

I'd not made conscious thought about what I was doing when I took the dozen quick steps that put me into the camp. When I did consider my actions I was six feet from the bear's back with my hatchet raised high in the air. I wanted to bury the hatchet into the back of the bear's head, but this close I realized the animal's body was so long I couldn't reach the back of his head without either climbing on his back or attacking him from the side. I had just decided to attack from the side when the bear stood up, freezing me in place with the hatched held high and my right foot raised in a step.

Like any good hiker in wild country, I had secured my backpack to a tree branch ten feet high. The pack with most of our food. The bear must have smelled it, and was the reason he was swaying under it. A dinner celebration dance. Regardless, what got my attention was just how large the thing was when it stood up. It reached up with one paw and casually swatted the bottom of my thick canvas backpack. Like a Vegas slot machine, the bottom split opened and two weeks of breakfast, lunch and dinner for two fell at his feet.

I had been scared but since I was on the trail with Mary I decided to try to run the bear off. But once I made that decision the fear left me. I hadn't even considered fear or the danger of what I was doing while I snuck up on the camp, not even as I stood six feet behind the bear intending to bury my hatchet into his head. But when he stood to his full height, a little taller than I, then casually used his claws to slice through my canvas backpack, well, all of the sudden I found myself a bit more than scared. I was utterly terrified. I was still frozen in place with my right foot off the ground when the fear hit me. I was terrified, but I wasn't without a plan. A plan that would be clear to anyone capable of rational thought. First, I decided to let the bear live. Then, very slowly, so as not to make a sound, I pulled my right foot back and positioned it behind me. The bear had ignored me a minute earlier when I tried to get his attention, but now that I moved with extreme stealth he heard me. Or smelled me. Whatever it was, when my right foot touched the ground behind me the standing bear whipped his head around so fast it was like he'd been slapped. He looked straight at me. From six feet away, by the soft light of our fire, I saw recognition in his eyes. But it wasn't until the bear's ears twitched forward that I was sure he knew I was there.

They say you can't outrun a bear. I've since seen bears run so I am sure this is true. But that fact means little to someone confronted with a wild bear in the woods. Confronted with such an awesome beast, every fiber of your being screams RUN! So that's what I did. I ran as hard and fast as I could. As I ran I screamed over and over at the top of my lungs. I screamed, "Climb the tree! Climb the tree!" About half way to the trail I encountered another bear. This one the she-bear I'd married the day before. Mary held a ten pound rock above her head and she was running straight at me. Only she wasn't looking at me, Mary's focus was behind me. She was looking for the bear, which she seemed determined to kill with her big rock. That's the sweet, wonderful and sometimes frightening woman I married.

The bear didn't chase me, obviously. But at the time we weren't so sure. Together we ran back to the trail, turned left and retreated towards civilization. Unfortunately civilization was a long way off. We soon lost the trail, but I'd figured out that it didn't matter. We were in a valley and at the top of it's western ridge was the Blue Ridge Parkway. The paved road ran the entire length of the ridge, so as long as we kept going up the mountain we couldn't miss the road. The flashlight died after a few hours. We didn't have water but found a creek, so we drank deep. It was around three in the morning when we spotted the light of a camp fire.

It's ironic how the movie Deliverance haunts you in times like these. Like swimming in the ocean after watching jaws. You know your being irrational, but you can't help it. For this reason I was leery of the fire. Rather than calling out for help, we snuck up on the camp. From the dark woods we saw two guys our age and a single tent. From the little we could see and hear they seemed okay, but it was hard to judge. So I whispered instructions to Mary, then quietly snuck around the camp. When I was on the opposite side of the camp from where my wife waited, I casually walked towards the camp, then called out to them before they saw me. They were understandably startled, but they didn't pull out any weapons, which is what I was looking for. In fact they seemed pretty shaken by my sudden appearance in their camp with a hatched held tight in my hand. When I realized I was scaring them I slipped the hatchet in my belt loop and held out my empty hands. I explained that I was camping alone and had been run out of my camp by a bear. They relaxed and invited me to join them. I sat and talked to them for five minutes before deciding they were good guys. I told them my wife was hiding in the woods, then called her to come in. They looked to the direction I had come from and were startled all over again when Mary quietly walked up behind them. I was surprised she wasn't carrying another big rock.

They fed and watered us and offered us their tent for the night, which was generous, but neither Mary or I wanted to stay in the woods. They had noticed our car when they hiked in so knew exactly where it was. Like us, they hadn't camped near a trail, so one of the two guided us back to our car. It wasn't until the welcome sight of that beat up old Maverick that I realized my car keys were in the tent. The keys were sitting on top of my wallet, which was right next to my father-in-laws expensive camera. A camera he'd loaned to me with instructions to take good care of it. Not a good start with my father-in-law.

I was able to get into the car through a vent window that didn't have a latch. But starting the car was a different matter. Our guide had left us as soon as we spotted the car, so Mary and I were alone again. Ironically, after all the criminal stuff I had done in my life I had never hot wired a car. Nor did I know how. The only tool I had was the hatchet, so that's what I used. It wasn't pretty, but I got the car started. It felt wonderful to be safe in the car and driving down the road. Mary had some cash in her pocket so we used it to rent a room. We slept without cleaning up and we slept late. Before we went to sleep my wife said to me, "You're a man of your word. It hasn't been boring."
The next day we called the local game warden for help. He said there hadn't been a bear sighting in that area for years. Asked if I was sure it was a bear. I said, "Pretty sure since it stood six feet in front of me." I wanted a game warden with a gun to go back with me to retrieve our gear, mainly the camera. The game warden wasn't interested. The only way to reach our camp site was to hike. A horse couldn't even get down there. It was a six hour hike each way so not worth it to retrieve camping gear.

I decided to go alone, but momma-bear said no. We went together. It was a fast hike, full of adrenaline. We went through the camp fast since we wanted to be out of the woods before dark. The only time the bear touched the tent was the swat I witnessed, so the camera was fine, for which I was thankful. The bear ate everything except things with tomato sauce. It ate a can of sterno, but not cans of chilly. Tomato sauce based cans had large holes from his teeth, but no more. Everything else had been ripped open and licked clean. Those hot chocolate packets I'd noticed the night before had been carefully opened and licked clean, but glass peanut butter and jelly jars had been eaten from the lid down, glass and all. I was happy the monster didn't eat the camera.