Blue Ridge Breeze

by Ed Robinson

  He told me that one of his men had seen tire tracks in the snow at the lot below the access road leading to the trail we’d been working. It could have been anyone, but he was convinced it was our poachers.

  “In the snow?” I asked.

  “The deer only stay bedded down while it’s actively snowing,” he said. “They get hungry. As soon as it quits they’ve got to find food.”

  “Great,” I said. “I guess you want me to go back up there.”

  “Soon as you’re ready,” he said. “You might find a fresh kill, which will extend your job. If not we might call it quits.”

  “The buzzards will show me a carcass,” I said. “That should be easy to find.”

  “You’re the tracker.”

  He met me the next morning at three driving a four-wheel drive truck. We drove from the BB&T parking lot to the visitor’s center up on Grandfather Mountain. There was still a light layer of snow up there, so the going was slow once we left the blacktop. He stopped where he’d dropped me off before.

  “You’re looking for a new kill,” he said. “But also keep an eye out for the poachers. No way to know if they’re up here or not. Be careful.”

  “Gotcha,” I said. “If they're here I’ll find them. Stand by.”

  “Better you than me, brother.”

  I started my hike in the darkness. There was some wind, but not as bad as the last time. It was below freezing but expected to rise to the mid-thirties later on. I wasn’t stressed by the cold while I walked. I was more familiar with the terrain now. I made it to the trail much quicker. I hiked down below the snow line before the sun came up. I was ready.

  As soon as I could see well enough, I saw the buzzards circling. I made my way beneath them. A half-dozen or so of the ugly carrion eaters were gathered on what was left of a deer. I shooed them off, but one stayed to challenge me. He didn’t want to leave his breakfast. I found a baseball-sized rock and chucked it at him. I didn’t hit him, but it was enough for him to give up and fly off. My shoulder didn’t appreciate the effort. It creaked when in motion and threatened to bother me the rest of the day. I wasn’t a ballplayer anymore.

  The deer was a big buck, possibly the one they were chasing the last time I was up here. His antlers were sawed off, and his body was stripped of all edible meat. They’d done a tidy job making the most of their kill. I wasn’t up here to catch them, but I couldn’t let that bother me. I was no game warden. I got real still for a few minutes, listening for any signs of movement. Once I was satisfied that I was alone, I radioed Rominger.

  “Fresh kill,” I said. “Our boys are still at it.”

  “Roger that,” he said. “You up for hanging out up there for the day?”

  “I’m here now,” I said. “I’ll wait for them as long as you’re paying me.”

  “You and I both know it’s not about the money,” he said. “I’ll be close. Let me know what’s going on when you can.”

  I took a look around the general area. All known kills were within a few hundred yards of my position. There were additional deer tracks everywhere. This was the place. It was the main road for deer traffic on this part of the mountain. The poachers knew it. Now I did too. I moved off the trail about a hundred yards, looking for a good spot to lie in wait. I found a downed tree propped against a boulder. It offered a good vantage point to watch the trail and good concealment as well. In the first two hours, I spotted four deer on the move. If I was going to catch these men in the act, today would be a good day.

  It was another hour before I saw them. I didn’t hear them first, so they were being quiet. They walked right on by the carcass and continued uphill. They each had hunting knives strapped on their side and loose packs on their backs. They held their rifles like soldiers on a march. I let them pass without following. Once they were out of earshot, I radioed Rominger.

  “They’re up here,” I whispered. “Check the parking lot for a vehicle.”

  “Roger that.”

  I moved after the men but stayed off the trail. My worries that they’d spotted me previously went away. They didn’t act like men who knew they were being followed. They had one purpose only. To kill a deer and carry the meat back down the mountain. I wondered how many mouths they were feeding. We knew of four illegal kills up here already, but they were still at it. The need to hunt for meat to survive was foreign to me. When I’d been poor and hungry, I caught fish at will, but I always stayed within the fisheries laws. The last thing I needed was for a water cop to ticket me for an undersized or out of season fish.

