The Green Camp Gap Trail became one of my favorite bear trapline trails in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park.  It was easily accessible but rarely hiked because it had been listed as an abandoned trail by the park service.  There were no signs marking its existence and it was allowed to grow over, no longer to be trampled by humans.  

To find the trail, you drove several miles up a gravel road, parked at its termination, hiked out two miles along a fantastic stream, and turned right at a rusted out Model T . . . some of the last remnants of the logging industry from decades past.  

The trail climbed the side of a ridge to a saddle which was the crossing point into another watershed.  Once descending through tunnels of laurel and rhododendron thickets, we (myself along with my college roommate and fellow bear research technician) would come to the first of many creek crossings. The trail would continue down winding back and forth through a narrow valley to the trails end and our awaiting vehicle.  

Rather than being a high ridge trail with panoramic views, this was a dense and dark trail that felt secretive in its lush undergrowth.  If I ever become a fugitive, this might be a place to begin your search.  

A small creek crossing became our lunch spot after several hours of checking traps and what we called working up any bears caught.  Because we used sardines as bait in our bear snares, lunch was often crackers and these deliciously odorous and headless canned fish.  

During our our first lunch on Green Camp Camp we noticed an average size (about 5”) Northern Dusky salamander poking its head out from under a river rock.  For fun, we swatted a fly from the sky and dropped it a few inches from the salamander’s face.  He promptly ate it.  We laughed not expecting a salamander to panhandle like the all too comfortable bears along the national park roadways and parking lots.  Not thinking much more about it, we packed up to check the rest of the traps and finish our day.  

When we arrived to our lunch spot in the middle of the creek on day two, our friend was back again.  Same rock.  Surprised, we repeated the process supplying him with another meal.  Day 3 . . . the same.  Every day we looked forward to our panhandler salamander breaking up the monotony of our 14 day trapline.  

One morning on our way up to the Model T, we were caught in a downpour that continued on and off throughout the day.  Tired, wet, and ready for lunch, we slogged to our beloved creek crossing.  The water had risen.  We never saw the salamander again.  

*Panhandle: to stop people on the street and ask for food or money.