The frenzied chop of the hounds at the base of the giant red oak guided us towards the treed black bear in the beautiful mountains of Greene County, Tennessee. Though I’m a lifelong hunter, this was going to be my first shot at a bear and I was becoming increasingly anxious as we literally crawled through the rhododendron-choked hillside up towards the huge tree. As we got close, I couldn’t help but marvel at the 40+ year hunting journey that led up to this moment. 

Raised in southern Indiana in Knox county where, historically, the last bear in the state was killed in the cypress swamps down on the Wabash river, the idea of bear hunting was reserved for the magazines at the barber shop and a book called The Bears of Blue River about an Indiana boy and his bear hunting exploits. My father, brother, and I all started hunting together when I was not even a teenager and our forays to hunt squirrels, rabbits, and quail eventually transitioned to deer hunting. Turkeys were still in recovery in that area, but I still remember the first turkey I ever saw, a hen that crossed a busy four-lane road south of us as we pulled over to watch in awe. Those early years of wandering the nearby woods with a shotgun instilled a deep, rich love of the outdoors. For several years, we had no television stations and, other than listening to the beloved Don Fischer and the Hoosier basketball team on the radio and reading books, my only other passions were the woods and creeks nearby. 

Despite living in Winston-Salem, N.C. for seven years later in life and avidly deer, turkey, and waterfowl hunting, I never really came across any bears in my wanderings. The first and only wild bear I saw was a huge boar that was taking a nap under a tree on a beautiful tree lined mountain hillside as my pal and I were taking a midday break from turkey hunting in a breathtaking area near Burke’s Garden, VA. I never really thought about bear hunting while there as life was hectic with young kids and a busy work life. After moving back to Indiana and continuing my outdoor pursuits, I was increasingly mesmerized by Steve Rinella’s Meateater media content as well as the Bear Grease and Wired to Hunt podcasts. Watching the adventure hunts on Meateater was like living a dream in their shoes. Clay Newcomb’s passion for bears led me to subscribe to Bear Hunting Magazine and avidly listen to his podcast. 

After hunting in Indiana as well as frequenting Kentucky, I was excited about the growing number of black bears in eastern Kentucky. My first plans to chase a bear involved doing some internet research and making some calls to a few folks in eastern Kentucky to inquire about getting help to find an area with bears. My first planned hunt there was interrupted by a tremendous weather system and tornado as well as conflicts with my children's sports schedules. It wasn’t meant to be. Thankfully, the bear numbers continued to increase and the quota system was actually abandoned; now they have a standard, set number day season in December. Earlier this year, I actually loaded up my German shorthair pointer, Juno, and headed down to Harlan County, KY to grouse hunt with the added motive to scout for bears. I found some promising areas and, although I struck out on grouse, I had a truly wonderful time wandering the Daniel Boone National Forest for a few days with my dog. I marked several areas where I thought I came across bear scat and hoped to head back there someday. 

In the meantime, I came across an ad in the back of Bear Hunting Magazine for Pale Horse Guide Service in eastern Tennessee. This was extremely exciting given the relative proximity of the hunting area—only a six hour drive—and due to the fact that I really wanted to be part of a dog hunt for bears. After spending so many years on a deer stand, I was thrilled about the idea of a live action bear chase. I started texting Ben Jones and called my brother Luke in Washington state to see if he would be interested. My West Point graduate and Lt. Colonial brother hadn’t had much time to hunt over the years as he moved all over the country with the Army. He had settled in Yelm, Washington, but had been coming out to deer hunt with me most years.  

Ben Jones is a busy young man who hunts bears all over the country in addition to his home state of Tennessee, and we eventually got a hunt booked with him for November 2023. Ben and his father Casey are famous Plott houndsmen and I was thrilled to learn that Clay Newcomb had been over there and hunted with them. I knew from my time in N.C. that the Plott hound was an all-American dog and the state dog of N.C. It felt like fate that our first hunt would be with such a prestigious lot. 

The opener for that rugged part of eastern Tennessee was set for November 6 and ran for about a week. Located near Greeneville, TN in the foothills of the beautiful Appalachian Mountains, the bear numbers in the area were robust according to Ben Jones. That year alone, Ben had taken hounds and hunted Idaho, Wisconsin, and Maine as well as hog hunted in Louisiana and Tennessee when the bears weren’t open for running. With high hopes and only mild FOMO about not being in a deer stand in early November, my brother and I had a wonderful drive down to this beautiful area of our great country. I even had my first Buc-ee’s experience—a Texas-sized gas station bred to a Walmart—which all travelers should experience. 

