We were first on the trail that morning, three brothers and two teenage sons. The boys had wanted a more challenging hike before we left the Smokies, so we were making the trek to the Ramsey Cascades while the rest of our families enjoyed a lazy Saturday morning back at camp.

The early going was full of fresh webs spun across the path, leaving whoever was leading to clear the way for the rest. For long stretches, we quietly made our way up the trail, enjoying the haunting calls of the wood thrush and warblers in the misty undergrowth. Periodically, the constant chattering of the vireos in the canopy above would crescendo, overwhelming the melody with their noisy competition.

I stepped carefully on the damp log, knowing a slip and a sprain would ruin my day. I had lost track of how many small creeks we had crossed already. The cascades, hidden by a tunnel of rhododendrons, tumbled through the ravine, emerging just a few feet from the log, the burbles and gurgles forming a rhythm I couldn’t quite follow. My inability to catch the pattern made no difference to the creek as it played off the moss-covered stones and deadfalls on its way to the valley below.

The trail took a sharp turn around a thick stand of azaleas, hiding the path ahead. Ten feet in front of me, a large berry patch filled the gap from years-old storm damage, dominated by a single tulip poplar.

He was sitting in the middle of that patch, enjoying his breakfast, when I turned the corner.

They say your brain speeds up when the adrenaline hits you — that’s why time seems to slow down. I must have gone from making memories at 30 frames per second to 240 or more.

Before the others could round the bend, I was back. They were looking up at the poplar — that bear had climbed thirty feet before I had even turned around.

It took me a minute to calm down enough to speak. By the time I was able to explain what had happened, the bear had scooted down and was out of view.

After waiting several minutes to give the poor fella a chance to mosey off, my brothers were keen to continue — I was not. I was pretty sure he had my number and wondered out loud whether it would be better to go back.

They gave me a few more minutes, but weren’t about to let me wimp out. Sure enough, he was gone.

I guess we hadn’t really been the first after all.

Some campfires have a particular feel — still night, moonrise an hour or so away, peaceful contemplation and quiet conversation in the crisp, clear air under a blanket of stars. David said it best in the Psalms: “The heavens declare the glory of God…night to night reveals knowledge.”

Nights like that bring back memories of many great times over the years: family, friends, music, stories, and s’mores around hundreds of campfires.

The hike to Ramsey Cascades reminded me of a song we would sing. Here is a nice rendition that might remind you of your times around the campfire: The Other Day I Saw A Bear

It’s so easy to be oblivious to the world around us, a glorious one at times and a dangerous one at others. One of the things I love about being out in the natural world that God graciously gave us is the reminders to take a breath, slow down, and just see…

…and get out of the way if what you see mandates it!

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