Personal Website for TED HENRY
When I first saw mountain lion tracks, I was 10 years old. Standing on a deer trail at the edge of the woods bordering the Madison River near Yellowstone, a butterfly net placed over my head to keep the mosquitos at bay, I pondered what those large tracks could be. I knew they weren’t made by a bear or coyote. After asking Grandpa back at camp, I was dismayed to be reined in from wandering around by myself. I didn’t understand the risks. I’m sure a youngster galloping through the sage chasing butterflies would have been like dangling a fake mouse on a string in front of a house cat.
Seeing those tracks was the beginning of a long series of encounters. If you have never experienced a stare-down from 10 feet with a cougar intent on mischief, nor heard one screaming nearby, nor been sniffed by one from inches away while asleep, then read on. It is all described below.
An Introduction
A mountain lion’s species name "concolor" means something of a single color. They are cathemeral (can be active any time of day) which essentially means they adjust their predation activities to the time of day their prey are active. It has the largest land mammal distribution in the Western Hemisphere, from the Canadian Arctic all the way to the southern tip of South America. Because it lives in so many countries, it holds the Guinness record of an animal with the greatest number of common names. Being an ambush predator, it prefers habitats with dense underbrush and rocky areas. It has proportionately one of the largest hind leg-to-front leg ratios of any cat, allowing it to leap up to 18 feet in height and perform lightning quick ambushes. It is the largest cat species that can purr, and as a result, it cannot roar. Roaring or purring is determined by hyoid bone structure and having one ability precludes having the other.
First Experience
Seeing cat tracks while roaming the west with Grandpa was not unusual, especially while deer hunting. But those abstract experiences came into sharper focus during my summer as an archery instructor. Around my platform tent one morning I saw cougar tracks right up tight to the tent wall all the way around as if it was trying to smell my tent mates. There were often tracks around the tents all summer long but only my buddy Bernie and I seemed to notice. That there would be lions around was not surprising because there were lots of deer in the camp for a very good reason. The camp had a large barbecue trench formed by two cinder block walls where a large number of chicken halves were cooked on Wednesdays to feed hundreds of scouts. The chicken were seasoned with giant salt shakers attached to broom handles, and it was the salt that drew in the deer. It felt dangerous to walk by the pit at night what with all the deer pogo-sticking around in a panic. It did not bother me to go hiking off-trail in the surrounding forest and down into remote canyons, mostly because Bernie was usually with me.
Sitting around with Bernie one day, he said with a gleam in his eye, referring to the cat tracks, “ya know, I have a dried bear foot on a stick.” Oh yeah, we could get up to all kinds of mischief with that. Developing this conversation further I mentioned that I had a large seashell with the tip broken out (to function as a bugle) that can be used to make terrifying grunts and growls. Once our care packages arrived from home, we were in business. We just needed an appropriate target.
It just so happened there was this old guy that served as the camp doctor and chaplain. Unlike the rest of the staff, he was neither a scout nor a parent of a scout. He gave me the creeps from day one. He bragged about his improbable exploits to such a degree that no one would choose to sit near him in the cafeteria. Now we had a target and a plan. Since the creep was always late for meals it was a perfect scenario. Once the staff started breakfast, bear tracks were stamped around his tent while growling, snarling, breaking branches, and scraping his tent with a stick. I had to clamp a hand over my mouth to keep from laughing out loud. There was total silence inside the tent. Then we retreated to watch. He cautiously poked his nose out, and seeing the coast was clear, quickly scurried off to the cafeteria. We brushed out the bear tracks and followed him in with the expectation of hearing a crazy story. He did not disappoint. There were lots of disgusted looks while he told how he had just engaged in hand-to-hand combat with a bear. Sensing he was not being taken seriously, he badgered everyone to come see the tracks around his tent for themselves. Eventually two of the staff decided it was hardly out of their way to go take a look, and then FOMO took hold and all of the staff walked over. Finding no tracks at all he was speechless. He looked traumatized. I can only guess what he thought. The staff were pissed that they had been taken in and this was the last straw. He knew that he looked like a giant fool and would be an even worse pariah from then on. This prank had gotten a little out of hand and I felt a bit sorry for him. Then it dawned on me that we could never talk about this to anyone. If any of the staff saw the bear foot I feared they would make the connection. Most would have loved knowing about it but I didn’t want to take the chance of the camp director and his minions reacting in a bad way. In order to remain out of trouble the bear foot and seashell were hidden away for the rest of the summer.
