BLOOD, SWEAT, AND BEDLAM

A pack of hunters and hounds set out on a frenzied chase in the famed black bear swamps of North Carolina

- T. Edward Nickens

AFTER THE SHOT, THE WORLD WENT STRANGELY SILENT.

I heard nothing. Before I pulled the trigger, there was bedlam everywhere: The dogs bayed and snarled in a hellish clamor as the bear, 20 yards away, popped his teeth and smashed brush. There was a single howling yelp as a clawed paw found a hound and sent it cartwheeling. Before the shot, I couldn’t hear myself think.

The bear stood, facing away, swatting at the five dogs fanned out in front of him. I was gasping for breath in the thicket. Blood from brier gashes dripped into my right eye. The fight had been going on for 10 minutes already. It couldn’t last much longer. I stepped to my left, searching for an open shot, and that meager movement caught the bear’s attention. He swiveled his head and found me. Our eyes locked just as the dogs behind him moved, giving me a clear shot. I raised my lever-action and fired at the base of the bear’s skull in the exact moment he charged the dogs and bolted, vanishing into the tangled timber behind.

For a long few seconds, I heard nothing. Whether it was the muzzle blast or the adrenaline, I couldn’t say. I shook my head to clear my ears, and then I began to hear my heart pounding. The woods crackled with static.

Reed Sheffield was on the radio, headed my way. “I don’t know,” he said into the radio. “He might have missed. Get some more dogs on him.” He pushed past me, barely slowing, and crashed into the brush. “Come on, Eddie!” he hollered over his shoulder. “Come on!” Then I heard the dogs. They were back on the bear. Reed was already out of sight. “Come on, Eddie! Can you make it?”