It doesn’t get much better than this. Monday morning’s view of Natural Arch in the Daniel Boone National Forest:

A black bear that was popular with tourists in the Big South Fork National River & Recreation Area — often seen with two cubs — was killed last fall, and discovered by deer hunters on Thanksgiving Day. Park biologists expect that the cubs probably did not survive alone, due to their age.

Now the National Park Service is offering a $500 reward for information leading to the arrest and conviction of whomever was responsible.

Taking its cue from that announcement, WBIR TV in Knoxville ran a story last night about how the growing bear population is upsetting neighbors of the national park. (Apparently it’s a slow news week even in Knoxville.)

Susan Neff, a Fentress County resident, was the only “park neighbor” interviewed about their opposition to the story, though another woman — Leslie Helm — spoke of horseback riders being afraid of the growing bear population.

It was opposition from a group of horseback riders in Fentress County that stymied plans by the NPS and Tennessee Wildlife Resources Agency to release more black bears in the park nearly a decade ago.

As it turns out, though, the black bear population that was already there was big enough to support itself, and bears are currently thriving. No one knows just how many bears there are, but they’re turning up with regularity even outside the Big South Fork backcountry. In recent years, bears have appeared near Oneida City Park, have been killed in collisions with automobiles, have raided countless trash cans, and have generally made themselves at home with local residents.

Unfortunately, most folks panic when they see a bear — whether they’re hiking in the Big South Fork or whether the bear is raiding an apple tree near their home.

As someone said on Facebook this morning, folks are “afraid of what they’re unsure of.”

In Neff’s case, she says she’s going to push TWRA to introduce a “no limits” hunting season on black bears so that they can “be hunted out.”

That isn’t likely to happen. We are likely to see a hunting seasons for bears on the northern Plateau in the not-too-distant future, but it will have tight restrictions to avoid too many bears being killed.

Like it or not, the bears are here to stay.

But that isn’t a bad thing.

Opponents of the bear population often charge that those who are pushing for it don’t live here. They say their property rights supercede the desire of outsiders to come to the Big South Fork and see bears.

Fair enough. But those outsiders do present a lot of potential. Look at the hundreds of thousands of people who tour Cades Cove in the Great Smoky Mountains each year, just to get a glimpse of a black bear or other wildlife. Tourism is Tennessee’s 2nd-largest industry, and if the rural northern plateau region is going to find something to employ its workers — the manufacturing industry is still in decline and will never be as strong as it was in the ’80s and ’90s — tourism is probably one of the best answers.

On the other hand, I am someone who does live here. My home sits on the edge of the Big South Fork NRRA (and bears are regularly sighted close to my house — once in my back yard, even). I camp and hike in the BSF regularly.

And I say, leave the bears alone. They aren’t hurting anything.

A large black bear I snapped a picture of while fishing in the BSF.

It’s unfortunate, but most of us still see black bears as predators — primarily because, as the Facebook commenter said, “we’re afraid of what we don’t know.” In truth, black bears are among nature’s most docile critters. It isn’t like we’re talking about grizzly bears or gray wolves.

Sure, there is very rarely an unfortunate story about a black bear attacking a human. There were two black bear fatalities just last year (one in British Columbia and one in Arizona). In May 2000, 50-year-old schoolteacher Glenda Ann Bradley became the first victim of a black bear fatality in the Southeast when she was killed and eaten by an adult bear and its cub in the Smokies; in 2006, a 6-year-old child was killed by a bear in the Cherokee National Forest.

But considering the number of bears and the number of visitors, those incidents are far from the norm. Would I allow my small children to play outside if I knew there were bears in the vicinity? No. But I also don’t allow my small children to play outside if there’s a strange dog running loose in the neighborhood.

A bear stands on his hind legs to get a better look at me through the undergrowth after I came face-to-face with him in the Big South Fork.

The point is simply this: black bears are just as scared of humans as humans are of bears . . . more so, actually. Problems present when humans unwittingly feed bears, causing them to lose that fear and become reliant on humans. That’s when bears start causing problems and have to be killed or relocated.

