Not Solitary
Kim du Toit
November 3, 2004
6:11 AM CST
Here’s a story sent to me by a Reader, who, for obvious reasons, will remain anonymous.
Deer hunting last week; I camped Thursday night on the side of the mountain, about 200 feet from the top. I wanted to get an early start on the top and Thursday night was a full moon for easy night hiking up there.
I woke up before sunrise. I had a deer run past around 4 am, (it must have been scared by the blue tarp I was sleeping on). It was cold when I woke up, 29 degrees (I have a watch that reads altitude too). Anyway, enough setup…
I packed up my backpack and hiked the rest of the way to the top. I posted at one spot and had a doe and two yearlings go past. I then found another spot to watch the trail, pictured below.
I sat on my backpack, leaning against a tree. About twenty minutes later I saw legs come up the trail from under the branches of the trees. I first thought deer. Seeing that the legs were thick I thought another hunter. Then seeing that there were two things, I wasn’t sure. I saw four legs and thought, a hunter with his dog? Then seeing it was a cat, I thought hunter with a cat??? DAAA, STUPID. It was two cougars. One froze when I moved the rifle in their direction. He stayed frozen mostly behind the small tree in the middle of the picture. The other cougar didn’t appear to have seen me, so I stayed still thinking he would just walk past me. He started to walk to my right. Then was alongside me, 30 feet away, still not seeing me. I was thinking they were just looking for deer and was hoping he would just keep walking right on by. As he went past me on the right, he turned sharply to end up right behind me at about 25 feet. At this point I said, enough already.
I stood up and made it obvious I was aware of their presence. The cougar which had walked behind me froze, looking at me. I was surprised that neither of them ran. I stood tall, (6 feet 2 inches with boots). I aimed the rifle at the one behind, he was about half the distance as the first one. I started kicking branches and made more noise. Still neither moved.
Since they were so brave I got really worried. I kept looking back and forth, trying to keep an eye on each. I had a bolt action, and was worried about them getting closer, so I reached down for my pack and put my knife in my left hand. While doing this I kept my eye on the closer one. I looked back towards the one farther away, and he was gone. There were enough trees so that I wasn’t sure if he’d got closer or taken off. The one I still had in my sights gave a little chirp like noise, talking to his partner.
Now, thoroughly freaked out, I said, “GET SOME!” My rally cry must have meant something to the cougar too. He lowered his head and took his right front paw in my direction. The same time it came down I put a round in his front right shoulder. I turned in the direction of the other one, put my back to the tree and operated the bolt. I stayed frozen there. I could hear the one doing his death twitch. After convincing myself that the coast was clear, I realized they had probably been stalking the doe and her yearlings when they came across my scent and decided I might be an easier meal.
Experts in this state continue to tell us they are solitary animals. A rancher over in north central Washington killed four that came back to feed on the livestock they had earlier killed.
Not knowing what kind of “official” would show up or how the “investigation” would go, I left the cougar at the top of the mountain and continued hunting.
For those gun nuts that just have to know, the rifle is a Howa 1500 in .308 Win, loaded with Remington Core-Lokt ammo. No exit wound.
You know, in reading this story, I can’t help but think of a couple of issues.
In the Good Ole DaysTM, when men were men and mountain lions were just dangerous vermin, our friend would have shot both as soon as they both came into full view.
But I have no doubt, although he didn’t say so, that in the back of his mind was a niggling thought of “I could get into shit if I shoot these bastards”, and so he waited—until he was almost surrounded by these walking teeth-and-claw machines.
In other words, on this occasion, he got lucky—but had the other lion been pouncing while he was shooting, we would not have been reading this story.
Instead, we would be reading a news report about how an unlucky hunter was ambushed by two mountain lions, and although he managed to drop one, the other managed to maul him to death.
And, no doubt, this story would have occasioned some conversation on this site about whether to carry a handgun (double action revolver or even semi-auto pistol) in case of just such an eventuality (and our Reader had actually left his .45 in the car—bet he won’t do that again).
Instead, it came out alright (for humankind, anyway—too bad about the fucking lion). As it is, Our Hero continued hunting deer (earning him the Kim Du Toit Brass Balls Award for 2004)—had this happened to me, I’m not sure I would have carried on hunting, just in case Tabby #2 was hiding along the trail somewhere with murder in his feline heart. Sorry, but I’d have been back in camp, packing up for the day after knocking back a goodly slug of Scotch. As it happened, he did get a deer later in the day.
Regarding the potential problem of the FWS rangers and the “investigation”: my friends, if you’re ever faced with a similar situation to this, remember the current expression: “Shoot, Shovel, Shut Up.”
Which is why I’ve deliberately concealed all personal details in this story. There are times when you do what has to be done, and screw the consequences.
And I think I speak for all my Readers when I say: “Well done, you lucky bastard.”
Oh, and one last thing: it’s nice to see that while cartridges come and go, and bullet designs ditto, the ol’ Green Box .308 softpoints will still perform as advertised.