  This was different. These men must have jobs. Sure they had bills to pay, maybe too many, but poaching on this land was a challenge for them. They were thumbing their noses at the law, knowing that the WRC couldn’t catch them. They didn’t count on someone like me inserting himself into the picture. They had no idea that I was stalking them like they were stalking the deer. If they killed one today, it would be their last.

  I couldn’t allow myself to feel sorry for them. They could have gotten away with illegal hunting in plenty of places up here. Millions of acres were wild and mountainous and teeming with wildlife. Law enforcement couldn’t be everywhere at once. They had to rely on tips from concerned citizens or landowners. Bringing their act to Grandfather Mountain was more than bold, it was sending an outlaw message. They felt invincible here. The terrain was rugged and untouched by man. They were certain that they were the only ones capable of pulling off this particular poaching feat, and that no one could stop them.

  It was my job to teach them differently. With a new resolve, I continued tracking them higher up. I glided from tree to rock in silence. They could have stopped and set up anywhere above me. I didn’t want to stumble into their earshot or eyesight and blow the whole deal. I caught a glimpse of them within the hour. They were using an elevated rock as a deer stand. It was as flat as a tabletop with a good all-around view. It was just on the edge of the snow line. Further up, there was a foot or more on the ground. Where they sat was covered with just a few inches. Any deer in the higher altitudes would have come down to find food. It was a good place to ambush them.

  It didn’t take long before I could see them pointing and whispering. They’d sighted something. One of the men took off his pack and used it to steady his rifle. He lay there prone like a sniper drawing a bead on his target. Boom! The shot rang out, and both men scrambled off the rock in pursuit of the deer. I moved to where they’d shot from to see what they’d seen. A decent sized buck was struggling to stay standing amongst some poplar saplings. A minute ago he’d been munching on some tree bark, now he was wondering what the hell hit him. He took three shaky steps before crumpling in a heap. The poachers were soon on him.

  I pulled out my camera but didn’t have a good line of sight. I moved down towards the saplings and prepared to capture the men digitally. They worked quickly to gut their kill. They pulled saws and knives from their packs and hacked away at the body until it was a pile of manageable hunks. It all went into their packs within ten minutes. They looked around constantly to make sure they were alone. It was obvious they’d done this more than once. They were good at it. No butcher could have dismantled that deer any quicker, especially out in the field.

  I took a ton of pictures that would prove their guilt beyond any reasonable doubt. When they started the hike back down the mountain, I had to let them go until I could use the radio.

  “Confirmed kill,” I said. “Two men on the way down.”

  “We ran the tags on a truck in the lot,” he replied. “We think we know who one of them is.”

  “Priors?”

  “Wildlife violations in eastern Tennessee,” he said. “Nothing else.”

  “It’s going to be a couple of hours before they get down there,” I said. “I’ll be behind them. Don’t drive off with your suspects until I get there.”

  “We wouldn’t leave you with no ride,” he said.

  “I know,” I said. “I want to look them in the eye.
Let them know that I beat them.”

  “Understood.”

  I’d been energized during the chase, but now it felt a bit anticlimactic. I’d come up here to do a job which was now finished. There was no purpose in my hike down the mountain, except to go home to Brody. Still, I was satisfied. I’d fulfilled my obligation to the State Police. I’d proven my worth. It was time to rest up and stay warm until they needed me again.

  I plodded along towards the parking lot, less aware than I should have been. It almost cost me my life. The poachers had stopped, either to rest or to determine if they were being followed. When I saw them, they both had rifles pointed in my direction. I dove for cover, but no shots were fired. My heart rate doubled instantly. Looking down the barrel of a high-powered rifle will do that. Shit, Breeze. Always stay alert.

