From about December to March black bears sleep, although they occasionally come out for brief periods. During the University of Tennessee studies it was learned, to the surprise of many, that bears in the Great Smokies had a preference for denning in hollow trees, sometimes as much as 15 meters (50 feet) above the ground. Typically, such a tree has been broken off by storms and provides an entrance and some sort of platform within that supports the bear. In such a den, or one in a protected place on the ground, the female in alternate years gives birth to tiny cubs weighing about a half-kilo (18 ounces) apiece.
Most bears leave their dens in late March or April and from then until early summer, when berries begin ripening, they find food scarce. Black bears are primarily vegetarians, though they eat almost any animal matter they can find, from ants to large mammals, as well as carrion. In spring they graze grasses heavily. Squawroot, a fleshy, conelike, parasitic plant, is a favored food then, so much so that local people call squawroot bear potato or bear cabbage. Roots and insect grubs also help to see the bears through spring, a time so lean for them that droppings are seldom seen on the trails. At this season bears roam widely at all elevations. Mating occurs in early summer.
From late July until early September the bears concentrate on berries, especially the blackberries growing in open places such as ridgetops and balds, and the blueberries most abundant in open oak-pine woods. Since insects and vertebrate animals are most numerous in summer, bears harvest them more frequently then than at other times. They especially seek beetles and nests of yellowjackets. With throngs of campers in the park bears investigate this source of food, too. National Park Service management practices are aimed at ending such scavenging—which makes bears both dependent on and dangerous to people—and ensuring that the animals live out their normal lives in the forest. Being deprived of garbage will work no hardship because, for bears and most other animals, summer is the season of abundance.
As fall progresses blackberries, blueberries, and beetles diminish in the diet and acorns and beechnuts increase until they become the primary sustenance. Bears are particularly fond of white oak acorns, the sweetest. In their eagerness the huge animals, which sometimes reach 200 kilos (450 pounds) in weight, even climb trees and crawl out on the branches as far as they can to eat the fruits or break off and drop the branch tips for consumption on the ground. They also relish black cherries and serviceberries. A park naturalist told me of watching a very large bear climb a 5-centimeter (2-inch) thick serviceberry on Spence Field, bending the tree double. Throughout the Southern Appalachians you can see small serviceberries broken down like this by bears in their quest for the fruits.
In most years the mast crop is adequate for all the animals dependent on it, but in the years of failure bears are hard pressed to find enough to eat. They wander down out of the mountains in search of food. In such years many are killed by hunters outside the national park. The loss of bears in some of the poorest mast years may be one-third to one-half of the park’s bear population.
Enter now the European wild boar. Its history in the Smokies is another classic example, along with the chestnut blight fungus, balsam woolly aphid, Norway rat, Starling, and a host of other pests, of the damage that can be done by introducing an organism to territory outside its normal range. The wild boars in the Smokies are believed to be descendants of animals, purportedly of stock from Germany, that escaped from a game preserve on Hooper Bald, southwest of Fontana Lake, in the early 1920s. They were first detected in the park about 1950. By the early 1960s wild boars, now with some admixture of domestic pig blood, had spread east to Newfound Gap and, in the lower country, to Cosby and possibly Cataloochee. Their occupation of the entire park seemed imminent.
So now the Smokies have a wild counterpart of the domestic hog, the staple livestock animal that mountaineers once ran year-round in these woods. Horace Kephart’s vivid description of the hog in the 1920s applies almost as well to today’s European wild boar: “In physique and mentality, the razorback differs even more from a domestic hog than a wild goose does from a tame one,” Kephart wrote. “Shaped in front like a thin wedge, he can go through laurel thickets like a bear. Armored with tough hide cushioned by bristles, he despises thorns, brambles, and rattlesnakes, alike. His extravagantly long snout can scent like a cat’s, and yet burrow, uproot, overturn, as if made of metal.”
The hog’s long legs, thin flanks, and pliant hoofs fitted it to run like a deer and climb like a goat, Kephart claimed, calling it “a warrior born” who was also a first rate strategist.
The European wild boar sometimes attains a height of nearly a meter (three feet) at the shoulder and a weight of 100 kilos (220 pounds). It is built rather like a bison, the hindquarters sloping down from the shoulders. The long, hairy-tipped tail and, in the male, well-developed tusks also distinguish it from its domestic counterpart. Obviously, this is a formidable animal, as numerous boar hunters who have been treed by it or watched it cut up their dogs can attest. Normally, however, wild boars are not dangerous and run at the sight or scent of man. One evening, standing in a yard where a boar had rooted the night before, I asked a long-time boar observer about the animal’s pugnacity.
“They won’t attack you unless they’re wounded or hemmed,” this observer related. “I’ve tried to get them to charge me. Even picked up a squealing piglet once, but the sow didn’t attack.”