Big apex predators have always captured my attention. I have been a big fan of TV, but I would naturally drop what I was doing to watch a documentary on lions, tigers, or bears anytime one came on. Mountain lions had always seemed to me like some mythical creature, almost like something that didn’t even exist until you literally first witnessed one. Until I had treed my first one and stood there in disbelief, even though it was a fluffy little kitten, it spurred me on to chase more. What would it be like to stare down or possibly harvest a full-grown tom? As a died-in-the-wool deer hunter, I thought that one day maybe I could make my contribution, save a few deer, and experience this elusive predator up close.
My good friend, Casey Cook, offered to do just that and help me get one treed. Idling down from decades of chasing the big animal around, it was perfect timing for me to step into his schedule before he sold his last remaining dogs and hung it up for good. Our first outing put us on a track almost instantly, but due to the combination of the private lands and the age of the track, we pressed on looking for more opportunities. After three days of mostly driving around, we had tallied several different tracks, a few of which we followed but later decided they weren’t worth pursuing. The tremendous accumulation of snow made any kind of travel difficult, but with fresh dustings almost every morning, it was like whipping the chalkboard clean. One day we saw five different cat tracks!
Right when we felt like we were zeroing in on a chaseable lion, the third morning opened with some bad news. On the way to my cabin, Casey had slid off the road in his big lifted Jeep and wrecked into a cattle guard. The damage was enough to park the Jeep and shuttle everything into my Toyota. The day remained quiet and uneventful other than getting stuck a few times. With the crazy amount of snow that had piled up, I knew eventually we were in for a serious physical test. That afternoon, Casey limped his Rubicon to the shop and explained that I would probably be on my own for a while. Camp morale was a little low, but I decided it wasn’t the year to give up.
With mountain lion in my blood, I naturally awoke very early to a cold, crisp morning. Under the dim solar light provided at my cabin, I pondered maps, savoring my coffee and the images of the journey that lay ahead. We had been seeing so much sign that I just had to head out for a look. My plan was to stay in close and down low where the covering of snow was less. I thought maybe the least obvious would be the most obvious. Not two miles from my house, bam! There in my headlights was a track made by a large, recent felon. Being right behind town with plenty of cell reception, I called Casey and excitedly told him what I had found. Before he made the 1 hour and 15 minute drive, I shot him a photo to verify and told him I thought it was very chaseable. After what seemed like a long wait, we met at the gas station, loaded the hounds into my truck, and off we went. My blood was boiling with anticipation as we reached where I had first spotted the cat. It's funny how your mind spins to mentally prepare yourself for what you have no clue of what you’re getting yourself into. Would I see the truck again before dark? Should I take more water and food? Did I have too many clothes on?
Mountain lion hunting can be one of the more seriously demanding hunts one can endure, partially because a good part of what lions generally call home is considered no man's land. Steep rim rocks coupled with knee-deep snow and a pace you have to keep to prevent from losing the dogs can make for one gritty hunt. I have not known a houndsman who wasn’t a salty SOB.
Casey turned his veteran dog out first, an old codger with the scars that marked many past lion encounters. To my dismay after 30 minutes and a few more dogs, they still hadn’t lined out. I began to question the age of the track. Did I call in a false alarm? Had I just got him to drive all the way up here to run an old track? We watched the dogs quietly circle all over the hill where the lion had passed through. The biting cold began to penetrate our sedentary bodies as I watched in disbelief. Right when I was about to unleash some well played over questions, Casey said, “Track's too cold. Let's go back to the truck and warm up and maybe the sun will freshen up the scent.”
I had just reached the truck, started it, and had my bare hands gathering the cool air coming out of the defrost when I noticed the big man running up to me. The next two words almost didn’t make sense. “It’s treed!” I must have said, “What?” in disbelief three times, with the answer coming in louder and an expression to match it. The Tacoma lurched in the shin-deep snow with the big oversized mud tires and blasted down the blanketed two-track. With his GPS device guiding us, he abruptly stopped us just as soon as I got going. Doors flew open, I grabbed my .44 magnum, and the race was on! Hurdling over the rise, my eyes met the noise and zoned in on the fiasco. It was surreal. There, 50 yards away and only 8 feet off the ground, was a great big cat. Hounds bawling, Casey ran by me and said, “Let’s go!” At 25 yards, I saw a fight erupt as the boldest dog climbed the tree and found his target. I hit the skids and quickly raised to aim, yelling out “I can take him,” thinking that my quick action could potentially save his dog.
“No, you might hit the dog,” Casey barked, “Let’s get closer.”
The next thing I realized, I ducked around a cedar, looked up, and a huge pissed off lion hissed at me at a mere 6 yards! Everything got quiet, and my instinctive motor skills kicked in as I steadied my sidearm on his vitals. It was like he was glaring at my soul for being discovered. Boom! He leapt out of the tree right at me, landing only a few feet from me, and was lunging for the ridge when I hit him again, killing him instantly. It was like two minutes ago we were standing on the hill freezing our butts off and now this. It was like I’d hit warp speed. How did that happen so fast? There I was, standing over the most mystical creature in complete disbelief. I had just killed a beautiful, mature tom. Reality slowly soaked back in as I carefully studied this magnificent beast. My tag was punched, and as quick as it began, it was all over. Casey congratulated me on two very well-placed shots, something I take great honor in and believe it is one of the chiefest principles of hunting.
I would like to give thanks to Casey, his expertise, and the use of his time and his well-trained hounds. Also I would like to state that in the photos, since I didn’t weigh the cat, that I am 6'4" to give some comparison.
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