But in the decade or so since the black bear population in the Big South Fork reached the point of thriving, there hasn’t been a single reported incident of a bear attacking a visitor. There hasn’t been a single reported incident of a horseback rider being injured by a bear.

These bears aren’t hurting anyone. And if they’re getting into our trash or our gardens with regularity, TWRA employs a team of professionals whose primary job is to trap those bears and relocate them.

Panoramic view from Angel Falls Overlook. (Click for larger image.)

Follow the many winding trails through the Big South Fork backcountry — beneath rock houses, up rock faces and across streams — and you’ll find your way to many great views. But none of them — none — can come close to comparing with the view from Angel Falls Overlook.

With temps soaring into the 60s on this late winter afternoon, it was the perfect time for a hike. So, I snuck away from work and did just that. (I can get by with that since I’m taking plenty of pictures for future “In Our Backyard” newspaper features . . . at least, I think I can. Let’s keep this just between us, just in case.)

Angel Falls Overlook is situated along the Grand Gap Loop Trail. The trail is unusual in that it is the only loop trail in the Big South Fork National River & Recreation Area that doesn’t begin or end at a trailhead. In fact, it’s situated miles away from the nearest trailhead. There’s a gravel road that will take you to it, if you know what you’re looking for. Otherwise, the closest trailheads are at Bandy Creek (roughly five miles away) and Leatherwood Ford (roughly three miles away).

Leatherwood Ford is the best way to approach Grand Gap — not necessarily because it’s a shorter hike, but because the section of the John Muir Trail that leads from the river ford to the top of the plateau at Grand Gap is one of the most unique trails in all the park. In fact, I would rank it as second most unique, only behind the Honey Creek Loop Trail.

The first two miles of the trek are a ho-hum hike. The trail merely follows the Big South Fork River. It isn’t as smooth a stroll as the Angel Falls trail on the opposite side of the river — a wide and graveled trail — but is a dirt footpath often littered with rocks and roots. Still, it’s an easy hike.

After two miles, things begin to change and become much more interesting. The first thing you notice is the cliff line looming over you. If you’ve been to Angel Falls Overlook before, you know that this rock is the overlook. And if you know that, it can seem that getting there is going to be a daunting task. The walls of the river gorge are steep, and the top of the rock outcropping is 500 ft. overhead.

The evening sun reflects off Angel Falls Overlook.

But it isn’t so bad.

The trail appears to leave the river, following a stream up a hollow. The stream is Falls Branch. A short distance later, the trail crosses a wooden bridge and heads back towards the river as it begins its climb up the side of the gorge.

The John Muir Trail crosses Falls Branch.

Despite its climb up the side of the gorge, the trek isn’t difficult. In fact, as far as gorge climbs in the Big South Fork go, this is one of the easier ones. The nature of the switchbacks along the trail spread the 500 ft. elevation climb out over a half-mile, making it a relatively easy climb to the top . . . certainly a much easier climb than it appeared it would be from below, staring up at the huge rock outcropping that is Angel Falls Overlook.

Angel Falls Overlook looms closer

After an initial series of switchbacks along Falls Branch, the trail exits the hollow and travels parallel to the river for a short distance, before another set of switchbacks lead to the bottom of the cliff line. There — at the base of the huge rock outcropping — hikers get their first up-close-and-personal look at Angel Falls Overlook.

Looking up at Angel Falls Overlook from its base.

The trail then follows the bottom of the cliff line for a short distance as it turns back up the rugged valley through which Falls Branch flows.

A rock overhang serves as shelter for overnight hikers today — and likely as the same for Indians years ago.

If you aren’t careful, you’ll miss the next turn . . . but don’t worry; you won’t venture far. The narrow dirt ledge along which you’re walking peters out beneath a rock overhang that looks like an excellent spot for an eagle’s nest. It’s a long way down to Falls Branch below.

Look a little closer, and you’ll see that the trail actually turns and appears to slip through a narrow crevice in the rock. As it turns out, the crevice isn’t that narrow. It widens into a gap that will lead through the cliff line and to the top of the plateau . . . and to Grand Gap Loop.

