A couple of years ago, my Brother and I went antelope
hunting in Colorado. Northeast part of the state and had to draw for
'pref' points for two or three years before getting the tags.
The outfitter, an old friend of mine, from many hunts
of the old booking days, had told me to come up whenever I got a draw on
the 'speed goats' and he would handle all the rest. Well, you can't
really beat that deal -- so draw I did. And finally got the tags.
Now you understand -- I have antelope heads already on the wall -- this was just to get away from the office for a few days and not break the bank -- or worse, have to face my beloved and explain why I was spending $9,500 plus airfare on a brown bear hunt -- so the 'lopes were a 'fill in' hunt. (Brown bears still ain't in my budget either - darn it.) And they are scarce as heck in Oklahoma this year, too.
'Lopes were not a problem for this area -- the old friend of mine knew everybody in the whole area and just roared through farm yards and ranch gates like he was a jillionairre and owned the place -- we drove through ranches for miles looking for the perfect 16 incher .. and he was there too, according to my friend -- just couldn't find him.
So long story short -- I took the first 'goat' we saw before daylight but it was about noon the first day of season .. told Keith I was happy with that one earlier, but he wasn't having none of it -- so after 14 thousand miles of driving and opening 2 thousand gates, we drove back down to the low lands, and shot the dandy 14 1/2 incher ..... but what the heck, it was all fun and this is the best 'speeder' I have ever shot.
Now -- this was all we came for -- I was happy and ready to go back to work... but NAY says ol' Keith -- "I have some lion hounds and we can get you a tag 'over the counter' in Wyoming to hunt Cougars". Well, well, well -- thinks I .... my wife won't know the difference if I sneak a few more days .... I'll just not say a thing ... or fib a bit and tell her I had a hard time finding an antelope and had to stay a few more days .... Hell of it was, I had to use a credit card to buy the dang tag in Wyoming for the cat .. and she has the eye of an eagle when the card bill comes in. Oh Well, you only live once, and I've had my rump chewed before. So I trudged over to Cheyenne and coughed up $250 bucks for a Cougar tag.
Hot dang !! No matter that it was September - temps in the 70's and nary a snow flake in sight -- couldn't find snow for Cougar tracks in if your life depended on it. Small items -- can't worry about that, can we? So off we went -- me thinking I might have been a bit slow on the uptake buying a cat tag in September, but with my pal -- the "Wild Man" for an outfitter -- how could anyone fail?? I should tell you, this ol' feller weighs 304 lbs that he will admit to -- I personally think it might be a shade more --- but dang, he is one tough son of a biscuit. Goes up and down the mountains - both on foot and in his 4 x 4 like a bat out of hell.
And so come 4 a.m. next morn -- he knocks on the door -- darn near turned the camper over -- yells thru the window loud enough to rattle the dishes -- "Hey - It's time to hunt lions". Nevermind that the sun hasn't even thought about coming up over the mountains yet -- and nevermind that he had worked the graveyard shift all nite -- off we go - ho ho!!! Riding along up the mountain trails with dogs stickin' out their heads everywhere and once in a while a little bark or two.
Did we see a cougar or a track -- hell no. Was it hot -- darn right. A fat man in the truck behind us went to sleep and my Bro had to drive his truck till lunch. Lunch - then back up the mountains. Trying to stay awake and look along the side of the road for a cat track wasn't easy -- then "HOLD IT, VERN --- back up a little". Sure enough, there's ol' Cougar's wind-blown track along a sandy little cut in the side of the road. Says the Wild Man -- "It's only a couple of days old, he'll be back along this circuit about tomorrow". Whatever -- I thought. An old track and this feller is excited about it ??? He says "We'll get him tomorrow sure as heck".
