It was an unseasonably warm February night, just above freezing. I was fifteen miles up a dirt road into old pine forest in about a foot or two of snow. That was about as far as the old 4x4 was going that night even with lockers and chains all around. Staying away from the edge, I rounded up in a small clearing pointing downhill in case it snowed again. With no moon and thick stands of trees all around, I couldn’t even see the dashboard after I turned out the lights. By then it was right around midnight and there was a gentle cool night wind rolling slowly down the mountain. The occasional faint sound told of small critters going about their business. The hoot of an owl, a faint rustle of leaves, my breathing and heartbeat.
I turned on one red LED, climbed out, and dropped the tailgate. After a little rearranging, my bedroll was ready for a good snooze. Just as I was finishing up there was a rustle-thump from behind me. I jumped so hard I yanked the handle off a toolbox, but it only turned out to be a load of snow slumping off a tree. Laughing at myself, I cracked a beer and sat on the tailgate for a nightcap.
After awhile my eyes adjusted to where I could see 15 or 20 feet by the dim red glow. I noticed some prints crossing the road. Grabbing the light, I followed them across the clearing to the uphill bank. There in the clean white snow I read a story. A mid size deer had gone up the middle in a straight line but not in a hurry. Considering how the snow was melting that was maybe an hour ago. On top of that wandered the tracks of a large bobcat, somewhat fresher. On top of that were the tracks of a large cougar, easily twice as big and and crisp as punched paper. The rear paws were as wide as my hand with tail marks brushed between. As I watched, the first bits of snow crumbled off and fell into the prints. Uh oh. Suddenly I didn’t feel so lazy anymore.
I pulled the cannon around and soft shoed back across the clearing with my heart tached out. Watching the woods, listening for the faintest sound, scanning the trees above me, even sniffing the fresh pine breeze. I knew the thing would have to be crazy to fuck with a full grown man. But cats are psycho and those prints were only minutes old. I would never hear it. Not a cat. And I was way, way outmatched in the speed department. Fuckityfuck…
The night air seemed still and clear as glass. Not a sound other than my thumping heartbeat. I told myself I was over reacting. After a minute I allowed as how I would finish my beer sitting in the truck and then call it a night. What the heck, both windows were down so it was almost like sitting outside anyway. I climbed in and slammed the door and shit happened fast. From maybe a hundred yards uphill came the racket of something big punching a straight line through the brush across in front of me. I dropped my beer and hauled the gun off my lap. Even with the bullpup stock the thing was awkward inside the cab. With my other hand I hit the lights. Just as I got the gun up a brown blur crossed the road maybe 40 yards in front of me. The noise continued downhill to my left and faded into the distance. Then again silence.
Well, there went my quiet relaxing night. Now I was freaked and slightly pissed off. Both cats had covered a hundred yards through heavy brush at night before I could spin a rifle. I knew there were fast, but damn! After a minute I went to running lights to save the battery. Five more minutes of listening told me nothing. Shit. Before I could even think about sleep I really needed to know who was hanging around.
Fuck it. I clipped a spotlight to the cannon and lurked my way up the road. After a little casting around I found the prints of little kitty at the top of the uphill snow bank. The next prints were easily six paces downhill. But I didn’t find prints from big kitty at all. Not so good. That could mean he cleared the road without touching down. Or it could mean he stopped before crossing, in which case he would be close by in the dark.
Hungry, mad, and watching me.
Turns out just a little of that hunted feeling goes a long way. Once again I carefully retreated back to the truck working the spotlight all directions. Nothing moved. I climbed back in and briskly slammed the door. Fuuuuuuck you! Nothing. Scrounging around for a rag, I mopped up the beer. After awhile I realized there would be no sleeping in that spot. I couldn’t make it any further uphill, so I backtracked about eight miles to another clearing where I spent a short and restless night.
By the light of day my nerves settled and I relaxed enough to strip for a quick shave and sponge bath. Then I packed it up and slowly cruised back to the highway to continue my walkabout. There was another mountain ninety miles north that I wanted to try.
