Cougar Wrangler: Put That on My Resume

Herding cows, herding cougars - it's all the same thing, right?

by Merri Melde and Karen Steenhof

Wednesday February 21 2018

Cougar in my yard, was the subject line of the email in my morning inbox, with an attached photo of a young cougar curled up and snoozing under my friend's camper under her barn roof.

O.M.G. I've seen 5 cougars in my life, the last one being two years ago, just a quarter mile up our own crick. They seem to be my spirit animal.

I'm on my way! I emailed back, throwing coat and hat over my P.J.s, grabbing camera gear and coffee and roaring off down the road.

Karen lives on the outside edge of a tiny development way outside a tiny town in Owyhee County, SW Idaho. Read: on the edge of the wild. Very low population. No children in the area. Often, in the spring and summer, more cows than humans. A few horses, chickens, goats and turkeys in the 'neighborhood.'

Karen was eating her breakfast just before sunrise and looking out her front window when she saw an animal pacing back and forth in front of (and inside) her front gate. At first she thought it was the local feral Siamese cat, but another glance revealed a much larger animal with a much longer tail. She realized then it was a small cougar. The young cat moved to a spot up against her barn.

Only Karen and I would do something like this: Karen threw some frozen mice under the camper in case the cougar was hungry, but it did not seem interested. She opened the gate so the cat could escape if it wanted to. Karen and her 95-year old mother could step out of the tack room and observe the cat from about 15 feet away (keeping the tack room door open in case a quick retreat was necessary). But the kitty was not aggressive.

Karen called her nearest neighbor to let her know that there was a cougar in her yard. The neighbor reported that another neighbor farther down the lane had seen a “big cat” near his chickens the night before and had chased it with his ATV. Karen’s closest neighbor had locked up her goats to protect them overnight.

When I arrived, the young cougar was still curled up snoozing, sleepily opening an eye or two at us while we gawked at it. A fence separated us, but we could walk within 10 feet without bothering it. Karen had done some Google research, and determined from the size of it, the spots it had, and the still-blue eyes, that it was probably between 4-6 months old... probably closer to 6. It was old enough to have been weaned but not old enough to be independent of its mother. Some young kittens stay with their mother for as long as 2 years.

We gawked and gasped and stood in awe watching this beautiful creature. It wasn't a threat to anything, and Karen’s horses weren't at all worried, so we left it.

A dusting of snow from the night showed little tracks across her yard, and back and forth at the driveway gate (as if the cougar wanted to get out - we'll see later that they either couldn't, or did not want to jump fences).* Before I headed back home, I looked at tracks outside the place, and while there were no big cat tracks, many, many little cat prints went up and down her long fence line to the BLM (as if it or they wanted to get in). I told Karen, "I bet you there's at least one more cub around." I expected mama was around somewhere too, keeping an eye on things… I sure kept my eyes out for her!

Now there are two, was the subject line of my afternoon email. Karen and her mother had been checking on the cougar periodically from the horses’ field across the fence. When they went out shortly after lunch, they saw a second, similar sized cougar stretched out underneath the camper. Later both kittens were curled up together up against the barn, basking in the warm sun. Karen and her mother were almost certain that the second cat had not been anywhere around there before. It must have come in through the open gate to join its sibling while no one was looking.

I raced over again, and caught a glimpse of the two of them before pulling in her driveway. Karen met me outside and we walked around to look at them… and only one was laying there.

Since adult male cougars are larger than females, we will, for the purpose of this story, apply the same to these young-uns, and call them Brother (the larger, and less wary one) and Sister (the smaller, more wary one).**

My motorized arrival was too much for Sister cougar cub. She had gotten up and left, squeezed through a gap between the barn and the fence, and started walking/trotting across the horse pasture away from the barn. Brother was sitting up watching Sister leave, and finally decided to get up and follow her, though he was in no hurry, as he'd been having such a fine nap in the sun and was rather reluctant to leave that spot.