However, the chaplain soon got into really hot water. It turns out he was giving hernia checks to arriving young scouts. His genitalia fondling came to a sudden stop when a troop rolled in whose leaders were doctors. They caught on immediately and went ballistic. I don’t know if there were additional sanctions, but he was ushered off the property pronto. My initial instinct had been correct and now we all knew for sure what he really was. If there was any justice he would have been arrested and permanently isolated from potential victims. Who knows, maybe there were further actions taken but quietly to avoid public relations issues.
Close Encounters of the Fur Kind
It came about that Holly’s parents, Walt and Clarice, wanted to take us camping and trout fishing. They asked if I knew a good place. This was a year before our marriage and I didn’t know them very well, so it felt awkward. Well yeah, I knew all kinds of places to go so I tried to cater to what I thought they might like and suggested driving to the east side of Mt. Hood where I had been a Boy Scout Archery Instructor. The camping and fishing there were excellent.
After catching a couple of lunkers out of a lake (a whole nuther story) and sensing Holly was getting bored with the fishing, I decided the two of us should take a puppy hike. You know, follow our noses and see what we can find. My general plan was to work our way to the top of the ridge that had a really nice view of the lake. Following the shoreline we came to the rich wetland at the shallow end where boots were removed for wading. It was rich with aquatic insects, frogs, newts, damselflies, garter snakes and so much more. It was perfect for a couple that had gone through zoology classes together. Reaching the opposite shoreline, boots were laced back on and we angled up toward the rimrock where the ground squirrels like to tunnel. They are so hilarious as they jet away to safety through the powdery volcanic dust leaving little puffs in their wake like in a Road Runner cartoon. I never get tired of it.
A single set of bear tracks had been seen on our walk to the lake and now on the ridge several hundred feet above, the open top was crisscrossed with deer and turkey tracks. The habitat around the camp transitions from oak to Ponderosa, and finally to fir, resulting in great plant and wildlife diversity. The ecotones are very patchy due to the twisty flow of the land studded with dispersed outcrops of rimrock.
I have fond memories of throwing rocks from the top into the lake with my buddy Bernie. We had taken to throwing a chunk of wood into the lake for a target before we climbed above the shoreline. That’s where I discovered the incredible speed and agility of bats. They often congregate over the shallow end at dusk feeding on the insect hatches during the evening calm, a magical time of day. I worried throwing rocks might drive them away, but their reaction to the first rock was surprising. In the blink of an eye a bat banked hard to intercept the plummeting rock, followed it closely all the way to the water and pulled up at the last instant before impact. A second rock received the same reception. And a third. But soon they became disinterested and ignored our missiles. It wasn’t until years later that I read about certain moths that can hear ultrasonic bat calls and fold their wings and plummet to the ground as an escape strategy. Did the bats think our rocks were plummeting moths? Either way, those bats were really fast.
Traversing the ridge top heading toward the creek that runs into the lake we found ourselves dead-ended at a cliff. We had no choice but to reverse and angle back down through the scree to intercept a game trail that followed the base of the rimrock. This trail headed towards the creek that fed the lake and the dirt road just beyond that would make for easy walking back to the lake. It was a nice advantage to have a working knowledge of the area. However, the beautiful, calm, sunny afternoon was about to get unexpectedly interesting, or hair-raising, depending on your perspective.
Walking along the trail thickly powdered with volcanic dust, many creatures had left detailed tracks in the dust. From insects and tiny mice to animals of more substance. Puzzling out the story told by the tracks was a challenge. And then I saw very fresh pug marks made by a mountain lion preceding us. I was instantly on alert, although I don’t think Holly understood the implications. We had a cliff above us and loose scree below so I didn’t see any immediate risk in continuing. After all, pumas prefer to attack from behind and generally go out of their way to avoid humans. Chances were good it had heard us following and moved out of the way. Coming around a gentle curve the trail made a sharp 90 in a crease in the rimrock and in that crease just off trail was a pile of brush. I stopped so abruptly that Holly bumped into my back. Something was wrong with that brush pile but I couldn’t quite make it out. After peering intently I eventually saw there was an oddly placed lump. And then I could see eyes, which were watching me intently. All the blood in my organs instantly froze. My adrenaline dumped. While not taking my eyes off it I forcefully grabbed Holly’s hand to keep her still. When she tried to move I squeezed harder. Everything ceased to exist except the lion, me, and Holly’s hand in mine. The cat rose in that fluid motion that only a snake can match, walked towards us to about 10 feet away, and started flowing to my left. I made myself as large as possible, kept my eyes locked on it, and pivoted to keep it in front of me. I really had no other choice. Meanwhile, Holly yanked on my hand wanting me to let go when she saw it moving. She wanted out of there in the worst way but that might have triggered a charge. Having failed to get behind us, it reversed course toward the right. It was so close I could see individual hairs in its ears and see into its nostrils. Pumas reportedly can leap horizontally 40 feet so we were a fraction of a second from something really bad. With no weapons other than my puny pocket knife buried in my pocket I was helpless. Its tail was twitching rapidly and its rear feet were digging in giving away its intent. Surely it was about to charge and all I could do was maintain eye contact and not show any sign I was about to bolt. Stress can force clarity of thought and boy was I thinking furiously. I decided we had to improve our situation so I muscled Holly out to the side. I’m sure she hated me for exposing her like that. Instantly there was a subtle change in the cat. Perhaps it was confused by two animals without a horizontal backbone that refused to bolt or let it get behind. It wasn’t programmed over the last few million years for something like this. Suddenly it turned sharply right, leapt to the base of the cliff, used its momentum to bound 12 feet up to grab a ledge, and leapt again in one continuous motion up and out of sight right back to where we had stood earlier admiring the view. Only a slight trickle of small rocks coming down from above hinted at its passage. That and my sweaty hands.