Grand Gap wasn’t named for its spectacular views, though it certainly features plenty of them. Rather, it was named for Grand Slaven — one of the frontiersmen who settled this region and whose descendants are scattered about Scott County’s 7th Civil District today. The gap is a gap nearby that horse and wagon traffic once used to get from the top of the plateau to the river far below.

From Grand Gap to the confluence of New River and Clear Fork River upstream, this is the roughest part of the gorge. The cliff lines are often continuous, and there are few places to get to the top. This gap is one of them. While not the gap that Grand Slaven and his neighbors used to traverse the cliff line, it serves its purpose, as the trail climbs the final elevation along a stream surrounded by rhododendron and steep rock walls.

The gap through which hikers climb to reach the Grand Gap Loop Trail.

Once at the top, a glance over your right shoulder reveals a valley so wide and deep that it must be the river gorge. The sound of rushing water can be heard from nearly 500 ft. below. But that isn’t the river gorge. That’s Falls Branch. The stream drains much of the territory east of the Bandy Creek vicinity. (The west of Bandy Creek is drained by, of course, Bandy Creek.)

A tenth of a mile or so ahead is the overlook. There’s nothing special about it; it isn’t marked by signage. But it’s instantly recognizable. As soon as it pops into view, a much louder roar of rapids can be heard. That’s Angel Falls, the Class IV rapids along the Big South Fork River that has claimed more than one life over the years.

And hikers will also realize that this isn’t actually a rock outcropping at all. It’s more or less a freestanding rock that has separated from the rest of the cap rock. The gap that you’re required to step across isn’t wide enough to fall through — even the most anorexic hiker couldn’t fit. But it’s a little unsettling to look down and see daylight far below…and one could certainly lose a shoe through the crack if he tried hard enough. Or a small pet.

Stepping across onto the Angel Falls Overlook.

And here we are. This vantage point provides a spectacular showcase of Big South Fork backcountry. It’s cliche, and one that I use far too often, but pictures truly don’t do it justice. Pictures never do, of course, but that’s especially the case here. As someone who is scared of heights, stepping out onto the rock outcropping literally takes my breath away — every time, without fail. Unlike the “official” overlooks in the park, Angel Falls Overlook isn’t protected by railings. You truly feel as if you’re on top of the world. And while there are a lot of places to catch a bird’s-eye view of the BSF River, there’s something to be said for being high enough up to actually look down on the buzzards that are circling below you.

On Angel Falls Overlook.

The view north, downstream on the Big South Fork River, has been called the most-often photographed scene in all the Big South Fork. That’s probably not true — simply because there are far more point-and-shoot cameras strung around tourists’ necks at locales that can be reached by car — but certainly it’s one of the most spectacular photo opportunities in the park.

The view from here is better during the spring — or, better still, at the peak of autumn — than in the gray of winter, of course. But this’ll do.

The most-often photographed scene in the BSF?

After a while to enjoy the view, it’s time to climb down from this perch and head back to civilization. The scenery hear invites a longer stay, but the evening sun is quickly setting over the horizon and darkness will soon be upon us.

A small flashlight — carried for safety’s reason — is no match for the black of night in this rugged terrain.

Proof that a pine tree will grow anywhere.

On these winter hikes, when there are no songbirds or other critters making racket to keep company, I carry my iPod. On the way up, classic rock and ’80s country was the playlist of choice. But as I descend back through the gap, I flip to a gospel playlist. Because, let’s be honest: the view from the top of this climb would make even a devout atheist question the sincerity of his belief that there wasn’t a divine hand that played a role in creating all this.

As the trail winds back towards the river, it passes huge, house-sized boulders that have broken free of the cap rock in years gone by and tumbled down the hillside before coming to rest. If this ol’ world stands long enough, I have no doubt that there will come a time — thousands of years from now — when the Angel Falls Overlook, too, will lose its grip and succumb to erosion, tumbling towards the roaring whitewater far below. But until then, it offers views that no visitor to the BSF — and certainly no resident of the northern Cumberland Plateau — should pass up.

From the press release:

NASHVILLE — The Tennessee Wildlife Resources Commission has announced its intention to provide an extra tag for youth only at the 2012 elk hunt at North Cumberland Wildlife Management Area.

