Bear Grease - Ep. 282: Bear Grease Time Machine

Episode Date: December 25, 2024

We step back in time in this episode of the Bear Grease Podcast as host Clay Newcomb highlights some of his most memorable moments in the history of Bear Grease.  Relive interviews from Warner Glenn from Arizona, Brit Davis from eastern Tennessee, Stoney Edwards from Arkansas, Donnie Baker from Missouri, and a story from long hunter and author Frederick Gerstäcker on the tragic death of his friend and hunting companion Erskine. If you have comments on the show, send us a note to [e-mail] Connect with Clay and MeatEater Clay on Instagram MeatEater on Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, Youtube, and Youtube Clips MeatEater Podcast Network on YouTube Shop Bear Grease MerchSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

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Built to perform, built to last. Check out. First Light's new field. Worldware gear at firstlight.com. On this episode, released on Christmas Day, 2024, we're going back to revisit some iconic moments in the last three and a half years of the Bear Grease podcast. When I thought about what moments stood out to me,

I quickly just rattled off five right in a row without really even thinking about it. So today, we're going to hear clips from Arizona Cowboy, Warner Glen. We're going to hear from 90-year-old East Tennessee bear hunter Britt Davis. It's number two. We're going to hear the account of Erskine's death in 1841 from a bear attack. The fourth one, we're going to hear from Stony Edwards, talking about the murder of his great uncle Carl Edwards.

And lastly, we're going to hear a clip from the Donnie Baker episode. Donnie's from Missouri. And it's him talking about the moment. that he illegally killed a 209-inch white tail. It's like the bear grease time machine. We're going to go back, and it's going to be a lot of fun, and I really doubt that you're going to want to miss this one. And while you're listening, I'd like to ask a favor of you.

Email us at bear grease at the meat eater.com and tell us your favorite bear grease moment. My name is Clay Newcomb, and this is the Bear Grease podcast, where we'll explore things forgotten but relevant. Search for insight in unlikely places and where we'll tell the story of Americans who live their lives close to the land. Presented by FHF Gear,

American-made, purpose-built, hunting and fishing gear that's designed to be as rugged as the places we explore. Warner Glen is an 89-year-old rancher from Southeast Arizona who's made his living as a Catholic. on his Malpi ranch, of which his southern fence line is the U.S. Mexican border. No kidding. Warner Glen is also a houndsman and a legendary dry ground mountain lion hunter, dry ground meaning they're hunting in the desert without snow.

That's why I knew him. He's got to be one of the oldest still working line hunters and cowboys left in America, known to put on 2,500 plus miles per year on his mule, even today. Warner is one of the most humble, toughest, and hardest working men that I have ever interfaced with. And you kind of just get that sense when you're around him for a few hours. This clip is from 2021. When I asked him about a turning point in his life, when he got into some trouble with the law, this clip was pulled out of episode 22 titled American Cowboy in Open Country, Warner Glenn Part 1.

The fruit of success almost always grows from the seed of failure, and sometimes that part of the journey is overlooked. An influential event in Mr. Warner's life took place in the early 1980s, long before the success of the Malpi Borderlands Group, and I want to see if Mr. Warner is open to talking about it. You got in a tussle with one of the border agents. Yeah, I did. Did that change the way you saw that you needed to deal with people? Can you talk to me about that? Well, sure. You bet that did.

Just kind of tell me the story and then tell me how it affected you. I had a pretty volatile temper when I was younger. And a lot of stuff I did then that I wouldn't do that day. I'd get my butt kick down there. Anyway. I don't know. You still look pretty wiry. That fellow was out of life.

No doubt about it. He told me what he could do anywhere he wanted on my needed land and I couldn't do anything about it. And I told him I thought it could and he said, well, you sure can. So I did. But anyway, it got me in a big trouble.

One thing about it, he was a federal uniformed officer. I darned sure took him to the ground and rubbed his head in the dirt. I mean, it was just a... How old were you, Mr. Warner? Probably 47, 48. Okay. I could go on and on about that, but that, of course, that's a felony.

Anytime you would touch a federal officer in an assault, a federal officer, that's a felony charge. And there's no doubt about it. I did it. And I never made any excuse that I just told them why. I did it. And I didn't go to prison, but I came that close. And also, if you have a felony charge, you can't have a firearm for so many years. It affects your way of life.