Karen's two older horses were entirely unconcerned with a cougar slinking/walking/trotting away across their pasture. They wanted cookies from us. Heck, we see these guys all the time, Simon nudged me looking for treats. I am guessing, that like some young mammals, young cougars do not give off the same scent as adult cougars do.

As we watched, Sister scooted on to the corner of the paddock, and was boxed in at the corner of the fence. Karen’s property is surrounded by no-climb fence, and the next field is surrounded by hog wire fencing - big enough for rabbits to squeeze through, but not cougars (even young ones). Brother strolled after her, pausing several times to look back at us and his cozy nap spot, Hmm, nap spot, Sister, nap spot, Sister… guess I better go keep an eye on Sister.

We followed them both, as they moved from the horse pasture into Karen’s 1-acre pollinator garden - a Wildlife Habitat Improvement Project (WHIP) designed for birds, bees, and butterflies - not cougars!

Within 20 feet of the corner of the WHIP garden we saw both cats, well camouflaged in the waving golden grass. Brother just sat watching us, while Sister was worried. We were too close for her comfort, and she jumped up and ran along the long fence line away from us. Halfway down was a gate; the next pasture was also all hog wire, but it was right next to the BLM fence line. I said "Let's open that gate and haze them into the next pasture." It had to be like herding cows, right?

So while Sister kept running along the fence line, leaping over tumbleweeds and looking for a hole in the fence, and Brother just waited in the corner, we walked to the gate and swung it open. We swung back around wide to haze agitated Sister back up the fence line and through the gate; then we swung back around Brother (who had been bored-ly watching his silly Sister), and he strolled on to and through the open gate.

Us two Cougar Wranglers now had our two cougars in the last pasture before the BLM… but there was no gate directly onto the BLM; the cougars would have to be driven back down the long fence line to a gate down at the far northeast end. Both cougars walked the short west fence - Brother walked and Sister trotted, back and forth, looking for a hole. She could have easily jumped the hog wire fence, but I am sure Mother cougar had drilled into her, Don't you EVER go jump a fence young lady, you hear me?

The cubs moved to the southwest fence corner, and we figured, just like cows, we'd use the fences to haze them toward the far northeast end and the gate. Easy with Sister - she wanted nothing more than to be far, far away from us. She took off down the south fence, looking and hoping for a hole to squeeze through, leaping over tumbleweeds in her way. Brother, bored, possibly embarrassed by drama queen Sister, laid down in the corner. I want my nap back. Just like a tired calf on a cattle drive.

Well. I tried hazing him like I would a cow. Edged closer, flapped my hat and hollered at him, "Git up cat! Move it! Hep! Git up!" Brother sat there looking at me. I looked back at him and edged closer and flapped my hat. "Git up!" Brother pinned his ears and hissed, No.

"OK!" I backed up a step. "You can sit right there as long as you want, you're the cougar!" The cougar cub was not big enough to eat me, but he was, after all, a cougar.

Brother went back to ignoring us, watching his silly Sister, and finally decided, OK, he'd head off after Sister - who was still rather agitated in that she'd gotten to a pile of prickly tumbleweeds in the southeast corner of the fence, and couldn't figure out what to do next.

We pushed Brother down the long south fence line (letting him go at his own pace), and when he got to the corner where Sister was confused, he turned at the east fence, like a good cow, walked up it, swung out around the inward-opening gate, and strolled right on out. Sister just decided to hunker down into the tumbleweed corner and hide.

In fact, as we were watching Brother walk out, we weren't sure where Sister went. We walked back to the corner of the fence, but only saw the pile of weeds. It wasn't till after Karen walked along the outside of the fence line that she saw Sister hiding in the tumbleweeds, and heard her growl and hiss when Karen got too close. I crawled to the outside of the BLM fence and tossed a rock, then a stick into the tumbleweeds to try to scare her out, but no, she wasn't moving.

So we left, hoping Sister would eventually find her way out the gate that Brother had walked out - she'd watched him from her hidey-hole, so you'd think she'd figure it out.