The Tennessee Wildlife Resources Agency, said if implemented, the youth tag would be in addition to the four tags that would be drawn and the tag that has been donated to a Non-Governmental Organization (NGO).   There would now be a total of six tags available for the special season. The youth tag would be for Tennessee resident youth only between the ages of 13-16.

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The one tag would be for a hunt to be held at North Cumberland WMA on the weekend of Oct. 20-21 which would follow the Fourth Annual Elk Hunt set for Oct. 15-19. All five elk hunting zones would be available for the youth hunter giving the juvenile access to approximately 40,000 acres for the elk hunt.

The general elk hunt has been and will continue to be open to all applicants regardless of age or residency.

Due to a big game gun season being held, all deer archery hunters on the WMA would be required to follow the blaze orange requirements. This would apply only to the WMA elk hunting zones while a gun season is underway and not the entire WMA.

The Tennessee Wildlife Resources Agency is seeking comments concerning the proposed hunt to be presented to the TWRC. Comments may be sent to TWRA Big Program Coordinator Chuck Yoest at chuck.yoest@tn.gov or by mail to Chuck Yoest, Wildlife Division, Tennessee Wildlife Resources Agency, P.O. 40747, Nashville, TN 37204.

Comments must be received prior to Feb. 8 so they can be presented at the next TWRC meeting.

That’s a start. Now they need to take one of the four permits and stipulate that it be awarded to a resident of Scott, Anderson, Campbell, Claiborne or Morgan counties.

Former Tennessee Wildlife Resources Agency spokesman Allen Ricks died yesterday of a rare form of cancer, at the age of 62.

Ricks was one of those people behind the scenes at TWRA. His official title was information & education coordinator in TWRA’s Region IV office. He made a career out of coordinating information between the agency and the public. His job was to make sure that hunters in East Tennessee knew which game seasons were open, what the bag limits were, and what the regulations were.

Ricks also maintained a presence on Tennessee-based internet discussion forums geared towards hunters and sportsmen. Posting under the moniker “Infoman,” he answered questions and chimed in on discussions about hunting deer, turkey and other wild game in Tennessee. That wasn’t part of his job description at TWRA, but he did it anyway, and that was a display of his dedication to Tennessee’s hunting heritage.

For more than thirty years, he worked with the game agency.

I came to know him through my work as a journalist. When I needed a question answered about hunting or fishing in Tennessee, Ricks is the person I turned to. Not once did I ask a question that he didn’t have an answer for, or that he didn’t take time to find an answer for.

Even after he became sick this summer, I called on him a couple of times with questions about various things — Tennessee’s new hog hunting regulations, for instance. He appeared as devoted to his job then as ever.

Diagnosed with stage IV liver cancer in the spring, doctors gave him two months to live in May. Five months later, he was still reporting for work at the TWRA’s Morristown office. He worked until mid October before finally becoming too sick to make it to the office. His son, Jonathan, said at the time, “He wants to go back every day.”

Ricks’ passion was turkey hunting. He was an avid supporter of the National Wild Turkey Federation and its efforts to restore and maintain turkey flocks in East Tennessee. Jerry Lay, former president of the Longbeards of the Big South Fork chapter of the NWTF, said that Ricks “has done more for Tennessee turkey hunters than most people realize.”

Keith Hickman, president of the NWTF’s state chapter, said simply, “Allen was a great man.”

Ricks was also active in other conservation organizations in Tennessee, including the Rocky Mountain Elk Foundation, which played a chief role in helping TWRA build a population of wild elk in the North Cumberland Wildlife Management Area.

His job was his passion. And for journalists such as myself, Ricks was an invaluable resource.

Said former Tennessee newspaper editor Steve Oden, “Some folks have a job. Some have a dedication. Allen was one of the latter.”

A new site I’ve been working on. It’s based on the concept that while you can find excellent sources for online news of most sorts — Politico.com for politics, etc. — there isn’t really a good source for online hunting/outdoors news. The major magazines have websites — and Field & Stream has a really good one, in fact — but online coverage of the outdoors leaves quite a lot to be lacking.