It taught me, big boy, you better be careful what you're doing. And they told me there, some of the agents, they had an agent that dealt with things like that, and they came and talked to me. And they said, wonder what you should have done is gone to his supervisor. Yeah. And let them take care of it. And I said, well, now I can see that. At the time, I was hot, I was tired, and this guy was told me what I,

and he was standing on my private land, and we were talking about the effect of, vehicle traffic over my private land where there was no roads. Right. I just figured that in my way of thinking right then, I had a right to protect my property too. Yeah. But he wasn't, but he wasn't a federal. I wasn't wrong, no doubt. Yeah.

But so was he. And, well, the way it turned out, I didn't go to prison and they shipped him out of here. Yeah. And it was, but it was a thing that I wished I had gone about it. But what I take away from it is that later you became very skillful in dealing with these people. And that event changed the course of kind of who you were and how you worked with these people. Absolutely. Yeah.

And really, I respect to law enforcement. Yeah. A hundred percent. There are some guys in law enforcement that probably don't deserve it either. But by and large, I had backed those guys. Sure. And part of that's just, I kind of learned, you know, they've got a job to do. Yeah.

And it's a tough one. I'm not ashamed that that happened, but it taught me a good lesson. You know, I deeply value that you can say that because a lot of times negative things happen to people, and it shapes them and makes them bitter and changes their life for the negative. But what I respect about your character is that that, you know, You can own up to it, but I think it changed you for the better. I'll tell you a little, I went up and told Daddy about it, because I knew he was going to, he was going to find out. And he sat there and listened to the same thing.

And after I was through telling him, he said, I didn't know if he gets a lot of hit one of those bastards. Man, your dad, he was taking your side, wasn't it? That's what a good dad's supposed to do. I didn't know if you get too long. I hope you don't get the wrong idea about Warner. If you listen to the series, you'd see why this was such a wild moment because it was so out of character for him to beat up a federal officer. But it highlights the gritty underbelly of Western ranchers,

and especially those on the Mexican border. I'll never interview another man like Warner Glenn. I was forever impacted by his character. And for that reason, he's in the barren. Greene's Hall of Fame. Warner's series was episodes 22 through 26. In this next clip, I want to go back to East Tennessee in Cock County in the heart of the Appalachian Mountains. This was just a short interview. It wasn't even the main interview, but we're speaking with 89-year-old Britt Davis, who is the father-in-law, Bear Grease Hall of Famer,

Plot Hound Bear Hunter, Roy Clark, who you may remember. This is on episode 8. It's way back in the beginning in a podcast titled 50 Years in the Backer Field, where Britt talks about his upbringing and chokes up when he talks about his father's death. Mr. Britt, how old are you? If I lived on the second day of June, I'll be 90. 90. What year were you born?

31. 1931. So you grew up, were you born in this holla? Yeah, right up the old there about. Two miles. Now, what kind of work did you do your whole life? Well, I farmed some. I logged some, and I worked about a year on this interstate down here,

and then I went to work for the county road department, and stayed there in a retard. Have you traveled much out of Appalachia? No. You've stayed right here. I went to Texas one time whenever Roy was an army out there, and that's the only trip I ever made. Really?

I lived on up in the Gulf up there. Well, I'd say we was up there about four or five years. My daddy got killed up there, and I enjoyed that up there a lot. How did your father get killed? With a log, the log rolled over you. Really? How old were you? I was about 12 years old.

Wow. How did that impact your life? Well, it may be a lot of you. It was rough on me for a while. Yeah. He was up there whenever the, about the time they started logging it, but he got killed and we left out a long time before they got down. So did you have to kind of, were you the oldest son?

I was the only son. So you kind of had to take care of your family? Yeah. Really? So was that a lot of responsibility for you then? Yeah, we moved back home here, up here. and my grandparents hit me with it and I raised a crop of the bagger and bought the place where I lived. How old were you?

I'd say I was about 13. Really? So you raised a crop of tobacco when you were 13 and bought a piece of property? Yeah. Wow. And that's the property that we went to earlier today up at the head of this hauler? Just go pull out of you? Yeah

Yeah So you bought that place When you were 13 Yeah I'll be darned And so you've lived You've lived there your whole life then Yeah

Whole life What are your earliest memories Mr. Britt? Oh, I can I can remember Things back then Better than I can now Really

I can remember Um a carrying me And Us is stopping and talking to our neighbors. That was before we moved to the gift. So in the 1930s, did your family have a car? No.