Karen’s mother had been watching all the activity with binoculars from her apartment above the barn. We joined her and watched the activities continue.

Brother walked on out the development's fence line onto the BLM, and then turned back along the south fence line toward Sister's pasture. Sister came out of tumbleweed hiding, and started trotting along the correct east fence line – but just could not figure out how to swing wide around the inward-opening gate to get out. She'd turn and run back when she got to the gate. Back and forth she went, stopping short of the gate, looking for a hole in or under the fence, putting a paw on the fence, but she would not try jumping over. And we were afraid if she did, she might get a leg hung up in it. "Shoot!" we said. "Let's go back and swing that paddock gate outward and try once more to haze her out."

Out we went, with Brother now sitting patiently outside the BLM fence watching the Sisterly shenanigans. I swear he had a sigh on his face. We swung the gate outward - easy peasy exit now - and swung out wide in the pasture to get around Sister and haze her out. When she saw us, though, she dove back into her tumbleweed corner.

I climbed the far fence and tried my best cow hazing technique. I took off my coat, and as I approached the weed/cub corner, I started flapping the coat loudly and hollering, "Git up cat! Mooooooove it! Out!" and the cub miserably and scared-ly hunkered down hoping she could just disappear. She would not budge. However, the flapping finally did scare Karen’s 29-year old gelding. (Flapping coats are much scarier than cougars, you know).

So we gave up and left it to cougar fate - either Sister would figure it out or she wouldn't.

Karen and her mother continued to watch from the loft apartment. Not too long after I had taken off, Sister cougar left her hiding place in the tumbleweeds and headed back west to the hog-wire fence, where, as a last resort, she tried to go over it. She had difficulty scrambling over it but seemed relieved to be back on BLM land with her sibling. They strolled off together into the sagebrush.

They, and Mother cougar, haven't been seen since by us humans. We are hoping that the mother is still alive and that she joined up with the cubs later the same night. It was a once-in-a-lifetime experience for all of us.

And that, my friends is how you herd (or don't herd) cougar cubs. And you can put that on my resume.

And here's a video of us herding Brother cougar. Sister cougar is hiding in the fence corner of the tumbleweeds where Brother stops near the end

(or link: https://youtu.be/yEoYbn8nBRo )

And you can see a gallery of more of my Cougar shots here:

www.TheEquestrianVagabond.com

*According to some Fish and Game people, they said lions of any age don't like to climb fences, especially chain link, although they were surprised the cubs didn't try to jump the fence.

**This size difference does not necessarily apply to young cougar siblings. It could have just been different growth rates.

***Yes. The entire time we were outside, we were continuously alert for Mother cougar. She could have been watching us from a hiding place across the lane, or blending in with the golden grass on the hillsides.

****Also, Fish & Game peeps thought the cubs had just been separated from the mother, and predicted that if the mother was dead that the kittens would be back. (So far they haven't been.)

Big Cat, Big Luck

Friday December 11 2015

While away from Owyhee in Scottsdale, the neighbors emailed: "we came upon a cougar while hiking up the crick!" Their dogs surprised it on a hike and treed it. The cougar wasn't hungry for humans or dogs - though nor did he appear too terribly worried about them - and everybody eventually went their startled way.

I cannot begin to describe how jealous I was. I've had the privilege of seeing 4 cougars in my life - all happened to be within 6 weeks one summer in Washington, and all from a vehicle - but I am always on the lookout for these furtive, majestic animals. (And I did get incredibly lucky seeing both a leopard, and a cheetah in Africa.)

Mind you, I would not be so thrilled anymore if a cougar got one of our horses. Then all bets would be off. But deer are plentiful around here, and that's what they feed on. And cougars are fairly rare around here anyway, though some ranchers and hunters will tell you otherwise, and who knows when they are watching us out on a hike or ride? I once complained to my forest ranger friend in the Sierra Nevadas when he affirmed, yes, there were cougars around there. "But I've never seen any!" I whined. "Oh," he replied, "but they see you!"

