Bear Sighting – DeSoto County

Sometimes a photographer just has to get lucky…

I was down in the Coldwater River Bottoms near Highway 305 shooting photos of wildlife this morning. For those who may not know, when I am not working on a new novel, I try to get out and take wildlife photos. (Okay, time for a moment of truth in advertising–and/or when I am not doing whatever the wife needs to have done first.) Today, however, I was free. Problem was, things were pretty slow this morning with only a few shots, of some birds and deer.

This is the one of the deer—a doe and two yearlings—not a great shot, but what the heck. Every shot can’t be a classic.

I also got these birds, a junco in the snow, and a thrush looking pitifully about for some sunshine.

It had grown cloudy again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sparrow

This sparrow shot was one of many, but I did get a pretty decent photo of a bluebird in a cedar tree. I may actually post this one on my photography website.

The swamps and canals remained frozen, so there were no ducks, waterfowl, beavers and such anywhere around. I gave up a little before noon and headed back to the pickup.

The outing was nothing to write home about, but I’m not complaining. It was a pretty good morning spent ghosting around in the river bottoms in search of critters. Little did I know I was about to be the most famous bear photographer in DeSoto County. Yup, I always did want to be famous–have groupies and order my olives stuffed with jalapenos instead of pimento.

I cranked the old pickup truck and eased up the dirt road toward the blacktop. Thankfully it was still frozen, and I had no problems getting out of the bottoms.

As I was coming up Adair Lane toward the highway I was having visions of hot coffee with eggs, bacon, and grits, when I glanced to my left and there he was—a bear.

I could “bearly” believe my eyes. (Sorry, couldn’t resist that one.) Having often heard folks tell of sightings that include cougars, Big Foot and other such “rarities” while almost never producing photographic evidence, I was determined to get something that proved I had seen this critter. Stopping my pickup, I grabbed my camera. Luckily it was on the seat beside me with the telephoto lens still attached.

The bear seemed to be resting against a tree and mesmerized by the warming temperatures. And in case you thought me foolhardy, rest easy. I didn’t dare get out of my truck, but rolled down the window, and got my photo. The animal seemed content and never moved. He was still there when I drove away. By the way, this one did not at all resemble our native black bears, not even the Ole Miss variety, so perhaps someone with a little more knowledge of wildlife can tell us exactly what kind of bear it is. The photo is below.

Incidentally: With the good lord above watching my every move, I give my word, this is exactly how I found him, and the photo was in no way staged. I checked with some of the locals down there, and they too have seen him previously. After seeing my photo, the Mississippi Department of Wildlife, Fisheries and Parks has declared no interest in this bear sighting–typical government coverup.

You may also enjoy: Road Trip: Jackson Hole and Rawlins Research and Rick DeStefanis Wildlife Photography

 

 

 

 

 

Valley of the Purple Hearts wins the BIB Award for Literary Fiction…

 

Valley of the Purple Hearts, Book #4 of The Vietnam War Series, has been awarded the Best Indie Book Award for Mainstream Literary Fiction for 2017. I am humbled and honored, but most of all I am grateful to you guys, my friends and readers, for your words of encouragement and the reviews you have posted. It is because of your support that my passion for writing has not waned. I am, however, taking a break.

Although rewarding in many ways, creative writing can be a tedious endeavor as well as an emotionally draining one. Writing Valley of the Purple Hearts was particularly so because the story is based on facts and the actual experiences of several friends with whom I had the honor of serving after their return from Vietnam. While in the 82^nd Airborne at Fort Bragg I spent many a less-than-sober weekend with these men as they spilled their hearts out and related their Vietnam experiences to me; something they did with no one else and never when sober.

I will begin a new book after the first of the year. It will be a departure from the Vietnam War Series. A western of sorts, it will begin near the end of another war that fractured our nation over a hundred and fifty years ago. Because my stories are “fact-based,” this next one, too, will require extensive research, and I have no idea how long that will take. Regardless, it will be a welcomed respite from Valley of the Purple Hearts and writing about the Vietnam War.