No. How did you get around? We just walked. Walked. You didn't, everything you needed, you could walk to get. Yeah, there's little old stores all around here. Three or four. I'd say it was in the late 30s or the early 40s before.

that there's ever a car in this country. Is that right? Yeah. A doctor lived right up the road there. He had the first. Tell me about how the doctor worked in this community. He'd go around with his horse, and people wanted to be doctored. They'd tie red or a white flag on their mailbox, and he'd stop.

He'd ride his horse up to your house and knocked on the door and say, what's wrong? And then he finally got a car, and they'd do the same thing. Do you ever remember being sick and him having to come to your house to doctor on you? Yeah. Really? What would you have been sick from? Maybe the strip of the older or something like that. And he'd come give you some penicillin, maybe, or something.

And that's what he doctored with was penicillin. Penicillin. Wow. When did the electricity come back in here? I'd say it was about 52 or 53 before I got. Got it. So you were in your 20s before you had electricity? Yeah.

Oh, yeah. Do you remember those days? Oh, yeah. What would you do once it got dark? Would you light the house with... Well, he'd light up, had a lamp or two. What kind of lamp? Was it a coal-burning?

Yeah. And you would, what would you do? You would sit around with the family? We'd just sit around and go to bed. I guess that's... They finally got a radio. Mr. Britt, do you remember when John F. Kennedy died, the president.

Yeah. Do you remember where you were? Was that a significant? I remember exactly where I was at. Where were you at? I was over in the road garage road over on Tom's Creek. And I just barely got a past at home man's house. And he come out and run up the road behind me and hollered at me and told me about it.

Do you hear what they're saying, Mr. Britt? They're saying because you, because you were the only child you've been spoiled your whole life. Do you agree with that? I wouldn't hardly say that. I've never forgotten that when Britt was 13 years old,

he raised a crop of tobacco and bought a place for him and his mother to live after his father died. Today, Mr. Britt is 92 years old and still drives the roads listening to bear races in the fall. I'll never, forget that moment. Last spring, Clay Newcomb and I collaborated with Jason

Phelps at Phelps game calls and building each of our own favorite turkey diaphragms called prime cuts. Now I'm going to tell you, I love mine because it's easy to use. I'm not going to go, I'm not going to win a turkey calling contest. It's just not going to happen. But when I run this call, I get the sounds that gobblers are looking for. I have a great turkey hunting track record. If you go listen to real turkeys out in the woods, they're not going to win calling contests, right? That's who I listen to. I can make those sounds

on my cut. I also hunt with Phelps' cut, and I hunt with Clay's cut because they're all three great cuts. Check out Prime Cuts at Phelpsgamecalls.com. I think you'll be glad you did, and you'll find out that the Steve Rinella cut is an

easy-to-use cut for beginning callers who just want to start making good turkey noises and getting action. This next clip is a little different. It wasn't an interview, but it's a reading of the first-hand account of the German immigrant to America, Frederick Gerstocker, recounting the death of his hunting partner Erskine in 1841. It's a wild story from episode four titled Death of a Bearhunter. There are too many of Gerstocker's incredible stories to tell on this podcast.

but I want to tell you one that cut me to the quick when I first read it. It involved a man being killed by a bear in a creek drainage less than 20 miles from where I live. I was shocked and slightly offended that nobody ever told me this story. I want you to hear the first-hand account from Gerstocker of the death of his friend Erskine. This is an excerpt from the book Wild Sports, published in 18. This story is taken out of context, so there are some characters you'll need to know. Conwell is Gerstocker's older American hunting partner and friend with hair as white as snow, he said. Conwell lived in Arkansas.

Wachiga is a Cherokee that became a trusted friend and hunting partner of Gerstocker, and you'll be introduced to young Erskine, who Gerstalker had met some years before in the backcountry. So we were off again before noon and gained the source of the hurricane, rode across the devil's stepping path, a narrow rock with a precipice on each side, left the pilot rock on our left, and came towards evening into the pine forest where we were sure of finding kindlers. Descending the steep side of a mountain, we observed a thin column of blue smoke by the side of the stream, showing that some hunters were in camp there. We went straight towards it and found it to be an Indian camp, and our former acquaintance, young Erskine, among them. They were Cherokees with three young Choctawls, these two tribes being on good terms. Like ourselves, they were out bear hunting, but it had better luck. A quantity of bear meat was hanging about the camp, and even the dogs would eat no more,

casting ourselves down by the fire one of the squalls, for there were several women in the camp, immediately cooked for us some bear, which we duly regaled ourselves. Night came on, and soon we were all sunk in deep repose. Early in the morning, we began to move, dividing into two parties for the better chance of finding game. Conwell went with some of the Indians, amongst whom he had found an old acquaintance to make a circuit around the pilot rock, while Erskine and I, with three Cherokees, proceeded to the sources of the frog bayou. Night found us far from our camp, so we made one for ourselves where we were. On the morning of February 1st, we had hardly started ere we heard the dogs.