Ben proved to be a wonderfully polite and soft-spoken young man that is truly passionate about his dogs and hunting. We followed him up to his mountainside camp where we would spend a few nights. He had set up a western style wall tent on this scenic site and, although it lacked electricity or plumbing, he had a generator and a big drum of water. He has quite a cast of fellow bear hunters in the area that make up his posse. That Sunday evening, we got to hang out with them and share a meal with the guys we would be chasing the bears with for a few days, local characters Markie, Norton, and Brennan, Tyler from Wisconsin, and Anthony from New Mexico. It was quite a festive atmosphere and you could feel the palpable excitement in the air marking the night before the bear season opener.  

On opening day, we met up with the crew as they caught up dogs down in the valley at his dad’s house. As dawn was breaking, we bounced along heading up into the hills to hopefully have the dogs wind a bear and start a race. From my best understanding the goal was to get a bear going and then to pack on fresh dogs to the hound or hounds that would be running the bear. These guys were some high tech rednecks (in the best sense of the word) because they had all the dogs collared up with Garmin tracking collars and some even added the old telemetry “beep beep” backup collars. I know from using the Garmin collars on my GSP bird dogs that they are complex, but these guys had them dialed in. The care and love that they had for their dogs was very evident.     

It was fascinating to see the intricate trucks and atv setups these guys had for their dogs. I could tell this is a very consuming sport. Although there were a lot of plott hounds, it was very interesting to see other hunters with walkers, blueticks, english, cur, and a variety of crosses. A bear dog, as we would learn, had to be a special type of dog that would willingly chase an animal 10 times or more its size and very likely be subjected to the bear's teeth and claws. It was heartrending to hear these gruff men talk so tenderly about their favorite dogs and the ones they had lost this year alone. They do all they can to protect these wonderful dogs, but that is the price of the sport to some degree. 

The dry conditions and the large number of other hunters in that area made day one a bust. However, it was still such a wonderful new experience overall. Camp was still a big party regardless and made for a really fun time together with my dear brother. 

Day two was a new area on the mountain and the dogs immediately hit the scent and ran in all directions. We were down low waiting to see if a bear was headed our way. It was crazy to try to figure out where the bears were running and, like Mark said, it was like our heads were spinning. We had a few exciting moments as the dogs passed by, but no bear in sight. Then came the call that they had a bear treed up top. I was up first, so Mark and I raced up there to hopefully get a bear. Anyone who thinks shooting a bear up a tree is easy should experience the anticipation of hauling butt via a strenuous hike back to the dogs with an excitement level approaching 10 as the dogs’ barks increase more and more. On top of that, the worry that the shot wouldn’t be true and the bear may injure the dogs after coming down the tree is very intense. 

As we approached, Mark asked if the bear was big enough for me. It looked to be about 125 lbs. I replied, “It’s definitely the biggest bear I have ever had a shot at!” The bear was 100 feet or so up a giant red oak in the fork. I got my breathing under control and steadied the iron sights of my Marlin 336 .44 mag lever gun loaded with 240 grain Hornady bullets on the bear head as it looked down on the cacophony below. My shot killed the bear! However, now we had a new problem: it was stuck in the big tree fork. Mark called Ben’s brother-in-law Brennan, who is described as part monkey. He had a side gig of tree trimming and he graciously ran down and got his tree climbing gear. We had the dogs tied up and waited there while Brennan made his way to us, and then he pushed the bear out of the tree. That was a wild experience! 

Luke, on the other hand, was also having a wild time. He had a bear on the ground give him a shot briefly, but he didn’t feel good about the shot. He was quickly redeemed with another bear up a tree. This fat sow was way up there but on the crack of his 30.06 Federal 180 grain bullet, the bear bailed out and broke a limb that knocked Luke and Anthony down. Thankfully, they were largely unhurt and the bear was dead. Ben’s dog Woodstock had actually treed that bear solo—just an example of how good these dogs are. 

I won’t lie, the drag out with the bears was pretty tough. However, we got them to the trucks with a lot of help and then took them back to camp to weigh and skin out. Luke’s bear definitely had bragging rights, but I was really excited about the size of the bear I had and the eating prospects. That night, we had a raucous celebration with a big crew of bear hunters and had some stellar bear backstrap tacos.  

Although I was tempted to pursue another bear over the line in North Carolina since I realized I had a lifetime N.C. license and, thus, a bear tag, the next morning it was nice to sleep in and take care of the meat and hides. We dropped off the future bear rugs at the local taxidermist and headed out to chase some Kentucky deer. 

In closing, my journey to my first bear started a long time ago when I shot that first squirrel out of a big hickory tree with a pawnshop single shot H&R .410 my brother and I bought in 5th grade. I know that it won’t be my last bear. I am rendering some fat as I write, and I look forward to more bear meals. We are so lucky in our country to have the North American Model of Wildlife Conservation and to have flourishing numbers of game animals like black bears. I hope someday the bears of Blue River return and maybe we will even have an Indiana season again like Kentucky has been so fortunate to experience. Until then, I think I will have to just continue to learn more about this marvelous animal and look for more opportunities to hunt them.