  I got my shit together and crawled behind some rocks. When I peered over them, I saw that the two men had shed their packs and split up. They were going to try to flank me. I was a sitting duck. I had my rifle, but I couldn’t shoot them unless of course, they shot at me first. I had not expected to have to defend myself on this mission, only observe and report. Now I was literally between a rock and hard place.

  I lost sight of one of them in some thick brush. The other was moving slowly and carefully. I didn’t think he could see me, but he knew generally where I was. I couldn’t stay there, but if I moved he would certainly spot me. There was no time to argue with myself. I had to do something right now. I took a few deep breaths and bolted from my hiding place. I ran like prey being pursued for ten minutes, then abruptly changed directions and slowed down. I blended myself into the gray landscape, adopting my stealth mode. I moved like smoke. Deeper and deeper into the woods I went until I found a place to make my stand. A downed tree had a depression underneath it, surrounded by tall dead weeds. I slithered into the hole and swatted at the weeds until they covered the entrance.

  I concentrated on lowering my heart rate and getting my breathing under control. My prolonged sprint had taken its toll. My muscles were screaming louder than my joints normally did. Slowly, I got it all under control. I became part of the forest. I was a slug under a rock under a tree. I was invisible. I smelled of dirt and grass and maybe a little bit of snow. The poachers would have to step on me to locate me.

  The sounds started to amplify. The scents came to me from every direction. I could feel the flutter of a bird, the digging of a worm. I was the woods. The woods were me. The men looking for me might be good in the hills, but they had no idea who they were dealing with. I was no dumb deer.

  I heard one of them within fifty yards of my position. I couldn’t see him, and I didn’t try. My play was total concealment. They couldn’t search for me forever. They had to get their kill out of here. I would wait them out. I had no plan B. The man moved by me, twenty yards to my north. Soon after I heard his partner to my south. They were quiet, but I still picked up on their footsteps, even their breathing. They smelled like one of those commercial deer hunting cover scents that you can buy at Bass Pro. He moved on past me too.

  I thought about taking off down the mountain and beating them to their truck. The cops would be waiting, and there’d be nothing they could do to me. I didn’t have enough separation yet. I had no control over how far they traveled hunting for me. I could only wait. They were younger and probably at least as fit as I was. I’d want a good head start before I attempted to race them down the mountain.

  They would have to stop to recover their packs though. That weight would certainly slow them down. I mulled it over as I tried to hear the men moving about. Their sounds were faint now, moving away. They wouldn’t hear me leave my lair. They’d keep hunting me until they ran out of daylight or just got too frustrated.

  I extracted myself slowly and quietly, but as soon as I was free, I made a mad dash downhill. My pack was hindering me, even though it was very light. I shrugged it off my back and left it there on the mountain. I had only my weapons to carry. Once I put enough distance between myself and the poachers, I slowed to a fast jog. A man can’t sprint very far without his muscles tightening up due to lactic acid buildup. I got comfortable with my pace, making good progress but staying in control.

  I knew this piece of the mountain well by now. I took as direct of a course as the terrain allowed. It was a downhill trip, so I wasn’t strained, other than preventing myself from going too fast. Before I made it to the parking lot, I stopped for a few seconds to use the police radio.

  “I’m the first one down,” I said. “Don’t shoot.”

  “Where are the poachers?”

  “Looking for me,” I said. “They’ll be down here eventually.”

  I slowed to a walk when I saw the police cars. I was safe now. As Rominger offered me a cup of coffee, I realized we’d made yet another mistake.

  “Shit, man,” I said. “Those dudes are just going to turn around and run when they see you guys here. They’re damned good outdoorsmen. They’re not going to just walk in here and let you cuff them.”

  “How far are they behind you?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “They got above me, so I made a break for it. They were hunting me.”

  “Shit,” he said. “Mitch and Rob, hide inside the trees. The rest of you get out of here. Meet up at McDonald’s. Maintain radio contact.”

  I got in Rominger’s car, and we all drove out of the parking lot. The poacher’s truck was the only vehicle left behind. Two state troopers were hiding on the edge of the lot, waiting for our men to come down the mountain. It was out of my hands now.