Holly wanted to get on down the trail and away from there in a hurry but I explained why that was not a good choice. That direction lead into a thickly wooded north-facing slope easily accessed from the top. There would be ambush opportunities aplenty in that direction. Well documented fatal encounters show initial encounters where a lion was deterred but later set up an ambush further down the trail with fatal results. Time was needed to consider our options, and for the moment it seemed that we were in a safe position right where we stood. From the top the lion could easily reach either end of the trail which looped around the end of the ridge, and set up an ambush. Obviously we did not want to scale the rimrock and follow the lion. That left sliding down the scree all the way to the lake. No matter which way we went we still had to cross the brush-encrusted stream before we were in the clear. Glissading while filling our boots with gravel we slid down, trying not to choke on the dust cloud we kicked up. Under different circumstances this would have been a lark. Descending to the first scattered dead saplings sticking out of the slope I used my pocket knife to sever fibers that popped readily under the tension of Holly pulling on the trunk. After smoothing the trunks with a sharp-edged rock we ended up with two useful stout hiking staffs to assist our balance during the rest of the descent. It was comforting to have some kind of weapon in the unlikely event of another face-off.
Cautiously weaving through the stream-side brush, the road that ran through scattered Ponderosa pines back to the lake with open visibility all the way was just ahead. What a relief. Feeling giddy from the pressure release, we stopped for a big hug and passionate kiss to drain away our excess adrenaline. She gave me a forceful slug in the arm when I said, “That was something, huh?” But she was smiling broadly. What a girl. It was decided to avoid mentioning the mountain lion to the parents because of their omnipresent paranoia. They would not have taken it well and there was no use spoiling their lovely weekend.
Demons in the Night
Our high-altitude elk camp in Oregon continually offered up a rich tapestry of wildlife, both prey and predators. Experiencing all of it without the distractions of modern life, and whether I harvested an elk or not, always left me feeling energized. Even the army of mice trying to chew their way into our food, the owls hooting in the dark, and bears stealing the white bark pine cones cut down by the squirrels making them mad as hell did not detract. The density of wildlife plus the scenery was equal to any national park.
After a 450 mile drive over four mountain passes, my partner Gary rolled in late one night to our camp and wanted to get to bed pronto. He pulled a cot and sleeping bag out of his car and was quickly asleep out in the open.
Getting up before first light and careful to not shine my light directly on him, the spot of my light showed cougar tracks all the way around his cot mere inches away. It was obvious the cat had been sniffing Gary from point-blank range. Had he been awake he would surely have felt the cat's breath. It was time to get going anyway so I woke him up in order to enjoy his reaction. It’s nice to have partners who do not overreact and are not prone to panic, but it was disappointing that he was not freaked even the slightest bit and remained unconcerned. I, however, always slept in a tent. I still wonder what was going through the lion's mind as it sniffed from inches away. Is it like a deer or coyote where it knows what you had for dinner, whether you are a carnivore, your sex, if you had sex recently, or what deodorant you use? Does it contemplate eating you and why not?
Deer and coyotes have 300 million olfactory receptors allowing instant recognition of thousands of odors. They can tell how far away you are, how long ago you passed, and which direction you went. It’s like a form of vision. Humans have 5 million, allowing recognition of about 1000 odors, but far fewer in a world inundated by artificial fragrances drowning out our natural abilities. Few people bother to practice anyway. Elk odor can easily be detected while downwind. It’s possible to know when salmon have entered a river. Odor is a significant tool for mushroom identification. I can guess which boulder to point my camera at by sniffing the rocks where dominant pikas use as their lookout because they pee on them. I suppose it serves as a territorial function. Not that there’s much more to it than curiosity but I always stick my nose deep between the pages of a library book. Paper is so good at soaking up ambient odors and it tells me if previous readers smoked, wore perfume, use Febreze, or have a house full of mildew.
