WILD FOOD CHAIN
Considering that humans can also be on the menu of the largest of predators, I had what I'd say was my worst scary moment while deer hunting twelve years ago.
Remnants of light snow clung to the grass on the southern slope of the open field, the icy patches barely clung to the brown grass... frozen white spots in an abstract painting mottled brown and white with the frigid, sunny morning. Stiff weeds softly crunched underfoot as I still-hunted. My slightest step could rouse a deer.
Ed had gone into the woods on the north plateau of the timbered ridge, his 'climber' on his back and 30.06 in hand. I envied him having that strength, but my restless legs have been cursed with a childlike tendency, cramping up so I can’t sit still for very long. Easier to head back to the vehicle seeking warmth than to struggle down with a tree stand. Bundled for cold, I was very content to stalk with the attentiveness of native ancestors.
I don't carry bulky binoculars around my neck when I can get a great visual with the rifle scope. Too much stuff to weigh me down. I have excellent farsightedness anyway. There's a good chance to see a deer step out alongside the edge of timber.
I stood still, saw movement, different than a deer. I moved the rifle, peered through the Bushnell scope. There. It was a big cat across the field. Cougar moving in the frozen grass! Horrified, it was barely 200 yards from me. My impulse was to run like hell. I slid the crosshairs along its body, watched its curled tail, black tip disappear outside my visual. I swore, fear coursed through me in a deep shiver. Disbelief. I struggled to swallow panic rising from my innerds.
Golden eyes narrowed to slits, lethal to whatever prey caught its attention, I followed the cat in the scope for a second, my chest tense, breath escaped in tiny wisps of frosty vapor. I watched its every powerful muscle slowly hunker under dead brush. My instinct was run! My innate fear paralyzed, I strained against the glaring sunlight in my scope with sure as hell more curiosity than common sense. My whole body trembled. There, an eight foot, fully grown mountain lion is in the same field as me. Worse, my husband in the timber, was surely unaware of that cat. 
My fingers twitched turning the dial so I could keep sight of the cat. Its long tail flipped in a cat-n-mouse-twitch. It was stalking! So petrified,
I didn't feel the cold, frozen in my tracks.
Thoughts spun to my husband. Was he making his way out of the woods, headed straight for the mountain lion? Had it seen him, about to pounce and maul him? I prayed it hadn't, prayed it didn't see me standing -- I was not hidden. Surely it would. What to do? My mind raced what felt like endless minutes. Like a shadow, its lithe shape blended into the grass perfectly. Where was it?? Adrenaline pounded in my ears. Panicky, fully prepared to kill it if it came closer, I dropped into stealth position (Ed calls it my Indian mode) and knelt with the rifle tight in my arms and refocused the scope. I found the cougar.
Nerves on edge, I squatted down. Damn near impossible to lean on my knee to anchor the rifle to 'scope'. My knees wobbled so badly, I lowered the rifle, my eyes glued on that feline; without the scope I could still see the cougar. It was hunting, crouched and skulking, muscles tensed; however, its intent was natural. it leapt and grabbed with outstretched claws.
My eyes wide, blinking in shock, adrenaline exploded through my blood -- I gasped from lost control. My knee buckled; I gripped the rifle not to fall off balance.
There, it caught a large wild turkey near the edge of the trees in plain sight, in daylight, in the same field as me.
That beautiful, vicious predator caught a big turkey! I've always admired big cats and she nailed it with the same ease as a house cat grabs a mouse.
Serious trepidation that its turkey meal may not have been enough, spurred me to move. I scrambled upright up to my feet, damn near slipping on the icy patch of grass under my boots and hauled-ass for the truck like the cat was hot on my heels. Yeah, call me an irrational 'scaredy-cat' , but that lion is at the top of the wild food chain, not me.
Same as the turkey, I was in escape mode, even with a rifle in my hand I tore for the truck. In the desperate hope of some cover I veered into the edge of the timber. I could just as easily have been attacked as that turkey.
There was a full-on dangerous, a terrifying and awesome sight! Brute, raw power, deadly as hell. And if I hadn't been so close, to its kill, so fearful of my own life, I'd have savored such a sight.