There may be a good reason for that lack of hunting info websites.

But I had to find out for myself. The site is in the very rudimentary stage right now, but we’ll see if it’s a viable concept…Check it out, if you’re so inclined. www.huntingchatter.com.

A man couldn’t have asked for a prettier day for a fall hike. Folks who have the luxury of living in an area with the Big South Fork and the Cumberland Mountains in their back yard and don’t get out and enjoy it on these autumn days really don’t know what they’re missing.

The winds and rain of the past week have brought down a lot of the leaves just as they were reaching their peak here on the northern Plateau, but the ones that remain are in just about perfect color. Our destination today was a unique rock formation on the end of a ridge above New River, a couple of miles above its confluence with Clear Fork to form the Big South Fork of the Cumberland River. The locals call it “The Standing Stone.” And that’s just what it is — a solitary rock that towers 40 ft. above the ground like a sentry overlooking the river gorge.

The rock formation isn’t actually in the Big South Fork NRRA (it’s about 50 ft. from the boundary), but it displays once again the sheer beauty and uniqueness of the river gorge and the lands that surround it.

State Sen. Ken Yager accompanied us on today’s hike. Sen. Yager has made the autumn trek to the Big South Fork an annual one since taking office in 2009.

Rev. Dudley Harness, Mark Love, Sen. Yager, Paul Strunk and myself on the east bank of New River.

Sen. Yager looks over the beauty of New River.

Dudley Harness explores the shores of New River.

Paul Strunk, Sen. Yager and myself at The Standing Stone. (I’m not tired; that’s just my natural expression…which I’m constantly given grief over.)

The Standing Stone.

It was a beautiful day in Big South Fork country…

Sen. Yager inspects a sandstone rock formation on the lip of the river gorge.

See additional photos…

I crawled into my hunting blind a couple of weeks ago and, right about daylight, found myself staring eyeball-to-eyeball with one of these critters.

They’re the ugliest, nastiest-looking bugs you ever seen in your life…if you want to call them bugs. I was halfway convinced that they were miniature aliens landed from outer space…aliens that had shrank themselves before landing on earth so that they could remain inconspicuous until there were enough of them here for a large-scale invasion.

(Not that there’s anything inconspicuous about these bugs, but still…)

I’ve spent a lot of time in the woods for 23 years — plus I live in the country where four-, six- and eight-legged critters love to invade two-legged critters’ homes — and I had never seen anything like it. Forget the Horton Excalibur; I was ready to jack a shell into the chamber of my S&W 9mm.

I stomped the one I saw that day and thought all was good. Until daylight last Saturday, when I crawled back into my blind. I could hear one of them crawling in the leaves. And then another. And another. They were advancing on me from every direction inside the blind. (The blind is only 5 ft. by 5 ft. by 5 ft. tall…imagine a 200+ lb. man jumping around inside of it stomping giant bugs and splattering bug guts all over everything and you can imagine what kind of a sight that was.)

I was convinced they were trying to get me. Every time I saw one of them, it was crawling towards me — great big things, nearly the size of the palm of your hand. And jumpers…my soul, can these things jump. They also have a little thing sticking out the back that looks like a giant stinger.

Well, as it turns out, they don’t sting. And they don’t bite. Nor do they eat human flesh. (The last one kinda disappointed me because I had convinced myself it would make a great story, so long as I didn’t have to tell it in first-person.) The Washington Post had a story on them a few years ago. They’re camel crickets.

Harmless they may be. But anything that is that ugly and can jump that far must be of the devil. I’m convinced you’ll find that the Apostle Paul wrote about that somewhere in Corintheans.

I had taken to calling them spider-crickets because they look so much like a cross between the two. As it turns out, they kinda are. And a guy in the WaPo story describes them much more aptly than I can: ”This is not your father’s cute, black, chirping Disney creature.”