  My cop friends treated me to a Big Mac with fries while we waited to hear from Mitch and Rob. I showed them the pictures I’d taken after the kill. Everyone agreed that this evidence would be good in court. Another hour passed before the radio crackled.

  “Two men in custody. On the way to HQ.”

  “Roger that,” said Rominger. “We’re on our way.”

  “Mind if I tag along?” I asked. “I’ll need a ride home, but I still want to stand in front of the guys.”

  “Not a problem,” he said. “You’ve earned it.”

  Fourteen

  It was a half-hour drive to the state police barracks in Boone. The patrol car’s heater was a blessing from heaven. I was almost thawed out by the time we reached the station.

  “How do you do it, man?” asked Rominger.

  “Do what?”

  “Find those dudes in the wilderness,” he said. “It’s a big ass mountain.”

  “I did very little tracking actually,” I said. “I set up in the most likely area and let them come to me.”

  “Based on the previous kills?”

  “It’s that simple,” I said. “Now finding Tom Shook was a different ballgame. I tracked him down twice in one day. That was some nifty work if I do say so myself.”

  “We thought so too,” he said. “It’s why we called you in on this one.”

  “You called me because nobody wanted to freeze their ass off looking for these guys.”

  “That too, maybe,” he admitted. “But it all worked out in the end. Good job, Breeze.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “But can you wait until spring to call me again?”

  “Things are usually pretty quiet out here until late March,” he said. “It’s all about the ski resorts now. Our guys will be reduced to highway patrol unless something out of the ordinary pops up.”

  “You ready to go face these guys?”

  “You know what?” I said. “I’ve had second thoughts about that. Sorry to take you out of your way, but can you drive me home?”

  “What changed your mind?”

  “Rubbing their noses in it was just to stroke my ego,” I said. “No sense in letting them see my face up close and personal.”

  “Good thinking,” he said. “But I suspect they’ll get some jail time out of this.”

  “Poaching earns you jail time around here?”

  “Not normally,” he said. “A fine, mayb
e loss of license if it’s a second offense, but like I told you before, Grandfather is sacred land. There are too many people who’ll want these men locked up.”

  “Fine by me,” I said. “I got the feeling that they’d shoot me if they found me up there.”

  “Doesn’t seem likely,” he said. “A poached deer isn’t worth killing over.”

  “Just a gut feeling,” I said. “The kind I don’t ignore.”

  “But two experienced hunters couldn’t find you,” he said. “Two outlaw hunters against one Florida boy. That’s what I meant when I asked how you do it.”

  “Guess I’ve just got the knack for it,” I said. “I’ve been spending a lot of time in the woods.”

  “Let’s get you home so you can spend some time with that pretty little woman,” he said.

  “Best idea I’ve heard all day.”

  As we drove down McGuire Mountain Road and the cabin came into view, I was once again reminded how good I had it. I’d done my duty that day. Now it was time to enjoy the fruits of my labors. Brody met me at the door with a small glass of Tennessee whiskey and a kiss. She was wearing a happy smile like she already knew that I’d succeeded. Seeing her smile gave me joy. Seeing that twinkle in her eye reminded me of the day we met, and how lucky I was to be with her.

  “It’s over,” I told her. “We got our men. No muss, no fuss.”

  “Never a doubt in my mind,” she said. “Breeze is king of the mountain once again.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” I said. “But yea, I did it. I found them, tracked them, and led them into handcuffs.”

  “Just think, six months ago we were sitting by the pool in Florida,” she said. “Now you’re something else altogether. One with the mountain and all that jazz.”

  “I would have never believed it either,” I said. “Must have some mountain blood in my ancestry or something.”

  “I don’t think I share that trait,” she said. “I love it here, but the whole mountain hiking Zen trip just isn’t for me.”

  “But you’re good with me going all Appalachian on you?”