Close encounter. From left: Cara Ellen Modisett, Rick Varnes and Chester.

The photo below was taken in the mountains of North Carolina, about 75 yards away from the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. I was at The Swag, one of my favorite places in the world, a retreat owned by Dan Matthews, a retired Episcopal bishop, and his wife Deener.

For weeks, a young bear they named Chester had entertained guests, climbing the apple trees and seeming to enjoy the attention. Unfortunately, he started getting into the garbage, and that’s bad for bears and for people, so the park service was called.

A barrel-shaped trap was set in a shady area (it’s painted light green to deflect light and heat) and not long after, Chester was inside, drawn by bait, banging around and none too pleased.

The man in the photo is Rick Varnes, a wildlife biology technician for Great Smoky Mountains National Park for going on 20 years, first hired to help thin the population of non-native wild boar in the park (descendants of 13 hogs shipped here from Germany for a hunting preserve in 1912). And he works with the growing population of bears.

“You got more bears, you got more people, you got more problems.” Like bears in garbage. Bears like people food, but as soon as they start eating it, things wild aren’t as appealing. They end up with dental problems, which Varnes says is often the reason a bear “goes bad,” sometimes requiring trapping and euthanization.

“I hate it,” he says. “And the worst thing is if a bear’s a problem because of what people have caused.”

He estimates Chester is two or three years old and 200 pounds. He’s tagged (#75) which means he’s been caught before, probably as a cub. First Varnes sedates Chester with an antibiotic-coated syringe, then carefully pulls him out of the trap. He tattoos the bear on the inside of his lip. He works carefully, especially around the bear’s head.

“Head circumference, 53 inches. Head length, 32 inches,” he measures. “Ear length, 12 inches.” He puts his arms around Chester’s neck to measure it. He’s immensely gentle.

After finishing, Varnes pulls Chester back into the trap and administers a reversal drug. Slowly, the bear wakes up, his head weaving, and stumbles out. Varnes yells and chases him away from us, away from civilization. Chester runs, stops, turns back, looking disappointed. Varnes shouts again, waving his arms, and Chester disappears into the green leaves, surprisingly graceful.

“He stopped sooner than I’d like to have seen him stop,” says Varnes.

There’s no use relocating him – bears find their way home, through miles and across state borders.

There are between 1,600 and 1,800 bears in the park now, he says. They’re bound to come into contact with humans, for better or for worse.

“I see almost on a daily basis in the backcountry a big old bear that’s never been tagged,” he says, “and I’m like, ‘good for you!’”

In this issue, we bring you more wildlife – starting on page 42. Have some wildlife sightings of your own? Write to us and we’ll include them in a later issue.

—Cara Ellen Modisett

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