I couldn’t help but wonder at the cat’s decision to not take such easy prey as a sleeping human that was pretty much served up at head height like an entrée at a dinner table. After all it has the tools. Its jaw can open 75 degrees, and it has world-class bite force owing to its jaw structure. Seen from the front there is a bulge under each eye which is not fur but large muscles that attach to the jaw on one end and the enlarged zygomatic arch (part of the skull) on the other. While they have the largest distribution of any mammal in the Western Hemisphere (from the Arctic to the southern tip of South America), in the western U.S., they prey almost exclusively on deer and elk. Their tooth structure is designed to sever the spinal cord at the base of the skull which is why they attack from behind. Having no teeth directly behind the canines and a short snout makes it easy for the canines to sink all the way to the gum line. The teeth are highly enervated to allow easily locating the joint between vertebrae to pop the spinal cord for a quick kill. Each cat species that hunts in this way has jaws designed for specific prey. Cougars for deer/elk, bobcats for rabbits, and house cats for rats.
Being lightly built, unlike the burly jaguar, which attacks from the front, their strategy of attacking from the rear helps avoid injuries. It’s amazing that a 100-140 lb. cougar can take down a 900 lb. bull elk. There are records of feral horses and the occasional moose being taken. Surely preying on humans would be so much easier.
Cougars and cheetahs evolved from a common ancestor in North America several million years ago. Cheetahs diverged to become chasers, while cougars became pouncers. Being pouncers, they need a big first jump, which is why they have one of the largest rear leg to front leg ratios. They can leap 18 feet vertically and 40 feet horizontally. I doubt there is a fence tall enough to protect livestock from cougars. Being pouncers works better in thick brush and jumbled rocks, but it had another benefit in prehistoric times. Until 12,000 years ago North America was a land of megafauna, including huge predators like scimitar-toothed cats, saber-toothed cats, short-faced bears, American lions and dire wolves. All of these would quickly make a meal of a cougar if they could find it. Cougars had to be able to hide in thick cover and jump into trees if necessary. That explains why cougars often “tree up” when pursued by dogs. They just haven’t had time to evolve to counteract the new world of humans with guns that completely negates their arboreal tactics.
Elk Hunters
For a few years there were two aloof elk hunters who camped nearby at the spring. But when Gary and I harvested two bull elk in two days, they came over and, after exchanging pleasantries, started grilling us. Eventually I concluded that they thought we cheated and poached two elk with rifles. I guess they didn’t think anyone could be so lucky as to harvest two elk in two days when they hunted approximately 40 days total in four states and maybe got one elk between the two of them. Yes, self-supported elk bowhunting on public land is hard. Each year only 5 percent of bowhunters harvest an elk. Far fewer than that harvest a branch-antlered bull. And the statistics get worse. Some hunters are so skilled that the same 10 percent of licensed hunters take 80 percent of the annual harvest. I have met bowhunters that have never harvested an elk, yet they keep going. I met one that had never seen one in the field during the season. I wonder what kept him going.
I had seen those two around at club gatherings, and it turned out that they were notable members of the Traditional Bowhunters of Washington club and often regaled members with big stories. You know the type. What I often call dude-bros. Loud, pushy, and overbearing. At camp they came in and out in a furtive manner that suggested they didn’t want us to know what they were up to. Being unusually sneaky got my curiosity up so I tried to figure it out. They were hunting from tree stands at sunrise and sunset, and of course they didn’t want other hunters to know the location of their stands. Fair enough. One afternoon I was walking down a ridge with a cliff on one side and a gentle slope on the other that dropped off 2,000 feet into a canyon with a pretty alpine stream in the bottom. Entering a glowing yellow aspen grove I was amazed at how the aspen grove seemed to glow with more light than should be possible. A very cheery light at that. I was admiring how high a black bear can mark white aspen bark when I looked beyond and saw a tree stand in a pine tree. Aha! I had found one of their stands. What a lovely and logical place to sit and wait. While contemplating the setup a smile slowly crept across my face. This would be an opportunity to have some fun. Gathering fat chunks of downed limbs I spelled out “Hello” where I didn’t think it would be possible to miss seeing my message while seated in the tree. It was weird that they clearly didn’t want to talk about it the next day.