In Missouri it's illegal to shoot mountain lions, although I would have, if it
had come after me. No doubt. Arrogantly or naively, Missouri officials weren't admitting big cats actually existed in the state at that time. That day I didn't care what the law was. My husband was not the lion's quarry obviously, joined me soon after, never heard the flock's squawking alarm in midst of a cougar closeby. Ed was safely in his tree stand. At least fairly. He believed my story, barely, only for me shivering like a scared rabbit so overcome with obvious fright that I stuttered uncontrollably and hugged him so tight he could barely breathe...
He tried some comforting words, took awhile for my nerves to quiet down. And in my own hindsight, I figured that cat heard me race through the brush so fast, but was undoubtedly gorging on its prize than bother to chase my measly ass. A turkey was a much easier meal.
Later we learned that cat was one of a few, telling the farmer, he confided seemed there was a young calf gone missing and the man found evidence of leftovers of mamma likely feeding young cubs. He vowed he would not adhere to the law if he saw any lion red-handed near his cattle. Yes indeedie, I didn't blame my farmer friend one damn bit. What really unnerved me later was to think how often I had hunted in the cougar's vicinity and fished the pond in the same field with no more protection than a filet knife, totally unbeknownst to me of it.
It's just a vivid reminder how real that food chain really is in nature, merely a quarter mile from a farmhouse. I have not returned to hunt or fish there. It may seem melodramatic, but I'm not going to chance Ms. Puma any closer than that. It was a blessing Lord let me see it unscathed, a real wild cougar in the wild and a once in a lifetime sight of the cat snagging dinner. Sure as hell not typical deer hunting excitement.
Years later-- an Ozarks Puma
Sometimes trail cams capture more than deer or an occasional turkey and squirrels! My husband
sent this thumbnail to me asking me if the pic was a bobcat or cougar. I
uploaded and zoomed in to see this was plainly no little Bobcat. Not all
big cats are strictly nocturnal - this was at 8:34 a.m. Makes a hunter
real wary, not to become their prey.Doubt I'd run again.
Considering that humans can also be on the menu of the largest of predators, I had what I'd say was my worst scary moment while deer hunting twelve years ago.
Remnants of light snow clung to the grass on the southern slope of the open field, the icy patches barely clung to the brown grass... frozen white spots in an abstract painting mottled brown and white with the frigid, sunny morning. Stiff weeds softly crunched underfoot as I still-hunted. My slightest step could rouse a deer.
Ed had gone into the woods on the north plateau of the timbered ridge, his 'climber' on his back and 30.06 in hand. I envied him having that strength, but my restless legs have been cursed with a childlike tendency, cramping up so I can’t sit still for very long. Easier to head back to the vehicle seeking warmth than to struggle down with a tree stand. Bundled for cold, I was very content to stalk with the attentiveness of native ancestors.
I don't carry bulky binoculars around my neck when I can get a great visual with the rifle scope. Too much stuff to weigh me down. I have excellent farsightedness anyway. There's a good chance to see a deer step out alongside the edge of timber.
I stood still, saw movement, different than a deer. I moved the rifle, peered through the Bushnell scope. There. It was a big cat across the field. Cougar moving in the frozen grass! Horrified, it was barely 200 yards from me. My impulse was to run like hell. I slid the crosshairs along its body, watched its curled tail, black tip disappear outside my visual. I swore, fear coursed through me in a deep shiver. Disbelief. I struggled to swallow panic rising from my innerds.
I stood still, saw movement, different than a deer. I moved the rifle, peered through the Bushnell scope. There. It was a big cat across the field. Cougar moving in the frozen grass! Horrified, it was barely 200 yards from me. My impulse was to run like hell. I slid the crosshairs along its body, watched its curled tail, black tip disappear outside my visual. I swore, fear coursed through me in a deep shiver. Disbelief. I struggled to swallow panic rising from my innerds.
Golden eyes narrowed to slits, lethal to whatever prey caught its attention, I followed the cat in the scope for a second, my chest tense, breath escaped in tiny wisps of frosty vapor. I watched its every powerful muscle slowly hunker under dead brush. My instinct was run! My innate fear paralyzed, I strained against the glaring sunlight in my scope with sure as hell more curiosity than common sense. My whole body trembled. There, an eight foot, fully grown mountain lion is in the same field as me. Worse, my husband in the timber, was surely unaware of that cat.