Our horses give a pretty good indication when one is near (every couple of months, it seems); the whole herd acts rather nutso for a day or two. Every couple of winters in the snow I stumbled upon evidence of a deer kill, and one night a few years ago, I heard hideous noises that could only have been a cougar taking down a deer, not 30 yards from my doorstep.

So of course the first thing I do the afternoon I get back from Scottsdale is go looking up the crick for the cougar. What are the chances he's still there, 3 days later? Slim to none, likely; he probably left after the encounter with the neighbors and dogs. Almost all the big animals like cougars and black bears I've encountered in the wild have not wanted anything to do with humans, and they run away if they can.  

I creep as silently as possible up the south bank of Bates crick, wind in my favor, but the light, not so much: I'm squinting into the sun, the golden cheatgrass - the color of a cougar - glinting and waving as a roiling sea. I move slowly and carefully, staring into brush, peeking over the bank into the crick bed, searching for a cat lazing on a log or sprawled in the cougar-colored autumn leaves, watching for prints, watching for movement; prowling quietly along (as quietly as a clumsy human can), looking, listening, standing still, hoping… but I wander nearly a mile up-crick and see nothing. 

So I give up and cross the crick to the north bank to head back, still looking, but now looking more for owls. I find pellets and whitewash in a jumble of cottonwoods and vines in the crick, in a place where long-eared owls used to roost during the day, but now they're gone, and the occasional great horned owl will hole up during the day, though I see none today.

As I continue back down-crick, lamenting my luck at having missed a cougar by a couple of days - my eyes suddenly lock on a cougar staring at me, hiding 40 feet away under low branches of a tree right by the creek - oh. my. god.

It is a most unforgettable, thrilling, primal moment in life to unexpectedly come face to face and exchange gazes with such a wild, mysterious and near-mythical creature in nature (particularly one who is thankfully not hungry nor interested in me). It isn't any movement nor eye blinking nor anything from him that catches my eye; I just see him and focus in on him, though it takes a moment to pierce that wall of total disbelief, and though I seriously could have walked right by him had I not been looking for a cougar. (And how many other times might I have walked by one and not seen it!!!!!)

I am frozen, rooted to the earth, my jaw gaping, trying not to scream because I am so thrilled. A dozen words whirl and explode in my head like firecrackers: unreal, big, wild, beautiful, powerful, lucky, stunning, ohmigod. 

All my senses are on fire. Adrenaline rockets my blood to my ears, racing through my body, down to my toes - boom, BOOM, BOOM, shaking my body so hard he must feel the earth throbbing, because he tries to shrink further under the tree branches. He does not want to be noticed. He thinks I might be a threat. Even as he shifts so minutely further under cover and into deeper stillness, I can sense the utter litheness he possesses, and I am grateful he isn't interested in getting further acquainted with me.

I slip off my big jacket, to swing around and make myself big and make lots of noise if he does decide to come at me, but he remains motionless, staring at me with those mesmerizing, unblinking golden eyes, and I stand stock-still, not breathing, staring at him in utter awe, floored at the chance encounter with this creature. We just stare at each other, in wonder and wariness, two opposite worlds miraculously colliding for a magical moment. Nearby there is a deer's ribcage, a hide he's been feeding on.

I have a terrible urge to step closer, but I know he will bolt away. I feel I could stand and stare at him all day, but he does not want to be harassed, and I do not want to harass him. I slip my camera out and get a few pictures, thank Mother Nature for this fabulous gift, give him a gesture of deference, Thank you for this extraordinary encounter, and I move on, leave him alone, still trying not to scream because I am in shock, thrilled I got to see this big cat.

pretty camouflaged, yes?

Jumpy

Thursday February 17 2011

All this talk about cougars, after my story on bobcat prints, and I'm looking over my shoulders.

