The morning mist had settled and dad, james, leah, and I were driving up to check out the Kallama horse camp at the base of Mt. St Hellens. we drove through the town of cougar, aptly named for the abundance of the animals which have proliferated in the area since hunting practices have become far more stringent than they once were. The agrarian culture dying out has resulted in a strange balance of power, where those who have no experience in dealing with th once limited population of deadly beasts in the region, now are allowed to set the tone for legislation in regards to their numbers and means of limitation. The mountain lion, being on par with the black bear, and wolf. Having no predator, save for the Grizly bear, and obviously man. We wound up the misty cool mountain roads as the clouds drifted past. Rising several thousand feet we entered the area above the fog, looking west over swift reservoir, arguably the best fishing area in the Southwest Washington region, I saw the sun glint across the water as it played peekaboo in the high cumulus clouds. The recent clear cuts, courtesy of the logging industry, which also supplies the capital for infrastructural development in the wilderness areas, were teaming with birds and other wild life. Above the clouds, we were outside of the cocoon of noise and distraction, left behind far down in the valley below. In typical fashion dad drove, slow, like the old man he is. As the jeep turned a soft corner, gently gliding over the asphalt, still buckled in spots from the winters hard freeze, there it was. I had seen many before, in my previous and more fool hardy life I had solo hunted rarely finding anyone willing to go hunt the great bests with me, it was at least 200LBS (91KG). The great cat of the Americas. The natives say that to hunt a cougar is to attempt to stalk the wind. To this I can certainly attest and on more than one occasion in my days of hunting the great cats I had found the wind stalking me. Certainly there is nothing more exhilarating than the sight of the most deadly predator, especially such a specimen. My hand shot forward to grab my camera from the glove box as the well muscled cat turned to look at the approaching vehicle. Deciding it was neither threat, nor food source it pranced to the hillside, an 80degree angle, looked at us, and leapt up the twenty foot embankment in one swift pounce. Its muscles rippling as it took flight from the ground, its long tail disappearing in to the brush like a snake in to deep grass. My father and I sat silent in the jeep, even the two dogs had nothing to say! "That was FUCKING amazing!" Dad finally broke the silence, as he pressed the accelerator, and we both craned our necks at the hillside looking up, but knowing full well the great cat would be long gone, and if it was watching us it is sure we would not be able to see it. The face, the body, all designed, adapted, evolved over thousands of years to form the ultimate predator for this environment. I had taken them before, the noble beasts. They consume over 150LBS of live meat per week to maintain their life. They are indeed carnivores. Unlike bears, or even wolves, cougars are almost like a vampire. Their life sustained only by taking that of others. The near extermination of their species, lead by westward expansion in the united states, is viewed by many as barbaric and put almost on par with genocide. Of course this is an easy narrative for people in a country with an obesity rate of 35% to swallow, they die mostly from over eating! The settlers, and people in countries where life hangs by a thread do not have that luxury. Manifest destiny, and westward expansion was not painless. It was easy enough to loose a milk cow, or chickens. Once that happened starvation, and malnutrition would knock on the cabin door of the settlers farm soon enough. Of course the Americas, and most of the industrialized world, now luxuriates in more than plenty. While they judge the farming, and mitigation of predators by unindustrialized nations harshly, forgetting their own sorted past.
The horse camp at Kallama was in good repair and the sites were well kept. The corrals were up, and well maintained. The lavatory was quite clean and free of flies and unpleasant odors. The available stock water tanks, appeared to be new, and the hydrants were in good repair. Mt. St Hellens was enshrined in lunicular clouds. The roads were relatively passable, and if a competent driver were at the helm, a two wheel drive car would do fine on them. I am certainly looking forward to some later season rides on cooper when the rainy weather passes.
As we headed back home the clouds lifted giving us a spectacular panoramic view of swift reservoir and the valley below. We laughed about seeing a cougar, "no one will believe us." dad said. As we neared the place we saw the great cat, he light heartedly told me "better get your camera out. It will probably be sitting there again." I laughed "yeah dad, that will happen again, FUCKING never." After all, one does not catch the wind multiple times in one day. We rounded the gentle corner, and ill be damned if that Puma was not going the other way down hill, this time away from the clear cut! I fumbled for my camera, it looked at us, pranced across the road and disappeared in to the bushes on the other side of the road.......just as my camera powered up. Both of us sat with our jaws down. Perhaps we would wait for reports from other riders, with such a bold cat about, before going to the horse camp for a ride this season.
Next adventure Mt. Adams
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