You can say that again. The WaPo article also says they like to horde up together. I can attest to this because I saw hordes of them inside my hunting blind. Most of them are dead now (though they aren’t easy to kill. I had to stomp some of them two or three times before I finally took to gigging them with a Rage arrow broadhead), but I expect that I’ll find plenty more in their place when I go back to the woods tomorrow. I wish they would go horde in someone else’s hunting spot…

My column this week:

On the long list of country living’s simple pleasures, the katydid’s night cry has to be somewhere towards the top of the list.

Legend has it that long ago and in a far away place, a young maiden named Katy fell in love with a handsome man. But he scorned her and married her sister. After their honeymoon, the newlyweds were found dead. The identity of the culprit was a matter of much debate; so much so that the insects of the fields and forests began to argue amongst themselves: “Katy did; Katy didn’t.”

As is usually the case, legend probably has it wrong. But the cousin to the common cricket that fills the air with beautiful music on late summer nights does take its name from the cadence of its song.

The katydid’s lullaby is produced by males rubbing their wings together to attract females (which listen with ears located below their knees). The little green bug’s mating season was apparently just a tad early this year; I heard them for the first time on the evening of July 1, while sitting around a campfire on the banks of the Big South Fork River. Within a couple of evenings, their song filled the night air.

If folklore holds true, the katydid’s early music will mean an earlier arrival of cold weather. Anyone’s grandmother can tell you that the first night of the katydid means the first frost is just three months away. (Is the katydid’s night song any more accurate than a wooly worm’s stripes or whether a hornet builds his nest high or low? Who knows…but the katydids began to sing a little early last year as well, and an early winter followed.)

The Cherokee Indians that once inhabited these hills also had a story about the katydid. Supposedly, two young braves were out hunting when they happened across a katydid singing in the trees. One of the braves sneered and said, “It sings and knows not that it will die before the season ends.” To which the katydid supposedly replied, “Oh, so you say, but you need not boast. You will die before tomorrow night.”

The following day, the brave was killed in battle.

It has been said that the katydid is to night as the cicada is to day. I couldn’t disagree more. Cicadas are only slightly less annoying than the constant drone of vuvuzelas at a South African World Cup match.

On the other hand, a forest full of katydids on a late summer’s evening is an enchanting orchestra; one that takes me back to late summer’s evenings of my childhood, when I listened to the katydids while sitting on my grandparents’ back porch or played in the pine trees that grew in the church yard after Sunday evening services.

As summer slowly transitions to early fall, the katydid will be joined by an increasing chorus of crickets and other night-singing insects — including “false katydids” — to create a symphony that can be almost deafening at times.

All those insects are singing for the same reason: to call to their mates. For the rest of us, they’re calling us back to our youth; back to our childhood homes, where our biggest challenge was filling a Mason jar with lightning bugs after the sun had set.

We decided to take advantage of the nice weather this afternoon by hiking to the John Litton Farm in the Big South Fork backcountry.

John Litton was known as a skilled cabin builder. Among the cabins he built was the Blevins cabin at Parch Corn Creek (which burned in 1998). In 1901, he settled in a valley a couple of miles (as the crow flies) from what is now the Bandy Creek Campground. He built his subsistence farm and homestead near North Fork Creek, which flowed through the farm. The farm consisted of a home, barn, pig lots (which are built against the rock faces in the woods behind the farm), and a couple other outbuildings.

After Litton’s death in the 1940s, General Slaven acquired the farm and lived there without running water or electricity until the U.S. government bought the property in 1979.

Today, the farm is one of the few homesteads that has been preserved in the Big South Fork. It is the only one that can be reached only by foot (or horseback).

Getting there requires hiking — either the 5.9 mile loop trail from Bandy Creek Campground, or you can drive to where the trail leaves the road just a mile from the farm…or make it an even shorter hike by walking an administrative access road. The farm is only about a half-mile from where the road is gated.

This was once the way home for the Litton and Slaven families. Today, it’s a little-used access road.

Fence at the farm.

A small pond at the farm.

Yes, there are fish in the pond.

This was the view from John Litton’s home. Unfortunately the National Park Service has made the decision to let much of the farm reclaim itself.

A view inside the home.

A tattered piece of old newspaper that wallpapered the interior walls.

The barn.

The hike back towards Bandy Creek.