Wachiga declared instantly that they were his brothers and disappeared behind the rocks without another word. As we stood listening, the sounds seemed to take a different direction. We ascended the mountain as fast as we could to cut off the chase, but found that we must have been mistaken. For in a few minutes, all was as silent as a grave. Once we thought we heard a shot, but we couldn't be certain. We ascended to the highest terrace and walked slowly on, looking out for fresh signs and listening to catch the sound of the dog below,

amongst the broken masses of rock. They might be near without being heard. While on the mountaintops, they are audible at a great distance. It may have been two in the afternoon, and we had seen nothing. When bears grease raised his nose in the air, remained for an instant or two in a fixed position, than giving a short smothered howl dashed down the mountainside. Listening attentively, we heard the chase coming down the Hurricane River.

Erskine called out triumphantly, we shall have plenty of bear this evening and dashed after the dog. I was soon by his side. I must observe, by the way, that we were both very hungry. Presently, a bear broke through the bushes. A projecting rock stopped him for an instant when Erskine saluted him with a ball. He received mine as he rushed past and disappointed. appeared. The dogs, encouraged to greater efforts by our shots and the stronger scent, followed him out.

Bears Grease, who was quite fresh, leading the van. Soon they came up on him and stopped him. We rushed to the spot without waiting to reload and arriving in time to see the beast, excited to the greatest fury, kill four of our best dogs with as many blows of his paws. But the others threw themselves on him with greater animosity. And if our rifles had been loaded, we could not have used Just as a large, powerful brown dog, which had furiously attacked the bear, was knocked over, bleeding and howling, Erskine, Erskine called out, oh, save the dogs, threw down his rifle and rushed on with his knife among the furious group. I followed on the instant. When the bear saws coming, he exerted still more force to beat off the dogs and meet us.

Seizing his opportunity, my comrade ran his steel into his side. The bear turned on him like lightning and seized him, and he uttered a shrill, piercing shriek. Driven to desperation by the sight, I plunged my knife three times into the monster's body with all my force without thinking of jumping back. At the third thrust, the bear turned upon me. Seeing as Paul coming, I attempted to evade the blow, felt a sharp pang and sunk senseless to the ground. When I recovered my senses, bears' grease was. licking the blood from my face. On attempting to rise, I felt a severe pain in my left side and was unable to move my left arm. On making a fresh effort to rise, I succeeded in sitting up. The bear was

close to me, and less than three feet from him lay Erskine, stiff and cold. I sprang up with a cry of horror and rushed towards him. It was too true. He was bathed in blood, his face torn to pieces, his right shoulder almost wrenched away from his body, and five of the best dogs ripped up with broken limbs lying beside him. The bear was so covered with blood that his color was hardly discernible. My left arm appeared to be out of socket, but I could feel that no bones were broken. The sun had gone down,

and I'd hoped that the other hunters might have heard our shots and the barking and howling of the dogs. It grew dark. No one came. I roared and shouted like mad, but no one heard me. I tried to light a fire, but my left arm was so swelled that I gave up the attempt. But as it would have been certain death to pass the night under these circumstances without a fire, I tore away part of the back of my hunting shirt, and the forepart being saturated with blood,

sprinkled some powder on it, rubbed it well, and with my right hand, I shook a little powder into my rifle, placing the muzzle on the rag, I fired, blowing it up to a flame, I piled on dry leaves and twigs, and succeeded in making a good fire, though with great pain and trouble. Now it was dark. I went to my dead comrade who was lying about five yards from the fire. He was already stiff, and it was with great difficulty that I could pull down his arms and lay him straight, nor could I keep his eyes closed, though I laid small stones on them. The dogs were very hungry, but it was impossible for me to break up the bear. I only ripped him up and fed them with his entrails. Bear's grease laid himself down by the corpse, looking steadfastly in his face and went no more near the bear. In hoping of obtaining

help, I loaded and fired twice, but nothing moved. The forest appeared one enormous grave. I felt very ill, vomited several times. As well as I could, I laid myself down beside the fire and lost all consciousness of my wretched situation. Whether I slept or fainted is more than I can tell, but I know that I dreamed that I was at home in my bed, and my mother brought me some tea and laid her hand on my breast. Such an awakening as I had was worse than I could wish to my bitterest enemy. Bears greased had pressed close to my side lying his head on my breast. The fire was was almost out and I was shivering with cold and the wolves were howling fearfully around the dead keeping at a distance for fear of the living but by no means disposed to lose their prey