Inches of snow fall overnight. I'm out walking in the new snow next day. Some flakes are still falling, but the temperature has risen to just above freezing. Some of the snow stacked on the needles of the pine trees occasionally slides to the ground with a sudden WHOMPF in the otherwise quiet forest. One lump lands beside me. I jump a foot in the air. Another lands behind me, WHOMMPHFF and I leap and whirl a 180 in the air, my heart thumping.


Silly, I say, it's just snow. There are no cougars out here. Haven't seen any tracks, the horses haven't been nervous. Well, sure, cougars are out here, but not right here. Surely.

Today I flounder through more fresh fluffy snow - hard packed inches of snow covered by ice covered by the new snow - graceless, noisy, incompetent. Vulnerable. My feet heavy and clumsy, grabbed by the snow with each step, sometimes sinking to my knees if I don't stay on a track.


I look over my shoulder, a lot. Not that it would help, if a cougar were close. I wouldn't see it stalking - unless it boldly walked behind me in my tracks; I wouldn't see it hiding through the trees where they grow close and the low branches drape the snow. And I'm so loud when I walk. My feet crunch, my clothing swishes, my collar creaks - which makes me jerk my head around, thinking it's something else behind me.

I'm not nervous; I don't feel anything amiss. I'm just looking around a lot. This is no different from the many other forests I've hiked through - often after dark, far away from human habitation.

And yet... there has been a lot of cougar discussion that has stuck in my head more than usual. Including the fact that you're more likely to be struck by lightning twice before being attacked by a cougar.

And, I see no cougar tracks around here... or are there?


What are these? I walked within 30 yards of this spot 3 days ago. Today I discover old tracks in the snow - big tracks. They have since softened and melted and expanded, and have been snowed in by inches of snow the last 24 hours, but there is unmistakably a track of something that has left big footprints. I can't match the stride without jumping from step to step.


Hmmm. It's not a deer; tracks are too small. Wouldn't be a bear; they should be hibernating now. Elk perhaps? Tracks still seem too small. But wait - that can't be an elk, it goes from heavy undergrowth trees, across an open spot to more heavy undergrowth trees. What else is that size with that big a stride... ??

Perhaps I'm stretching my imagination. I continue to enjoy the snow walk. But now I'm jumpy as a cat.

Attack

Sunday August 15 2010

Dusk comes to Owyhee, and the great horned owls are out, crying, (not hooting), restless, agitated, silhouetted against the sky, flying up and down the creek. That as-yet-unidentified owl (great horned? long-eared? I think it's a screech) is making its odd high-pitched yell nearby.

The horses are spooked down the pasture and they swirl in circles, kicking up dust, stopping to turn and face the creek, heads up, ears forward, alert; then they come running back to the house.

The neighbor's herd is sprinting through their pastures, clattering across the rocky creek. Something is setting them all off.

Night falls. The horses are staying close to the house, eating hay in the back pen... which is a bit odd. They are spooked again and bolt around the hay feeders, snorting, whirling around to stop and stare at the creek thirty yards away.

Then the yelling starts. One time, two times - I think it's the screech owl. The wailing gets louder and longer - it's definitely not an owl. A rabbit dying? The screaming is moving through the trees along the creek, 30 yards away. An owl got a rabbit and is flying with it? But the screaming gets louder. More chilling.

I grab a flashlight and sprint outside. I run to within 10 feet of the trees and brush along the creek and scan with my flashlight, but now the screaming has stopped.

But the movement in the brush/trees/creek has not.

Something is moving in there, on the ground. It's not an owl. It's something heavy. Possibly something dragging something. The victim is not a rabbit. The heavy thing is not a coyote.

I so wish I could see in the dark, like so many creatures, but I see nothing. Austin the dog has come out with me. He's not visibly scared, no raised hackles, and he's not barking... but he's not going forward into the trees like he normally would. He's got his nose up in the air sniffing.

My hackles are raised.

But I can't stop looking. I want to see.

