“What in Heaven’s Name is That?” I was hiking the Finley Cane trail up in the Smokies between Townsend, Tennessee and Cades Cove when those words, or a close facsimile thereof, came to my mind. I was working my way up to the West Prong Trail so I could jump over to Schoolhouse Gap and then head back down to the parking lot where Mary was set to pick me up in four or five hours, give or take. As I went along, I was quietly talking to myself, and having a fine conversation, when my eyes went one way and my nose went another. I was several miles up the trail and deep in the woods when my eyes noticed a perfect ninety degree angle at the end of a straight line thirty yards or so to my left. It was sitting down the hill a ways on the forest floor hiding amongst the flora and fauna. Now I know Mother Nature, and perfect ninety degree angles way back in the woods just ain’t her style. She tends to lean toward the Salvador Dali way of doing things more than she does towards Picasso’s Cubism. So my mind whispered in my ear that something wasn’t right. My ear finding nothing amiss, asked my nose to take a look, and my nose quickly noticed that the air had gone from pristine to primordial. There was musk on the air and not the good kind. This musk was mixed with untold other odors that urged lesser creatures than myself to decamp and decamp quickly. As for me, I got curious and followed the foul-smelling odor with my eyes up the mountain to where it ended or rather started. A big, old full grown black bear was about a hundred yards over to my right and heading my way. To my relief I noticed that he wasn’t focused on me, rather he was focused on the aforementioned ninety degree angle and the bear bait nesting within to my left. You see that darn thing was a bear trap, and one of these days I would like to meet the mind that thought putting a bear trap thirty yards from a hiking trail was a sensible notion. Then again, maybe not; it might be better that he or she remains anonymous, for neither the bear nor I thought it a good idea. I will give that old bear this much, he had finely tuned his focusing ability. You see he failed to notice me until he was at about the forty or fifty yard mark where, after a judicious clearing of my throat, he stopped dead in his tracks and regarded me curiously. As it turned out, he didn’t know me from Adam and had no desire to make my acquaintance. Sensing that the feeling was mutual, he preceded to turn tail and casually walk back to his original position on the ridge up above me. From that vantage point, he could assess the situation calmly. As I stood there listening to my heart pound, gathering my thoughts and renewing any vow I had made to the Lord that I could remember, it came to me that the bear’s assessment might lead to an unhealthy forecast; one that wouldn’t bode well for my wellbeing. With that in mind, I proceeded to calmly continue on my way up the mountain. I am afraid I may have left a scent trail for a little while there, but thank God that old bear didn’t want anything to do with this old man. Hiking is like life that way. You never know what’s around the next corner. On this particular hike, the bear and the bear trap story was just the opening salvo of a hike that held much adventure, several curiosities and a lesson or two for me. Just like life. I don’t have the space in this article to do justice to the lost and thirsty exchange students or the bikini clad travelers or even the soggy surgeon and his family that I met that day. Those are for other essays. Kinda tickles the curiosity though doesn’t it? All I know is that if I had not ventured down the trail that day, I would have never experience the exhilaration, the surprise, the laughter, nor the refreshing shower with which I was blessed. I suppose the lesson in this, for me at least, is that life is a gift from God above. What I do with that gift is left up to me. I can fritter my life away in fear, and timidity, or venture out for Christ relying upon His strength and guidance to support me. I vote for adventure. How about you? Love, Pastor Tony
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AuthorTony Rowell Archives
December 2024
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