Later they went out for an evening hunt but came back really late and were quite loud about it. I walked over to see what was up. Clearly the whisky was flowing. One of them had put a cow elk down from that tree stand and it had gone over a cliff. By the time they found a way down to it and had it dressed it out, it was very late and they were knackered. They decided to head back in the morning to start packing quarters. Stumbling around in the dark in rough terrain while off trail is damn dangerous, so I understood.
However, the next morning it was surprising to see them return much too soon and with empty packs. Their story was a large hole had been rasped out of the rear quarter by the rough tongue papillae of a mountain lion. Once the lion had filled its belly it pulled the elk farther downhill and covered it with debris. They were nervous that the cat might return as it surely meant to do. However, could they not know that cougars rarely stand and defend their kill? It all felt off to me. There was a real risk, however, of a bear taking over the kill. According to studies, 50% of cougar kills are eventually taken away by bears, and bears defending a kill are no joke. OK, but the two dude-bros didn’t want to mess with reclaiming their elk. They said it was all scent marked and fouled with dirt. That was BS but I wasn’t going to argue. Like many predators, mountain lions scent-mark their territory, but not their kills. And being cats, they are fastidious and carefully cover their kills with sticks and limbs, not dirt. All the hunters needed to do was remove the hide and the twigs would be gone. Fortunately the cat would have quite a few good meals and the meat wouldn’t be left to maggots and decomposition. More and more I was developing a dim view of their sportsmanship.
I was further surprised when they quickly packed up and departed. The hunting and the weather had been excellent. It just seemed odd. I knew that one of them would head straight downhill from camp each evening into the wilderness area and preferred not to be seen doing it. OK, he must have a second tree stand. With them gone I decided to see if I could find it. Each year involved around 10 days of off-trail rough country hiking in areas where it was unlikely to come across another human. I'm totally comfortable with that but it's too much of a mental challenge, too much physical work, and too much uncertainty for most. I get that. It requires one to be awake, notice everything, be physically fit, and not fall and break a leg. Gary knew where I was heading but he also knew I could end up someplace unexpected. In any case I carried enough essentials in my daypack to get me through a night in the woods or a severe weather change.
Extrapolating from where I saw the hunter leaving camp I followed the intermittent spring-fed trickle straight down the fall line and entered a very annoying section of thick dark forest. It was populated by fir trees squeezed together tightly with many low limbs trying to snatch away my hat or poke me in the face. Underfoot the ground was obscured with dry, brittle, foot-tripping limbs that hid ankle-turning boulders. It was like wading in a boulder-filled stream full of rock obscuring river plants. There was not very much light reaching the ground there. I was quite a ways down in the canyon when I found a game trail angling down. This was not bedding or feeding territory so I assumed this trail was used at night to move from one drainage to the next. Shifting to the trail for easier walking I came to a confluence of several trails, and right there in the middle was a large hole that had no obvious reason for being there. All the soil had been removed down about three feet leaving a network of tree roots suspended in place. It was very odd. Walking around it trying to figure out why it was there I eventually looked up and saw a permanently attached tree stand. It had been there a long time and suddenly the placement of the hole made sense. One of those hunters had been salting the dirt which is strictly illegal in the state of Oregon. Over time deer and elk had consumed enough dirt to make a large hole. No wonder the hunters did not want us to know where they had been hunting. Kinda funny though that their cheating did not improve their success rate. I cannot imagine deciding to set up in such a difficult place to access. Elk wouldn’t like walking through there any more than I did so it struck me as a low probability location. On the other hand it was an excellent place to hide their cheating ways from other hunters.
So now what? Hopefully following the game trail deeper into the canyon and then traversing the slope out of this thick forest to find the steeply ascending trailhead road would lead me back to camp in the gathering darkness. Suddenly the hair-raising sound of a screaming woman stopped me in my tracks. Listening intently it became clear there were two separate voices. Logically it had to be two mountain lions all worked up about something. Maybe it was two males having a territorial dispute or some kind of mating behavior. I just had to see so I slipped quietly downhill. There is something about the opportunity to closely observe wild animal behavior without them knowing I’m there that draws me in. There is a deeply satisfying sense to not being seen. Like watching coyotes tag-team butterball ground squirrels in a talus slope where one chases the prey down a burrow while the teammate waits in ambush at an exit. Or watching two large bull elk from 30 feet away throwing logs and thrashing small trees instead of fighting each other. Or sneaking up on a black bear at the scout camp dump. And most recently in 2023 I learned that there was a grizzly a couple miles up the Pacific Crest Trail from Harts Pass. Knowing a return would be made in the dark I made sure I had two headlamps along. Watching the bear grazing on the greenery surrounding a seep got boring after a while, and knowing nightfall was coming I said hello and goodbye. Hearing me it went one way and I the other. It was a satisfying mission-accomplished type of event. Thinking about it later I realized the bear grazing around the seep probably inconvenienced the thru-hikers because water in that area in September is very difficult to find. Instead of filling up at the seep they had to stretch their supply until they got to Harts Pass with the hope that the car campers could resupply them. I was happy to fill up a lot of water bottles during my time there and then resupplied when I drove out of the mountains to Winthrop.
