Wild Cherries!

Wild cherries!!

In the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, by the first week of August, these sweet, dark berries are fully ripe, and the black bears in Cades Cove love them! They will risk life, limb, and defy basic gravity just to get a mouthful of those sun-ripened delicacies.

Watching this madness unfold is pure joy!

The black bears climb far higher than seems sensible for a creature of their weight, crawling out onto spindly limbs that bend and sway under their bulk. I have seen as many as four bears balanced on a single branch, each singularly focused on getting every last ripe cherry.

So, last Friday my expectations were set for a classic summer day of bear-watching as we made our usual left turn onto Sparks Lane inside Cades Cove.

As we rolled along, we noticed a couple of cars stopped and people looking up into the trees - the classic start of a "bear jam." We pulled up, and I stepped out with my Canon R5 Mark II, 100–500mm lens already in place.

Just before the place where Abrams Creek crosses over Sparks Lane, two cherry trees stood side by side. For fifteen delightful minutes, a handful of us stood together on the dirt road, practically giddy as we watched four bears, a mama and her three cubs, shifting from branch to branch to get at the fruit. There is a shared, childlike excitement that takes over a group of strangers when everyone is looking up in total awe at the bears. One woman near me kept a hawk's eye on her own family, repeatedly calling out to her mother in a mix of panic and fun, "Don't go too close, Mama!" and "Stay close to the car, Mama!"

Then, without making a single sound or call, the mama bear started coming down the trunk tail-first, sliding down just like a giant cat.

The crowd retreated. Mama bear crossed a patch of grass and headed straight toward the tree line. Right behind her, as if responding to a silent cue, all three cubs slid down and ran after her.

As soon as the bears disappeared into the trees, everyone else packed up and headed to their cars. But I stayed put, relying on what I knew about the layout of the Cove.

Abrams Creek runs perpendicular to Sparks Lane, flowing east to west behind a dense wall of trees. The road intersects the water via a paved, shallow ford. I knew the creek was only about 20 yards beyond that tree line where the bears had disappeared. Trusting my gut and what I knew about the terrain, I walked over to the ford, pulled off my hiking boots and socks, and stepped right into Abrams Creek.

The water was shockingly cold and about six inches deep right in the middle of the submerged road. The algae on the concrete was as slick as ice, so I had to tread carefully, but I made my way to the center of the creek, turned west, and looked down the tree-lined stream.

And just like that, it happened.

About 40 yards downstream, mama bear stepped out of the brush and directly into Abrams Creek. Then, about 10 seconds later, came the three cubs, jumping in one after another and paddling in a tight single-file line. At their entry point, the current was strong and the water was over the cubs' heads, forcing them to swim hard until they reached a shallow, grassy area in the middle of the stream.

The whole crossing took 30 seconds max. In the sheer excitement of the moment, I did not have the presence of mind, or the time, to switch to video or adjust my settings. I just framed the shot and held down the shutter. I was shooting at a 1/2500-second shutter speed under a dark canopy, which pushed my ISO high and left me with plenty of noise in their black fur to fight in post-processing.

Just a few minutes earlier, everyone else had packed up and driven away, assuming that the bear family had retreated from easy view. But standing barefoot in the middle of Abrams Creek, I was just glad I followed my hopeful hunch.

I ended up with icy feet and a few editing headaches for later, but watching that mother lead her three cubs across the water was worth every second. It was simple, quiet, and completely real. I know I will never forget standing there, barefoot in Abrams Creek, watching that little family make its way across the water.