I rose with difficulty and laid more wood on the fire as it burned up the face of the corpse seemed to brighten I started but found it was only an optical delusion louder and fiercer howled the wolves and the dogs of whom five were alive besides bear Greece answered them, but the answer was by no means one of defiance, rather a lament for the dead. Partly to scare away the wolves and partly in hope of finding help, I loaded and fired three times. My delight was inexpressible as I heard three shots in return. I loaded and fired until all my powder was expended. As morning broke, I heard two shots not far off, and soon after a third, a shipwrecked mariner hanging to the side of a plank,

could not raise his voice more lustily to hail a passing ship than I did. And joy upon joy, I heard a human voice and answer. The bark of the dogs announced a stranger, and Wachiga advanced out of the bush. Whaw! he exclaimed, staring at the shocking spectacle. He felt poor Erskine and shook his head mournfully. He turned to me. I showed him my swollen arm, which he examined attentively without speaking, forming a hollow with his two hands and placing them to his lips, he gave a loud, piercing shout. The answer came from no great distance in a few minutes. My old dear friend Conwell, and most of the Indians were at my side. I grasped Conwell's hands sorrowfully and told him in few words how it all had happened. The old man scolded and said it served us right. There's no greater danger

and sticking a knife into a bear's punch when he's falling with the dogs upon him. But if he has been thrown and then catches the sight of his greatest enemy, man, he exerts all his force to attack him and woe to him who comes within reach of his paws. It was all very well talking. He had not been present and seen one dog after another knocked over, never to rise again. Five minutes more, and not one would have been saved. and who knows whether the enraged beast would not have attacked us then. Meanwhile, the Indians had been digging a grave with their tomahawks.

Wrapping the body in a blanket, they laid him in it, and covered him with earth and heavy stones. Conwell cut down some young stems and made a fence around the solitary grave. I could not avoid a shudder at the quiet coolness of the whole proceeding, as the thought struck me that the same persons, under the same circumstances, would have treated me in the same cool way had I fallen instead of Erskine. Like me, he was a lonely stranger in a foreign land, having left England some years before,

and his friends and relations will probably never know what became of him. Thousands perish in this way in America, of whom nothing more is heard, and perhaps in a few months the remembrance of them was entirely passed away. After the dead was quietly laid in the grave, Wachiga came with an elderly Indian to look at my arm. Wachiga moved it while the other looked steadfastly in my face. The pain was enough to drive me mad, but I would not utter a sound. Next, the Indian took hold of my arm, laying his left hand on my shoulder,

and while Wachiga suddenly seized me around the body from behind, the other pulled with all his force. The pain at first was so great that I almost fainted, but it gradually diminished. In spite of my resolve to show no signs of it, I could not suppress a shriek. Conwell soon after asked if I could ride on my answering, yes, he helped me on a horse. Then throwing the bear's skin and some of the meat on his own, we moved slowly homewards.

My sufferings on the way were very great, but I uttered no murmur. I only longed for repose. That's one of my favorite stories of all time. I get chills listening to parts of it. And for that reason, Frederick Gerstocker is also in the Bear Greas Hall of Fame. Last spring, Clay Newcomb and I collaborated with Jason Phelps at Phelps game calls in building each of our own favorite turkey diaphragms called prime cuts. Now, I'm going to tell you, I love mine because it's easy to use.

I'm not going to go, I'm not going to win a turkey calling contest. It's just not going to happen. But when I run this call, I get the sounds that gobblers are looking for. I have a great turkey hunting track record. If you go listen to real turkeys out in the woods, they're not going to win calling contests, right? That's who I listen to. I can make those sounds on my cut.

I also hunt with Phelps's cut, and I hunt with Clay's cut because they're all three great cuts. Check out prime cuts at Phelpsgamecalls.com. I think you'll be glad you did, and you'll find out that the Steve Ronella cut is an easy-to-use cut for beginning calls. who just want to start making good turkey noises and getting action. We did a series in 2022 that was meaningful to me called Genuine Outlaws.

