If you don’t like dogs, I don’t think we can help you. Come back next week.

Dogs have been an integral part of my life since I was a boy. My first dog part something, part something else was named Rascal. He was my buddy. I was a sophomore in college when Rascal had to be put to sleep after a long and happy life. I still remember the sadness of that day.

Other dogs have followed: cocker spaniels; a long line of beagles, several named Toby; and more recently German shorthaired pointers. In my humble opinion, German shorthairs are the best breed of dog in the world. I will allow that they can be somewhat uppity and arrogant when need be, but for the most part they are companionable, curious, bright-eyed, humorous, and generally reliable dogs.

Our current shorthairs are Maggie (a brown-ticked patrician sort of dog) and Zeke (a white shorthair with large black spots who is sort of a good ole boy). Maggie and Zeke are pretty much our constant companions, spending the day with us at work. When we go bird watching along the Texas, Gulf and Atlantic coasts, they travel along in the back of the truck, their heads stuck through the camper top window into the cab. As a last resort, I have been known to turn them loose when a particular bird wouldn’t come out of the brush so we could see it. That generally gets results.

Zeke is faster and stronger but Maggie is always boss. They would be excellent hunters, not only for birds but any other small game; however, neither Elizabeth nor I are now hunters. So, I throw rubber balls for them. They catch them on the bounce or track them down in the woods or plunge into the creek after them.

Even though I haven’t hunted for years, I do have an ingrained appreciation for the hunting tradition. One of my heroes is Ben Lilly, the famous western hunter of panthers and bears at the turn of the last century. (Read The Ben Lilly Legend by J. Frank Dobie, if you like that sort of literature. Ben Lilly makes an appearance in one of Larry McMurtry’s novels. I forget which one.)

Ben Lilly was a very sensible manager of dogs. Before each hunt, he would sit his dogs down around the campfire and tell each one exactly what was expected. If a dog failed to live up to expectations, he or she was summarily banished from the Ben Lilly pack.

In previous Back Then articles, we’ve taken a look at Quill Rose, Mark Cathey, and several other famous Western North Carolina hunters. This time out, let us consider famous hunting dogs.

In My Mountains, My People (1957), John Parris reprinted one of his columns titled “Never Cuss a Man’s Houn’ Dog,” which is set “somewhere in the Blue Ridge.” It opens with Big Sam and Old Billy-B, “two old cronies” about to come to blows over negative comments made by Big Sam about Billy-B’s coon dog named Trim.

Old Billy-B had raised Trim from a pup and loved him. When Old Billy-B’s son, Young Billy-B, made the mistake of selling Trim, there was nothing else to do he ran the boy off from home. But we’re getting ahead of ourselves.

Trim was a fabulous hunting dog, “a small red hound one-eighth feist, prettiest hound-dog you ever saw. And the smartest. Now some folks brag about their dogs till they’re plumb out of breath. Why, they’ll ’tribute powers and wisdom to their dog that no dog has. Of course, it’s a man’s privilege to brag when he’s got a good hound-dog ... Be that as it may, a’body didn’t need to let his tongue run loose about Trim. She done her own braggin’. Done it like a good hound should. You never saw her so I’ll have to tell you. She had 256 coons to her credit when she died ... She had the prettiest-soundin’ voice you ever heard. Somehow when you heard her it made you think of heaven. It was that kind of pretty.”

So, Big Sam had slandered Old Billy-B’s coon hound, accusing Trim of “runnin’ one of his dogs out of a race.” It was a standoff around their campfire  Big Sam with his knife and Old Billy-B with his rifle and the two men made up after coming close to killing one another. “But,” as the story concludes, “you never can tell what a man’ll do when somebody berates his hound-dog.”

Plott hounds are, of course, the most famous breed of hunting dog ever produced in WNC and one of the oldest breeds established in North America. Of disputed original stock (possibly Hanoverian sweisshund), the original Plott strain was brought to North America in the mid-1700s by Johannes Plott, formerly a gamekeeper in Germany. The Plott dogs have been described as “fierce, iron-willed dogs that would track, chase, and fight black bear, mountain lions, and wolves with unequaled ability.”
The Plott family descendents, who had settled in Plott Valley just west of present Waynesville by 1800, worked at improving the strain from generation to generation. The modern Plott hound is darker-colored, has a more melodious voice, and a more hound-like appearance than Johannes Plott’s original stock. It is also more versatile.

I can’t remember where I first read or heard the story of Bonas, the famous 19th century Jackson County hunting dog. The story of Bonas is a sad one, but nevertheless it’s one my favorite hunting dog stories. There’s a parable of sorts in Bonas’s demise. See if you can figure it out.

The Tuckaseigee Gorge located in the remote Little Canada section of Jackson County is widely recognized as one of the roughest wilderness areas in the eastern United States. The trail guide “100 Favorite Trails of the Great Smokies and Carolina Blue Ridge,” compiled by the Carolina Mountain Club of Asheville and the Smoky Mountains Hiking Club of Knoxville, describes the Tuckaseigee Gorge in the following terms: “Rugged and thrilling trip  for agile and experienced hikers only ... Very hazardous. Nature is in command. Any rescue operation would be extremely difficult.” This is true.
The gorge proper is a 675-acre segment within the 3,600-acre Bonas Defeat Tract purchased by the U.S. Forest Service in 1981 as part of an even larger 30,000-acre acquisition known as the Balsam-Bonas Defeat Land Purchase. It is administered by the Highlands District of the Nantahala National Forest.

The Tuckaseigee River arises in Jackson County near Cashiers. The stream flows gently northward through the beautiful Panthertown area for several miles. It then veers sharply to the west and plummets down through the gorge, possibly following an ancient fault line created millions of years ago.
Traversing the gorge, one rock-hops continually from boulder to boulder. At its widest, the gorge is perhaps 100-yards, but narrows to 20-yards or so at points. The adjacent cliffs tower several hundred feet above the gorge floor in several places.

The spectacular Bonas Defeat cliff about midway through the gorge towers almost 400-feet above the gorge floor. What does the name signify? According to local legend, it is named for the renowned hunting dog named Bonas or Old Bonas. Some say he was known familiarly as Ole Boney. Bonas’s specialty was chasing deer off of this particular cliff into the Tuckasigee Gorge, whereupon his owner (some say his name was Cook) would then collect the carcass far below.

One day Bonas got too involved in his work and pursued his quarry right off the cliff. Some say the deer jumped aside at the last moment, saving itself and thereby tricking Bonas to his ultimate defeat.
(George Ellison is a writer who lives in Bryson City. He wrote the biographical introductions for the reissues of two Appalachian classics: Horace Kephart’s Our Southern Highlanders and James Mooney’s History, Myths, and Sacred Formulas of the Cherokees. Readers can contact him at P.O. Box 1262, Bryson City, N.C., 287713, or at ellisongeorge@cs.com.

 

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