A Shadow Of Greatness
(Sissies Never Hunt Bears)

On our life’s journey, our shadow falls across the path of many others and other’s shadow falls across our path. Often, these go unnoticed. Only on a rare occasion do we have a shadow of greatness come our way.

A lot of words and adjectives are used to describe people. Not all of these descriptions are flattering, of course. But there are some that we might all wish for and even aspire to. Hero is thrown around a lot these days. Winner, champion, victor, gentleman, lady, success are others that come to mind and, no doubt, you have some of your own. But there is one title given to a very select few people that really set them apart. That word: Legend.

I had occasion to meet one of those “legends” a few years back in the mountains of North Carolina. This “legend” was written up in The Saturday Evening Post in 1949. When we first heard of him he was being written about in Outdoor Life Magazine. Now, that’s the stuff Legends are made of!

My Uncle Jimmy grew up in McDowell County North Carolina in the town of Marion. Till the day he died he used phrases like we’uns and you’uns. He had the language of the mountain people of that region. Proud, self-reliant and tough as nails people who had learned to make a living in the toughest of conditions. They either liked you or they didn’t and were suspicious of those “flat landers” who came touristing through the area. I had occasion to visit his mother’s home up on the side of one of those mountains and it was said that she kept a fire in the fireplace 365 days a year.

If my Uncle Jimmy was an example of what all the people were like in that county, that would speak very well of anyone who lived there. He would give you the shirt off his back. After serving in WWII, he settled in to work for one company most of his life. He was a good carpenter and would show up anytime someone was trying to get a project done at home or at church. He had one major weakness: rasslin. (Wrestling, for those unfamiliar with the other term). If there was rassling on TV then he was squatted down in front of the TV, often with a cup of cold coffee in his hand. Starbucks did not invent cold coffee, Uncle Jimmy did.

So, one day my friend, Bob, called and asked if I had seen the latest issue of Outdoor Life Magazine. I had not. In that issue was an article about a man named Bill Gibbs. It seems that Mr. Gibbs was becoming a Legend in Marion, NC for his bear hunting exploits. He also had some cabins in the hills to rent and ran a restaurant. Plus, he raised Plott hounds for hunting bear. And, for some period he had his own pet bear. The website “McDowell County Oral History” has a picture of Mr. Gibbs with his pet bear, Smokette. Interestingly enough, The lake Tahoma Steak House, owned by Mr. Gibbs had a buffet and bear steaks. I guess that knowledge kept Smokette in line. I missed the Saturday Evening Post article and now I had missed the Outdoor Life article. But, thanks to Bob I was catching up. The Saturday Evening Post article was entitled: Sissies Never Hunt Bears.

Bill Gibbs’ headstone is inscribed “A Famous Bear Hunter”. Now, if that doesn’t make you a Legend, I don’t know what does! It’s not every day that one can connect up with a person on the road to becoming one. So, when Bob suggested that I call Mr. Gibbs and get us on the next bear hunt in Marion with him, you can see there is no way I could say no.

So, the next day I called the “Famous Bear Hunter”, Mr. Gibbs. I told him that my friend and I wanted to come up and go bear hunting with him and I would like to make whatever arrangements were necessary. The conversation did not take long and the instructions were simple: show up Saturday morning at the restaurant in Marion, NC about 5:30 AM and bring $50. It sounded pretty straight forward to me.

So, off we went. A funny thing happened on the way to Marion. In those days, when plotting a trip, before the GPS did it for you and barked out turn by turn instructions, it was common to write down the cities that you would be passing through on your route. People could usually tell you how to get to such and such town better than they could use route numbers and highway numbers. “Take the road to Jonesboro and then take the road to Smithville” was more likely the instructions you would get.

We planned to pass through a town called Rutherfordton, NC. We weren’t too sure where we were and how much further so when we saw a lady crossing the road to the mailbox we stopped and asked, “Do you know how much further it is to Rutherfordton?” “Rutherfordton?
I’m not really sure exactly where it is but I believe it is on down this road”.

There was a slight curve in the road just as we passed her, not more than a mile, and there was a sign, “Rutherfordton City Limits”. Maybe she was new in town that day.

I really don’t remember where we stayed that night, but we were at the restaurant the next morning at 5:30 and we were not alone. There must have been about 40 to 50 people there eating breakfast and signing up to go bear hunting with the famous bear hunter. Order your breakfast and give the fellow at the counter your $50.

As I was paying, I asked what we needed to do about a NC hunting license and did we need a bear permit, tag or stamp? We had none of the normal things you would expect to have to have to go hunting, much less, bear hunting. The response I got was that I would not need anything else. Everything was covered with the $50.

After breakfast, Mr. Gibbs gave us our instructions. There were several guys there who would be driving the trucks and some that would be our “guides” riding in the back of the truck with us and listening for the dogs. The dog handlers would put out the hounds and they would start tracking and then it would be necessary to try and get to where the dogs had the bear treed. Hopefully, the dogs would chase the bear across the road in front of the truck. The guides would help us spot the bear when and if one was found.

Now Marion is situated south of the Mt. Mitchell area and the Blue Ridge Parkway. Mt. Mitchell is the highest peak east of the Mississippi River. The Pisgah National Forest of over 500,000 acres passes through McDowell County. This area is the home to Linville Gorge, the Grand Canyon of the Blue Ridge Mountains. Lots of room for lots of bears.

So, off we go in the back of the truck with our guide. Soon, we are off on a Forest Service road, or trail would be more like it. We could hear the dogs and the people calling to them but they had not hit on any bear yet.

As we are bouncing along, then stopping and listening, I said to the guy in the back with us that I was certainly surprised that we did not have to have a license or a bear tag. He gave a little laugh and said, “Listen, fellow. This is posted federal land in the National Park. No license is going to do you any good in here.” In effect, we were poachers! We had just driven about 300 miles and paid $50 to participate in an illegal bear hunt with the “World Famous, soon to be a Legend” Bill Gibbs on National Park land that was closed to hunting at that time!

Now, this was too big a group of people and too big a scene for this to be hidden from the sight of the authorities. It was right out in the open for everyone to see. Did they just leave him alone because of his reputation? Was he paying off someone? Did all the other people but us know this was an illegal operation? Or, maybe because he was in the Saturday Evening Post and Outdoor Life Magazine and brought a lot of money into Marion, he was “too big to fail”!

No one got a bear. Maybe that’s how it was planned. Just a sucker deal that everyone ignored because they never let anyone get close to a bear, anyway! I’ll never know. We’ll just chalk it up to bad luck.

It wasn’t a total loss, though because Bob got himself a Plott Hound puppy to take back home. He put him in the back of the truck and we had or rifles in gun cases back there. The puppy was having a little problem with his digestive system and had stuff coming out of both ends. He managed to foul the entire truck bed and my gun case. I don’t know what ever happened to the dog.

But I can say that the Shadow of a Legend fell across my path at least once and I was in the presence of greatness. William Brown “Bill” Gibbs was born in McDowell County, NC on May 21st, 1903. He died there on June 13, 1978. He killed bear, he cooked bear, he ran tourist cabins and a restaurant that his son still runs today, bred Plott Hounds and he probably did mostly what he wanted to do for 75 years and a few days. Along the way he became a Legend and took quite a few $50 bills off people like me and Bob!
© 2014 JC