It was about two men from my hometown in Western Arkansas named Ludel and Charlie Edwards. They both passed on now, but were notorious turkey poachers, but also beloved people in our community. As a kid, I was always a little bit confused by this. Did we like them or did we not? Were they dangerous or were they friends? But this story explores a bigger question of America's fascination with outlaws through the story of these two brothers. This clip is from episode 52 and starts with Game Morden Jimmy Martin,

who chased the brothers his whole career. But the story transitions to Stony Edwards, Charlie's son talking about some deep family history that might have helped tip their tendencies towards outlaw. There are old-time poachers. They grew up in hard times. Most of them did. The ones that I ran across the hard-core netters that used nets in the rivers and on the lakes.

A hard-time night hunters for deer. You know, the bad turkey poachers and a bad daytime deer hunters. They were all from old times when times was tough. Meat was hard to come by. And outlawing was just a way of life. Most of old hard, hard, hardcore poachers came from moonshiner families. Old-time poachers and moonshiner's, remember those two things. The first family member that I went to when I got permission was Stony Edwards, the son of Charlie.

I drove out to the Big Fork community and found him at the Big Fork Mall, which is a small gas station that he and his wife run. I told him I wanted to. to tell the whole story his dad and uncle, and he agreed. He began by showing me a story from 1926. That's an interesting puzzle piece. Tragedy literally struck the Edwards family. I'm reading from a laminated newspaper clipping bound in a three-ring binder. So this is 1926, and it says officers shoot Carl Edwards.

Right, right. In Polk County, Carl Edwards was killed in McEld. Montgomery County Sunday afternoon by a bullet fired by some member of a posse that had just arrested two alleged mood shiders and probably were searching for more or for anyone connected with the illicit traffic. Edwards, 23-year-old resident of Heath Valley, which is right where we're at. In Polk County was shot and instantly killed as he drove his Ford car homered from a hunting trip in Montgomery County. A single bullet fired by one of the posse of six officers that said to wounded Edward's brother killed a dog and then give him. given Carl Edwards a mortal wound as he set at the steering wheel. The tragedy occurred.

The government rode between Big Fork and Norman. So who was Carl Edwards to you? He would have been my dad's uncle. Okay. My grandfather's brother. So what were they doing? They were trying to get away from... No.

In all actuality, Uncle Andy was only... I think he was only like 10. They had been coon hunting. They had coon dog in the car, and Uncle Andy was in the car and they were coming back and the officers hollered for him to stop and Carl hollered

a wheel at the bottom of the hill. The car didn't have him brakes. But you got to take the previous history into account because they'd been trying to catch him for years and hadn't been able to. So when he didn't stop on command they opened fire.

And of course this ad came from the newspaper which I'm going to say is biased towards law enforcement at the time. It wasn't a, because those men loaded my uncle up, drove him to my great-grandparents' house, and dropped him on the porch. When he was shot? Dead, yeah. They left him dead on the front porch.

Wow. Uncle Andy was shot through the ear. He was just a kid. He was 10 years old. He was shot through the ear. And, of course, it killed the dog. So is a dad and his son in the car with a coon dog? No, it was two brothers.

Two brothers. Yeah, they were 13 years apart. Oh, I see, I see. And the coon dog in the car. Was the coon dog okay? No, killed the dog. Oh, it did. It did say it killed the dog.

Yeah, it killed the dog, killed Carl and wounded ang. So Carl was a known moonshiner, and they'd been trying to catch him. Well, you've got to consider his dad went to Levinworth Prison for Moonshine, and so basically the whole family was in the business. There's no way around it. Yeah. My great-grandfather had seven sons. And they all lived out here in the back. Yeah, right over there where I live now.

We're still on the original Edwards home place. The whole family was, quote, in the business of moonshining. And the killing of Carl Edwards and his coondog in 1926 was a tough pill for the family to swallow. And Uncle Andy, who was just a child at the time, had a partly shot off ears whole life. A week after the shooting, the six officers involved would be charged with murder. Carl Edwards was Louis Dell and Charlie's uncle, though he died before they were ever born. This is another newspaper clipping. Charges of murder have been made against six officers who were in the posse that caused the death of Carl Edwards in Montgomery County last Sunday afternoon.

The six were Sheriff George Howe, it names all their names. Ruben Edwards, a brother of the man killed, was in Mina Tuesday and stated that the accused officers had been summoned to court. I just wanted to see. say this was a murder case. And I mean, that in and of itself could lead to a family having some bad taste in their mouth for the law. If it hadn't been for Rube at that time, the other brothers would have killed all six officers.