Soon I saw the lighter green of low growing deciduous shrubs in the creek bottom and occasional flashes of tan. I was getting close. But every evening the usual updraft occurring during the heat of the day reverses when the ground cools. Just then a breeze hit me in the back of my neck which meant I would be filling the creek bottom with my scent. Stalking further would be pointless. And more worrisome, the cougars had gone silent. Suddenly I felt the panic of wanting out of that forest pronto. The light reflecting down into the canyon off the surrounding peaks was gone with the sunset and that difficult forest was going to be dark as a coal mine.
The idea of simply reversing course was unpalatable. I would rather walk way out of my way to avoid the metabolic cost and the annoyance of that mess. Instead of cutting to the left through that forest to intersect the road some unknown distance away (I was off my topo map) I turned acutely to the right and angled sharply uphill away from the mountain lions. I knew the canyon would soon turn northeast putting me on a southwest-facing slope that was in the open and sparsely studded with sage and the occasional juniper. Sure, I would have to climb 1,000 feet to intersect the road leading to a trailhead, but I would be in the clear. It’s amazing how well one can see by starlight with the assist of a little strip of twilight on the horizon when out from the light-sucking canopy of conifers. I don’t think I was being paranoid, just prudent. Humping uphill was like walking in snow due to the fluffed-up soil from extensive gopher burrowing.
Stepping onto the road put the sweat-producing trudging behind and I expected an easy walk 500 feet downhill to camp. But wait! With light from the rising moon it was easy enough to see a dark lump in the pale colored road. Did a boulder roll down onto the road? Then it moved, so I picked up my pace wanting to see what it was before it escaped into the forest. You would be correct if you guessed it was a porcupine. Similar to sloths, porcupines never waste energy by moving quickly. It patiently waited for me to either learn a painful lesson or not before moving along. I tried circling in front to have a face-to-face but it just pivoted to keep all 30,000 spines aimed directly at me. Oh well. I nudged it gently with a boot to extract a couple quills to show Gary and headed on down the road to make dinner in the dark. The porcupine was left in peace to continue its slow-paced existence.
Next spring I went to a TBW club meeting with a featured speaker presenting ethical hunting concerns for the benefit of new bow hunters. When the meeting was open to questions I asked how one should respond to hunters who put down an elk at nightfall and decide not to recover the animal in the morning when they found it had been partially consumed by a mountain lion. Knowing that I had a disguised objective, the club president took me aside and asked if he knew these hunters and if they were members. The answer to both was “yes.” When I told him about the permanent tree stand complete with salted earth he was silent but angry looking. I don’t know what happened after that but the two hunters were no longer on the club roster and I never saw them in our Oregon hunting area again. While it might keep bad apples from polluting the membership, it doesn’t fix the problem. Those who cheat the game regulations and abuse the resource have character flaws that are not likely to change.
Follow the Bouncing Ball
Successful bow hunters are good at paying attention to the little things. Vision is paramount but one is not looking for an animal in its entirety. One doesn’t just look up to where vision becomes obstructed by trees but try to look through the limbs and trunks trying to find a gleaming eye, the flash of a leg between tree trunks, or the flick of an ear among all the visual clutter. It’s a tiring process. Every movement that cannot be attributed to a small animal needs to be investigated. More often than not it’s either one of the ever-present woodpeckers working over a log and sticking up its head to scan, or a squirrel burying pine nuts, and much less often, the ear flick of a deer or elk.
In this case I didn’t know what I saw, so as quietly as possible I headed towards the log with an arrow ready. Surprise! Suddenly a mountain lion bounded away in great leaps like a scared jackrabbit and disappeared in a flash. I didn’t even have time for my heart rate to jump. I had probably seen the tip of its tail doing its nervous dance and it probably thought I would walk on by until I changed course.
