Papa and Doc

I never knew my great grandfather but his name is spoken in almost hushed reverence in our family. Over the course of my life I’ve heard numerous stories about the man, from the time he was kicked out of the Methodist Church, or “churched” as the old timers called it, for partaking of too much corn liquor or the time he whipped my twenty something year old grandfather with the mule reins just for back-sassing him while the two were plowing. By all accounts, Papa Bryson, as they used to call him, was quite a colorful character, personally I always imagined him to be a cross between John Wayne in Hatari! and Tommy Lee Jones in Lonesome Dove.

But it was Papa Bryson’s skill as a deer hunter that set him apart from other men. My grandfather once said that Papa Bryson, was undoubtedly one of the finest deer hunters in all of Mills River Valley.

Pappa Bryson died in 1948, one year before my father was born. My Dad never knew his grandfather but I wanted his name and legacy to live on. So on May 7th, 2007, when my son, William Ridge Bryson, was brought in to this world, we named him after my Great Grandfather. I’m also hoping that by giving him his first name, a little of Pappa Bryson’s deer hunting magic will rub off on the little guy.

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Now it wasn’t that long ago, when deer season meant a great deal more to the residents of the Mills River Valley than just mere recreation; it literally meant survival. Hunting put much needed food on the table for dozens of poor, hard working families. The Bryson’s were no exception. My grandfather used to tell us stories of when he was a boy, sneaking into the woods with Pappa Bryson to hunt deer out of season just so they could make it through the winter. Together the two of them would set out on foot from their home on South Mills River to a small hunting cabin located at the head of Turkey Springs- a journey that totaled some ten to fifteen miles in length. They would return home weary and exhausted several days later, their hunting coats over flowing with fresh venison tenderloin, shoulders and hams; enough to feed the large clan of ten.

Now shooting deer out of season to feed a hungry family was one thing but trespassing on another man’s property to simply satisfy your desire to have a large trophy rack hanging over your fireplace was something entirely different. And apparently Pappa Bryson had a fairly notorious reputation in the community as a trespasser.

Now by most accounts, Pappa Bryson was an educated man, he could read and write as well as other folks, but for some odd reason he had a hard time deciphering signs which read, NO TRESSPASSING and NO HUNTING- a reading deficiency that routinely landed him in hot water with local game wardens.

A story that is still told around dinner tables in the Bryson family is the time Papa Bryson and Dr. Greeenwood had a run-in with one particular game warden while trespassing on the Biltmore Estate. During the turn of the Century, the Vanderbilt Family, who constructed the world renowned Biltmore House, owned practically all of Western North Carolina, some 125,000 acres in total. Nearly every square inch of their properly was prime deer hunting land and strictly off limits to the general public. To enforce their No Hunting policy and to discourage poachers, the Vanderbilt's employed a small army of private game wardens who systematically patrolled their vast property on horseback.

Now Papa Bryson routinely snuck onto the estate to hunt with his good friend Dr. Greenwood, who at the time served as the local doctor for the community. Dr. Greenwood was known a gifted physician, who as the story goes once amputated a man’s leg with a carpenter hand saw and a kitchen butcher knife. He also served as head of the Mills River social club with he and his wife hosting extravagant parties at their South Mills River home. He was known far and wide as a fine, upstanding citizen, a pillar of the community. But the good doctor also had another reputation, that of a fanatical trophy hunter and sometime outlaw poacher. Apparently when it came to deer hunting his addiction knew no boundaries nor property lines.

It became common knowledge throughout Mills River that come deer season, Dr. Greenwood and his partner in crime, Papa Bryson were usually to be found somewhere creeping around the Vanderbilt Estate in search of big game. In fact, they had so man encounters with the estate's game wardens, the two men actually became somewhat close acquaintances with many of them.

On one such trespassing, er, I mean hunting trip, Papa Bryson and Dr. Greenwood were sneaking along a path somewhere deep within the Biltmore estate, when they spotted the head game warden coming their direction on horseback. Without being seen, the two quickly slipped off the trail and concealed themselves in a laurel thicket. They pulled bandannas up over their faces to hide their identities in the even they were spotted and had to make a quick retreat. As the warden passed by the spot where the two men were hidden, without as much as turning his head the warden said out loud, in an almost friendly greeting, “Hello Bryson. Hello Greenwood,” and merely continued on his way.

As a kid, every time I heard that story, I could help but to think of the coyote and road runner cartoons. After so many times of trying to catch those two, the warden finally accepted the fact that Papa and Dr. Greenwood was a fact of life and went about his day.