Rube stopped it and said that it would go to court. It'd be better off taking them to court than killing them. But the brothers would have killed them. And they're lucky that they didn't later on. Lucky is probably a good descriptor because all six officers would be acquitted of the murder charges. They got off. None of them were convicted, nor was there any recompense for the Coondog. This isn't the best way to gain the trust of the government's law men.

I'd known Louis Dell and Charlie my whole life, but this was the first time I'd heard this story of their families past. Sometimes the reasons why people are the way they are go way back. And I don't view that as an excuse for breaking the law. We've all got things in our past that shape us that we have to overcome. But the redemption in this story that I see today is that the Edwards clan do their best to follow the law. Outlaw and has kind of faded into the past for them. Coming from where they did, I respect that. The Genuine Outlaw series was episode 52 through 56.

and my buddy Steve Ronella says that it's his favorite Barry series. Lastly, I'd like to go back to January to episode 128 titled The Donnie Baker Story, Nightmare. It was our most listened to episode in 2024, and many people were struck by Donnie's forthrightness about a dark time in his life when he illegally killed a 209-inch buck on the military base, Fort Leonard Wood, in central Missouri. Here's Donnie talking about the moment he saw the buck from his truck. So as I kind of hit my brakes and it spooks him a little bit, he hops down to the timber line. When he gets to the timber line in front of him are two really good bucks. It was a massive huge eight point with a little bitty brow tines and a really nice tin. So I pulled down, there's a running track there and some porta potties.

So I pulled down to those porta potties, and I thought, I could kill that deer right there. And like I said, it was just kind of, I don't know if you ever, when you was a kid shot at a bird on a sitting in a tree or something, just kind of, and then when you do kill it, you think, oh man, that's kind of what I went through there. But I knew it was a non-hunting area. So I grabbed my bow and just jeans and boots. And what behind the porta-potties up this little rise and there was a big old red oak that had died and fell over. And when I got to that red oak, I was considering if I should hunker down there or climb over it. As I'm contemplating that. So, I mean, at this point, you've made a decision you're going to illegally kill this year. Yeah, 100%.

And let me ask you this. I mean, I think every human has experienced a moral dilemma of being given an opportunity that they know is wrong and them not taking it. Yeah. But then there's like this suck, this draw, something happens that all of a sudden you cross into a red zone. and it's something flips. Yeah. Well, was... At this time, Clay, I had seen...

I'd had 22 in my truck multiple times from squirrel hunting. When I'd seen this deer, you know, if I had set out to poach this deer, I mean, I could have shot it many times. But when I saw that deer for the first time, I said, I've got to kill that deer. I mean, it just felt like that was almost a right of passage for people who think that I was a good quality bowhunter's. I was going to have to kill this monster deer. There's some profoundness in Donnie's honest, simple conclusion of his motivation.

He was a 26-year-old man, hungry for validation from the world around him, and killing a big deer with his bow was a pathway to gain respect. I get it. I remember when the picture of the first decent deer that I killed hung on the wall at the local bow shop, and I soaked up any validation that I could get from anywhere. validation for grand feats are important in a young man's life or a young woman's life but when they're stolen the system is cheated and it produces the opposite of what it's

supposed to it's supposed to create identity and self-confidence and a sense of worth but what it actually creates is insecurity when it's stolen but let's get back to donnie here's what happened so when i knew where that deer was going to go I knew it was illegal, but never really give that a consideration. Just, just, the only thing I was saying by is want to kill it deer. I needed to kill that deer. Some reason, I just thought that that's something I had to do. And as I get to that red oak, I'm considered if I need to climb over it or hunker down there,

and it's just a few yards off of, it's a high line, and it's pretty clean. There's a little brush there. As I'm, I'm sure I'm moving around, and I look up in that big tin is, 25 yards from me staring at me. Well, he blows and takes off running. And I thought, gosh, dang, I mean, I blew that up. Still not thinking, you know, hope nobody's seen me or whatever. And as I watched them cross Army Street, I looked back where they were and probably 35 yards behind him, that bucks stand there staring right at me, wide open between he and I. I really believe if he was a National Force wild deer, he'd have been gone to, you know.