It wasn’t apparent if it was a random encounter or if the cat was waiting for me to pass so it could fall in behind. If so then by changing course directly towards it I upset its plans. In that moment it felt like I had turned into prey instead of the predator. Just like what elk have done to me, I walked away in a steady direction for awhile and then quickly button-hooked downwind so that I could watch my back-trail. I sat down with my back against a large tree and relaxed while listening and watching. It was a nice rest and all was quiet. Nothing moved except the ever present squirrels. Call me crazy but some part of me was disappointed that the opportunity to catch a cat being sneaky didn't happen.
Considering all the mountain lion activity where I elk hunted, it’s clear this area was a cougar hot spot. Or that there was a dominant lion that we bumped into repeatedly. I wonder where they go in the winter when the mountaintops are buried in snow and their food supply has moved down towards the cattle ranches. Does that mean they have to establish a new territory and fight for it every winter? In any case, I have never seen cat tracks lower in the foothills late in the year.
Bike Chaser
On a midsummer evening where it does not get dark until quite late I decided on a spur-of-the-moment mountain bike ride after dinner on a ridge just east of Issaquah. I had just started on the trail when I saw a startling mess in the middle of the trail. As I got closer I could see there was a biker on his knees holding his bike (with a destroyed front wheel) between himself and a cougar. Like I often do with large off-leash dogs I accelerated and charged directly at the cougar. It turned and ran, of course, and I stayed on its tail until it jumped into the brush.
The rider was bleeding from several wounds and didn’t appear able to stand. It would be a problem if he went into shock. I used up all the bandaids and steri-strips in my first aid kit trying to close up the worst wounds. His wounds really needed larger bandages. I got some water in him and decided we needed to move away from the area. Very slowly we hobbled to the trailhead where I laid him down in the back seat on towels. The bikes had been ditched in the bushes. I quickly got him to an urgent care center which was very close by. Then it was time for phone calls. First was to the 911 dispatcher. I pointedly requested that the trail be closed immediately using whatever police agency could respond and that Fish and Game needed to know so that they could contact their contract animal control resources. Then the victim's partner needed to know so that his car could be retrieved, among other things. From there he was transported to a Bellevue hospital. Unfortunately the cat problem wasn’t addressed quickly enough and someone else was soon attacked in the same area. When the attacks hit the local news the authorities fell all over themselves with high levels of gravitas to apprehend the cat.
As expected the cougar was a young, malnourished male. Cougars are strictly solitary animals and they mark and patrol their territory vigorously. Females defend their territory a little more moderately, but not males. Male cubs eventually get pushed out to find their own territory and this is where conflict arises. As development continually squeezes up against the foothills, like the Cascades foothills, young male cougars find themselves in a tough situation, often resulting in their death.
Koi Eater
At one time I had a dental hygienist who lived on property at the base of a mountain in North Bend. She only grumbled mildly about the herd of elk that tromped through her garden and broke fences, but the mountain lion that continually ate the koi in her pond made her really angry and more than a little scared to step outside at night. She wanted to know what to do. I knew that cougars really like fish but I didn’t think she would be receptive to the notion of just filling in the pond. She asked me to come out and shoot the mountain lion but there were too many things wrong with that idea. Instead I recommended she get a large, noisy dog which might also keep the elk away. She did and the mountain lion killed her dog. In my ignorance I had made a poor recommendation. I should have suggested two or more dogs because later I learned that cougars will kill a single wolf but retreat when faced with a pack. In any case she convinced a neighbor to shoot the cat and her immediate problem was taken care of. If she had been a little more patient and worked with Fish and Game, at least what was done might have been legal. In the end mountain lions always lose. It just pisses me off that people want to live in a mountain retreat but rearrange the wildlife to suit their tastes. This problem is everywhere. Like the rich landowners outside of Durango who fence off the bottomland and then request culling the elk herd to protect their fences. Those elk have relied on that bottom land for thousands of years to escape from deep mountain snow and they have nowhere else to go. They either have to be fed (à la Jackson Hole) or risk starving to death.
Triple Treat
In 2022 I encountered something even field biologists rarely see. I had driven up a steep road so rugged that even my lifted 4Runner with oversized tires was dragging bottom on the severely eroded and boulder-filled two-track. My destination was a long defunct mine where I hoped to find crystals in the extensive tailings. The main area was a flat plaza of orange sparkly gravel dug into the hillside with piles of boulders around the perimeter. Abundant cozy coves among the boulder piles provided secluded places to set up camp. There were no signs that anyone had been around in a long time. I could not imagine a finer place to spend a couple of days.