My fingers twitched turning the dial so I could keep sight of the cat. Its long tail flipped in a cat-n-mouse-twitch. It was stalking! So petrified,
I didn't feel the cold, frozen in my tracks.
Thoughts spun to my husband. Was he making his way out of the woods, headed straight for the mountain lion? Had it seen him, about to pounce and maul him? I prayed it hadn't, prayed it didn't see me standing -- I was not hidden. Surely it would. What to do? My mind raced what felt like endless minutes. Like a shadow, its lithe shape blended into the grass perfectly. Where was it?? Adrenaline pounded in my ears. Panicky, fully prepared to kill it if it came closer, I dropped into stealth position (Ed calls it my Indian mode) and knelt with the rifle tight in my arms and refocused the scope. I found the cougar.
I didn't feel the cold, frozen in my tracks.
Thoughts spun to my husband. Was he making his way out of the woods, headed straight for the mountain lion? Had it seen him, about to pounce and maul him? I prayed it hadn't, prayed it didn't see me standing -- I was not hidden. Surely it would. What to do? My mind raced what felt like endless minutes. Like a shadow, its lithe shape blended into the grass perfectly. Where was it?? Adrenaline pounded in my ears. Panicky, fully prepared to kill it if it came closer, I dropped into stealth position (Ed calls it my Indian mode) and knelt with the rifle tight in my arms and refocused the scope. I found the cougar.
Nerves on edge, I squatted down. Damn near impossible to lean on my knee to anchor the rifle to 'scope'. My knees wobbled so badly, I lowered the rifle, my eyes glued on that feline; without the scope I could still see the cougar. It was hunting, crouched and skulking, muscles tensed; however, its intent was natural. it leapt and grabbed with outstretched claws.
My eyes wide, blinking in shock, adrenaline exploded through my blood -- I gasped from lost control. My knee buckled; I gripped the rifle not to fall off balance. There, it caught a large wild turkey near the edge of the trees in plain sight, in daylight, in the same field as me.
That beautiful, vicious predator caught a big turkey! I've always admired big cats and she nailed it with the same ease as a house cat grabs a mouse.
Serious trepidation that its turkey meal may not have been enough, spurred me to move. I scrambled upright up to my feet, damn near slipping on the icy patch of grass under my boots and hauled-ass for the truck like the cat was hot on my heels. Yeah, call me an irrational 'scaredy-cat' , but that lion is at the top of the wild food chain, not me.
Same as the turkey, I was in escape mode, even with a rifle in my hand I tore for the truck. In the desperate hope of some cover I veered into the edge of the timber. I could just as easily have been attacked as that turkey.
There was a full-on dangerous, a terrifying and awesome sight! Brute, raw power, deadly as hell. And if I hadn't been so close, to its kill, so fearful of my own life, I'd have savored such a sight.
In Missouri it's illegal to shoot mountain lions, although I would have, if it
had come after me. No doubt. Arrogantly or naively, Missouri officials weren't admitting big cats actually existed in the state at that time. That day I didn't care what the law was. My husband was not the lion's quarry obviously, joined me soon after, never heard the flock's squawking alarm in midst of a cougar closeby. Ed was safely in his tree stand. At least fairly. He believed my story, barely, only for me shivering like a scared rabbit so overcome with obvious fright that I stuttered uncontrollably and hugged him so tight he could barely breathe...
He tried some comforting words, took awhile for my nerves to quiet down. And in my own hindsight, I figured that cat heard me race through the brush so fast, but was undoubtedly gorging on its prize than bother to chase my measly ass. A turkey was a much easier meal.
It's just a vivid reminder how real that food chain really is in nature, merely a quarter mile from a farmhouse. I have not returned to hunt or fish there. It may seem melodramatic, but I'm not going to chance Ms. Puma any closer than that. It was a blessing Lord let me see it unscathed, a real wild cougar in the wild and a once in a lifetime sight of the cat snagging dinner. Sure as hell not typical deer hunting excitement.