I shoot a single pin HHA side and I had had an arrow I knocked an arrow before I set my bow on that red oak trying to side where I was going to try to get so I draw my bow back and he's still just standing there I mean he's looking right at me

I know that if I can fall it into his front end high success rate of killing him and I put that pin right underneath his nose just right about the top of his white patch and turn it loose I wonder how long it took Adam after sinking his teeth through the skin of the forbidden apple

to regret his decision. The bite initiated a sequence of unretractable consequences. Man's always had a problem with laws, breaking them, that is. But laws are the guideposts of societal security designed for the well-being of us all. The truth is, is that everybody wants some form of law in their life to protect them and their interests, even in a time in America where we're talking about liberty and freedom and laws, take away all this stuff, which I am generally, absolutely in agreement with. However, I'm telling you, we all love laws, but we like to cherry pick the ones that we'd like

to break or the ones that infringe upon our personal freedom. And it's kind of bizarre. Human life is complex. Society's complex. As I'm sitting here with Donnie, hearing this story for the first time, I am struck with a palpable. sense of remorse as the arrow drifts through the air and hits the buck just below the throat patch. Later we'll learn that as a society we demand remorse from the people who've cheated the system. But I'm way ahead of myself. The buck has just been shot. First thing I think is I shot

him right in the front leg and that was the first sick feeling I got about it. I thought, oh my gosh, did I just wound that monster deer and shouldn't even been doing this? And I'm, that's still running through my mind when I hear him crash. And then reality starts setting in. I thought, good grief. So I set my bow down, ease up to the eye, look around, make sure there's no cars coming down the highway. There's nobody really in that area at that time, nobody at the running track where I was parking with him. So instead of blood trailing him, I kind of stay out of sight, and I sneak down there where I thought I heard him crash and he's laying there dead. And to walk up on him and grab his antlers, you should feel the most excitement you've ever had in.

your life other than like one of your kids being born or something and I kind of had the opposite feeling and immediately I thought there's no way that I'm going to get away with this the donnie Baker series is one that you just have to listen to to understand the crescendo of the final episode number 182 left a lot of grown men in tears how could a poachin story do that it surprised me too as I analyzed these stories that stood out to me there's kind of an odd thing at least in three of them, and that is people breaking the law. And I can see how it might be possible to miss the point. I don't claim to be perfect.

I was raised by Gary Believer Newcomb, who taught me to be a law Biden-Feller, and to the best of my ability, I've lived by that code. But really, what I'm interested in these stories is the redemption. All these stories have a heavy dose of redemption. I can't thank you enough for listening to Beargrease. As we close the year, I'm truly grateful for every one of you that listen and support Brent and I on this Bear Grease feet.

Every Bear Grease episode feels like it takes shape on its own. It kind of forms up like a cloud as I explore and research something I don't understand. And it honestly feels like it's out of my control. Sometimes people view creating content as something. that they can completely control just by the decisions they make and what they do. This doesn't feel like that to me.

I couldn't have scripted meeting Warner Glynn or blindly walking into Donnie Baker's home and watching and hearing that story unfold before me just like it did y'all. I couldn't have scripted the hair on my neck raising up as I read the 180-year-old text of Gerstock, talking about Erskine dying. Can I guarantee compelling stories that give us insight into human nature and our powerful connection to wild places?

I don't think I can because it's not coming from me. I didn't generate it. But I think these stories are fueled by something bigger. And that gives me faith that in 2025, the stories are just going to get better. Thank you again. Really, truly. Thank you so much for listening to Bear Greece and Brent's This Country Life podcast. I hope everyone has a Merry Christmas and a happy New Year.

Keep the wild places wild because that's where the bears live. On Blood Trails, the stories don't end when the hunt is over. They just get darker. I've seen something in the road. I instantly thought it was a sleeping day and there was a full of blood. Oh my God, he doesn't have a hit. Blood Trails is a true crime podcast born in the outdoors, where the terrain is unforgiving, the evidence is skis.

and the truth gets buried under brush and silence. Indications were he should be right there, but he wasn't. This season, we're going deeper, from cold case files to whispered suspicions, from remote mountains to frozen backwards. Each story begins in the wilderness and ends in darkness. Because out here, there are no witnesses, no cameras, just fragments and the people left behind trying to piece them back together. He's not an honest person.

He's incapable of being honest. Somebody somewhere knows something. I'm Jordan Sillers. Season 2 of Blood Trails premieres April 16th. Follow now on Apple, IHeart, YouTube, or wherever you get your podcasts. This is an IHeart podcast. Guaranteed Human.