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COUGAR
ENCOUNTERS; I CROSS PAT ... 09/23/1999
Lewiston
Tribune
Category: Outdoors
Published: 09/23/1999
Page: 1C
Keywords: Cougars,
hiking
Caption: Photo
courtesy Hornocker Institute, University of Idaho
This cougar appears to be stalking prey as it crosses a stream.
The big cat's number are on the rise, as are sightings by
humans.
Cougar
encounters; I cross paths with a big cat while hiking the Frank
Church River of No Return Wilderness and live to tell about it
Byline: Phil
Druker
There are wild animals out there.
I discovered this a year ago, hiking alone in the Frank
Church River of No Return Wilderness as I scrambled up a ridge
near the headwaters of Loon Creek. A young cougar bounded
through the brush and lodgepole pine ahead of me along the
ridge.
Wow, I thought, what a great sight. Another young cougar
followed. Two cougars in one day -- amazing, I thought.
Then, it dawned on me to wonder if their mother was
nearby. I stopped and looked to my left. Not 12 feet from where
I stood, crouched a larger, darker cougar. It definitely was not
running.
Instead, it crouched ready to pounce with its ears back
and its tail swishing. As it stared intently at me, my
excitement turned to concern.
I stared at it. It stared right back. I moved forward. It
held its ground. I shouted. It didn't blink. I clapped my hands
sharply. It blinked but did not move.
In my peripheral vision, I saw a good sized stick at my
feet. So, while staring at the cougar to watch her every move, I
slowly reached down for the stick, thinking it would make a
decent weapon in case the cougar decided my skinny body would
make a nice meal for her and her cubs. As I lifted the stick,
the cougar jumped back and disappeared down the slope.
Relieved, yet excited, I walked to the spot where she
stood to check the size of her tracks, and to see if I had
stumbled on a kill site. I found nothing but tracks -- some
pretty good sized ones, about 4 to 5 inches in diameter.
Still it wasn't a big cat, about five feet long not
including its tail, I guessed.
Realizing the stick in my hand might make good kindling
but would not offer much defense against a cougar, I dropped it
and picked up a stoutest stick I could find. To test its
strength, I whacked the ground a couple times. It didn't break.
Then the sensation that someone or something was watching
crept over me. I turned to find the cougar silently stalking
through the brush. It stopped where I stood earlier and crouched
with its ears flat back and stared at me intensely.
As I took in the details of the cat -- its yellow-orange
eyes, its white whiskers, its light colored face and its
surprisingly yellow body -- I considered how I would hit it
alongside the head with my trusty club if it pounced.
I felt a little like a baseball player, a batter waiting
for the pitch, and I could hear my father say, "Watch the
ball." I was watching.
Still the cougar was watching me. Its look was impassive.
I wondered if I looked like a good meal to her. She wasn't lean,
but she was thrifty.
I considered the fact that I am a lousy baseball player.
After what seemed like a very long time but which was
actually about two minutes, her ears perked up and her tail
stopped switching. Then she blinked, stood, turned, and slowly
ambled up the ridge in the direction her cubs had run. She
reminded me of a house cat who had become bored with a toy as I
watched her long tail disappear into the timber. I considered
following, thinking maybe I could get a photo, but decided not
to press my luck and not to put pressure on the cougar.
Cougar populations apparently have increased. A Moscow
storeowner told me he was driving up the Lochsa River just last
week when he saw a cougar cross the road.
One fisherman told me how a young cougar kept stalking
him. He shouted at it and tried throwing rocks at it hoping to
scare it away. All this had no effect and the cougar kept edging
closer. Finally, he shouted scriptures at the cougar. This, he
reported, caused the cougar to turn tail and flee.
When I told my cougar story to one friend, he said we now
have so many cougars that they are decimating the elk herds.
Yet I'm not so sure that large numbers of cougars mean
small numbers of elk. Nature presents us with an incredibly
complex system making cause and effect difficult to determine.
Perhaps elk numbers have declined because recent hunts
have focused too much on a bulls-only policy that has limited
the number of good sires for the herds. Perhaps the numerous
logging roads we have built have taken a toll by allowing easy
access to the backcountry.
Perhaps, the forests are growing back in areas that were
burned off early in the century. Perhaps too many people are out
there hunting and fishing and hiking and disturbing the herds.
Maybe decreasing cougar numbers will increase elk numbers in the
short run, but in the long run this could weaken the herds
because without predators, the weak will be able to breed.
Perhaps managing elk herds is more complex than managing
cow herds, and we need to expect fluctuations in populations.
When I told my cougar story to another friend, he said
that it's proof that a person is a darn fool to go out in the
woods without a sidearm and a good dog. But, more recently that
same friend told me this story.
He and his kids were out picking huckleberries when the
dog disappeared. Pretty soon the dog started barking and they
heard a commotion in the brush. Next thing my friend knew, the
dog was running down the trail with a bear chasing it. The dog
ran right for my friend, who was struggling with his handgun,
trying to get it out of its holster.
Well, before he could get his gun free, the dog was past
him and running for the rig, and the bear had turned in its
tracks and disappeared into the brush.
My friend says he now keeps the dog tied up and leaves
his handgun at home, except of course during hunting season.
And all this reminds me of the front-page article in The
Lewiston Morning Tribune last week about a child in Clarkston
who was attacked by a Rottweiler dog as he walked home from
school. According to that report, surgeons were able to replace
the boy's ear and otherwise patch him up.
The day before, the paper ran a front-page article about
a youngster attacked by a cougar near the Salmon River. He
needed 40 stitches to get patched up.
I'm not sure, but I think I'd rather face a cougar whose
instincts evolved to hunt than a dog that humans bred to guard
and fight.
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