After dinner I went for a casual walk before it became dark. Following an overgrown and winding two-track that went from one tailings area to another I suddenly came face-to-face with three mountain lions. Three! It’s unsettling how they stare without blinking, like porcelain dolls. We were only about 10 yards apart so I certainly wasn’t going to turn my back on them. Of course my bear spray and handgun were back in the truck. There’s that adrenaline dump again. Suddenly the larger of the three turned and lifted off in an improbably graceful arc to silently disappear in the bushes. The other two swiftly followed suit. OK, that didn’t last long but now what? I didn’t run but carefully and directly went back to my camp and pulled out my bear spray. I was going to bed anyway so I could relax for the night while all buttoned up in my 4Runner.
Laying there in silence (no radio reception) I marveled at how the sky was densely packed with stars. At 5,000 feet altitude with no nearby cities the sky was exceptionally clear. In that moment I wished I had a telescope. I expected singing coyotes but it was a very quiet night with just an owl hoot now and then. Thinking about the day's events I realized I had not seen any deer sign. Yeah well, since mountain lions require about one deer each week, and with three lions in the area, it was easy to understand why deer sign was so scarce. Those lions were probably a mother and two almost-grown and well-fed-looking cubs. One cannot guess how old a cub might be based on the season because the females can come into estrus any time of the year.
The old mine was so appealing I decided to hang around one more day. I found a nice south-facing cove in the giant boulders with a bed of gravel that was perfect for taking a shower. I lounged around sunbathing au naturel, reading some, writing a bit, and watching the chipmunks who loved the safety provided by the labyrinthine passages under the stacked boulders. That made it easy for them to sneak up on my food if I wasn’t particularly watchful. They were too cute to get mad at though. They were just trying to stock up for winter. It was a relaxing place regardless of the cougars encounter. I had no qualms about walking around while busting open rocks looking for crystals. Moving about in the woods however I remained alert and kept my bear spray handy.
Coming out of the mountains I stopped at the National Forest office in Republic and recounted my cougar story. I was assured seeing three cougars at once is very rare. None of the employees there had. The biologist that happened to be in was very interested in the details and I gave him the GPS coordinates.
A Summary of Sorts
Does this seem like a lot of encounters for just one person? Well, hang out in deer and elk country away from hiking trails in remote country long enough and cougar encounters are bound to happen. However if one sticks to highly used hiking trails in the mountains, chances of seeing cougars are slim. Considering the number of people hiking in western mountains it’s remarkable how few cougar sightings are reported. This speaks to how adept the cats are at avoiding people. With all my off-trail hiking I’m sure I have walked right by many without knowing they were there. Just like the times I’ve had trouble finding my house cat when he just sits still and watches me. Female cougars and their cubs often call back and forth with birdlike chirps. Again, I presume I have failed to identify their calls from the background noise of bird calls.
Based on my experiences it seems that cougars are not programmed to prey on sleeping humans but are merely curious. I‘m sure however, that there are certain motions that can precipitate an attack, just as it does with house cats. Twitchy movements, running away, and bending over at a water hole come to mind. I would not be surprised that a rolling mountain bike travels at just the right speed to trigger a chase. That’s why standing still and maintaining eye contact is often the best response to a confrontation.
However at the margins, where cougar territory gets compressed against human development, young males without a territory of their own get pushed into conflicts that they don’t understand and where they cannot feed themselves adequately. Coyotes and deer do well in these areas but cougars have inherited very specific behaviors that have been driven into them for a few million years. This precludes getting along in this foreign environment. That is the curse of being highly specialized.
Epilogue
Unfortunately my oasis in the sky is no more. With too many dry winters and minimal snowpack, the forest dried out. Then the fires came. They were patchy in the beginning and then it was total annihilation. There is nothing left except the black stubble of burnt trees as far as the eye can see. This is calamitous and permanent deforestation. With no trees to hold the soil, lahars of mud have rampaged down steep slopes wiping out everything in their path, stripping away the topsoil, and choking out alpine streams. I have read that at 4,000 feet in the Cascades it takes 10,000 years to develop one inch of top soil. How long will it take to heal this mountain range which tops out at 9,000 feet?
Elk, deer, coyotes, mountain lions, squirrels, snowshoe hares, grouse, and bears are all gone. Whitebark pines that have been marooned on mountain tops throughout the west much like ocean islands, since the last ice age, trees that are extremely important to a web of wildlife, went up in smoke and will not likely exist there ever again. There were two unique subspecies of redband trout adapted to living high on the flanks of Strawberry Mountain that are now extinct. They are gone forever. The only life that has benefitted, temporarily at least, are tree chewing insects and the woodpeckers that thrive on them. I went back in 2021 to place a Holly rock in an alpine meadow, but I cannot imagine wanting to make that trip again. It’s too unappealing and depressing.