If you have any comments, please contact me. I do enjoy hearing from readers and friends, and if you have read one of my books and wish to leave a review on Amazon.com/books under the book title or Goodreads.com it will be more than appreciated. Your reviews are what keep me writing.

Click here to purchase Valley of The Purple Hearts.

You may also enjoy: Rawlins: No Longer Young and Silver Medal: Readers’ Favorite Award

Where Melody Hill Began and The Gomorrah Principle Ended: The Tennessee Overhill…

I’ve been there a few times before over the years, the Tennessee Overhill. It’s a few counties tucked in the farthest corner of Southeast Tennessee. Mountainous, hilly and with some open country, it is the place from where my protagonist characters in Melody Hill and The Gomorrah Principle come. A while back someone asked me if the town of Melody Hill and some of the rivers and creeks are actually as I describe them in the books. Yes, and no. Melody Hill is a fictional town. Some of the locations I describe, as with much good fiction, are based on similar places but don’t actually exist. Take Reliance Gorge as an example. There is a Reliance Creek, and believe me when I say there are many gorges in the Overhill that fit that description, but I intentionally made it fictitious. I do the same thing with my military units in the Vietnam Series, seldom describing them with actual unit designations below the brigade level. This keeps the fiction fictitious, so to speak while making it real enough that I’ve had Vietnam veterans tell me “Yes, I was there. I know the exact battle you described in the book.”

So, my wife and I spent several days riding the backcountry up there again. We road along the Ocoee River from Tennessee into North Carolina, across the Cherohala Skyway and up 411 to Cades Cove and Gatlinburg. The Overhill and the Smokies are magnificent in Autumn. But we came across at least two semi-suicidal groups of thrill seekers in our travels. The first group I admire. Those are the kayakers who test their skills in the Ocoee River. They threaten no one but themselves, and most are so talented that they seldom actually die. The other group, however, well…  They call themselves “bikers.” These are the motorcyclists we found in large numbers on the Cherohala Skyway. Most were okay, many weren’t.

Before I begin my diatribe on these idiots, let me say that I too once rode big bikes all over the eastern US from Northern Pennsylvania down to Florida, Louisianna, Arkansas, Missouri and South Dakota…and across Tennessee and North Carolina. I’ve ridden I-95 in New Jersey and once rode in a foot of snow back to Fort Bragg from Memphis when our unit was placed on alert. And if you’ve never ridden a bike through the Newfound Gap in snow….well. I was always polite, obeyed the law and never had a serious accident.

So, the big problem was that these idiots seemed to have had no interest in the mountains or the scenery. Their sole intent was to ride over the mountains as fast as they possibly could. They passed us in clots of 3, 4 and sometimes as many as 8 to 10 motorcycles at once, and the double yellow lines on the highway seemed more of an incentive to pass than a safety warning. The major issue was that after passing, the cyclists in the rear were braking hard to avoid their peers in the curve just ahead of them, which in turn led to me having to stomp my brakes to avoid running over these dumbasses. This happened several times. You simply can’t pass someone, dart back over a few feet in front of them and stomp your brakes. I mean, you can, but it’s not conducive to a long and healthy life.

I told my wife that it likely wouldn’t be long before we came upon some of them standing beside the road and looking down the side of the mountain for one of their peers. Well, sure enough, it happened… not exactly that way. We came up behind a line of traffic at a standstill. Up ahead there was a pickup truck nose down in a ditch on the side of the road. Pinned beneath the truck was a biker. We had to wait until a helicopter came and took him away. Seems he passed the truck then slammed on his brakes to avoid hitting the biker in front of him. I felt sorry for the driver of the pickup.

It put a brief damper on the day because you also can’t help but feel sorry for the developmentally challenged. Otherwise, it was a great road trip. We got these photos of the Hiawassee, a black bear, some whitetail deer bedded under the pines in the rain, and the Newfound Gap in its fall colors. Hope you enjoy them.

 

 

 

 

 

 

You may also enjoy: Melody Hill: A Vietnam War Novel and The Vietnam Experience, Domestic Life & More