Off home for some sleep -- thank goodness. Next morning, same drill -- camper door exploded with a knock like a tree fell on it -- time to go again. I blew 250 bucks on this? OK, we will try 'er one more time. Up the hill forty miles an hour on a five miles an hour road ... and off in the distance, the Wild Man points out a big craggy mountain with a lot of rimrock around the top. With a look like Columbus pointing at America -- He says "There's where your cat is". Surely this guy has lost it. It doesn't look any different than any of the other hundred peaks around. So we bounce up the trail to within a mile or so of this peak and stop. Keith hops out and unloads a gob of dogs -- keeping order with a cow switch. Says he "I'll take 'em up the mountain -- you set down right here with this radio and wait." Hell, cougar hunting ain't as bad as I thought it would be.
Off goes the Wild Man - dogs everywhere - a deep howl from one or two once in a while and with a scowl and a point of the switch -- all gets quiet. Off through the 'bush' and I'm alone to eat a can of pudding and wait. I look for elk off in the distant valleys with the binoculars, listen to the birds, watch a pine squirrel or two, and wonder what in the heck is going on up on the mountain.
About when the sun had caused me to get sleepy,
the radio crackles with "Hey, there's two lions up here -- the dogs took one
around the mountain -- can you hear em?" Wonder of wonders, this ol'
Keith does know his lions. I answer "Can't hear a thing". But
I strap on my .44 and stroll toward the last place I saw the Wild Man.
Surely that big old guy didn't go through this stuff -- but he must have since
he's down in there somewhere. Then what's that I hear?
Dogs, By Gosh. I push the radio button and say "I hear the dogs
coming around the top a couple of miles away" Answer "Yeah, and I got
a dog on a lion up here by himself, too". Holy Cow, Man, real Cougars
-- in September yet. Unheard of. I tell Keith I can hear the
dogs up on top better now ... but he says he can't hear 'em yet. He
must have walked halfway back to Cheyenne or somewhere.
Dogs getting louder and louder now ... then the radio again "HEY, I GOT A BIG LION UP IN A TREE -- GET DOWN HERE". "OK" says I, and off I go -- but where??? Just down into the canyon without a clue where this alleged Lion is in a tree. At least I'm going down not up and that My Friend, is a blessing. It is STEEP as a church roof. Still can't hear the dog in the canyon at all. Keep going -- must be up ahead somewhere. My legs started to feel like rubber but I keep going -- and finally, I think I hear a dog barking somewhere.
Then sure enough -- I DO hear a dog -- the other dogs are still coming around the mountain now and are getting much closer. Then those dogs find the single dog and cat track and all of 'em head for the treed lion. Now I can hear 'em easy -- sounds like a dog convention. I'm at full speed down the canyon -- I fall over a damn rotten tree and skin my shin -- much pain .. but keep going. At least I'm going to get to actually see a mountain lion - maybe.
Finally see something up ahead -- dogs and a big ol' guy sitting under a 75 foot tall spruce tree. I look up and -- don't see a thing. Keith says "Climb up that cliff and you'll be right even with the cat." Sure -- do I look like a goat or what... but up the side of the cliff and sure enough there is a big ol' lion looking at me from 10 foot away. Keith shouts "You might oughta whack 'im one -- he might jump over on that rock you're standing on." Holy Smoke, Dude -- never thought of that. So with a carefully aimed shot - I drill a limb two feet in front of my nose --- I didn't see it. The cat is really nervous now so with a second shot I smack him one and down he goes. Limbs and tree parts and all -- right on course to land on the Wild Man. Keith begins swatting at the cat and dogs and everything in sight and the whole mess goes tumbling down the side of the mountain toward the creek 50 yards below.
"Hey - throw me that six gun -- the cat is killing my dogs". So I give 'er a toss and a couple of point blank rounds settle the matter.
I haul it down to the creek to see 'my' cat -- he's a beauty for sure -- I reach down to lift up his head -- and the oldest dog chomps down on my hand hard -- apparently there is some question about just whose cat this is. Keith speaks to his dog -- the whole forest drops pine cones with his volume of the discussion -- and the old dog finally agrees - It's my cat.