I walk to our creek crossing 30 feet away so I can cross to the other side. Austin follows. I walk through the creek, swinging the flashlight somewhat nervously, trying to penetrate into the blackness, listening fiercely for anything - but it is now dynamically silent, and I know that something is in there.

I start to climb the other bank. Austin stops. Normally he would follow me. Normally he would shoot past me in search of rabbits, day or night. But Austin's not going a step further.

I shine my light all around. The silence is electric. The atmosphere is charged. The hair on my arms and neck are standing straight up. My flashlight falls upon two eyes up the trail, looking my way. My heart stops a moment and adrenaline shoots through me even as I identify it as a deer. The female deer is seemingly wandering aimlessly - though maybe I'm anthropomorphizing and jumping to conclusions.

My heart is pounding from the adrenaline now, and if I hear a crack of a twig from the creek I will jump into orbit. The deer takes off into the brush. I look back at Austin, who looks back at me, You go right on ahead, if you like, I'll wait for you right here.

I contemplate moving up along the creek to peer down in it exactly where I heard the... heavy thing dragging something heavy, but a chill wave of goosebumps washes over me, and my feet are sort of stuck where they are. They don't want to move forward. I decide I don't quite have the nerve.

I turn back toward the creek (keeping the light shining toward the Black Hole) - Austin bolts out of the creek ahead of me, happy to lead the way back toward shelter.

I go back inside, bursting with curiosity and the sad knowledge that we humans are so helplessly clueless about what goes on around us.

Half an hour later, the horses run around their pen again, and I hear snorting.

Perhaps a meal had just been finished and the predator was passing by.

I know something went on out there. It wasn't a coyote. Coyotes are a dime a dozen around here. I've seen one near the herd at times, and they ignore it. I've actually seen Finneas chase one. The horses don't act like that because of a coyote. That dying scream was from a fawn, and that Something Heavy that dragged it was not a coyote.

It was a cougar.

The Two-Horse Mystery and... Cats

Monday March 15 2010

After discovering a new nesting golden eagle pair on Brown's creek, and seeing another set of promising cliffs a mile upstream, I decided then and there that I have to hike the whole of Brown's Creek, from mouth to source in the Owyhee mountains. (Not all at one time).

Last week I headed out on foot with those next cliffs as the destination. The wind was strong and cold enough to make my eyes water. Little snowstorms dodged around the Owyhee peaks, and an occasional errant snowflake zipped past me, and probably didn't hit the ground till it reached Montana.

I started hiking at the dam... but instead of turning down that drainage toward those cliffs, I decided to follow an old 2-track road west, which after a couple of miles landed me on Brown's Creek. I saw a flying golden eagle - possibly one of the pair I'd discovered, or perhaps a new pair in those new cliffs I was going to.

As I descended into Brown's Creek, I was sure I'd see a road leading out on the other side (I did), and I was sure I'd see a homestead (I did) which was the one we rode to on the Forgotten Girth Trail. It wasn't! It was another homestead I hadn't seen before! That meant the the Forgotten Girth Trail Homestead was further upstream. I looked downstream toward the cliffs, upstream toward more surprises...

I chose upstream. I hiked along more cliffs, crossed through more drainages running into Brown's Creek, one with quite a lot of running water. I discovered a nice spring, some cool rock formations,
and I found a place along a game trail where deer bedded down.

About this time I'd started glancing behind me, and keeping close watch on the cliffs. I've heard occasional rumors of cougars in this country, but I have never seen proof. That doesn't mean much though. I once complained to my Toiyabe (California) Forest Service Ranger friend, who said there were cougars in that country, though I'd never seen one. He answered, "Oh, but they're watching you!"

That's something you tend to think of when you're walking in somewhat vulnerable places, such as below small bluffs, in narrow washes, and along a running creek with tall sagebrush (some of them 8 feet tall) and thick willows. Hmmm. I didn't see any cougar sign, (though the ground was too hard to see recent footprints), and I didn't feel watched, but then we humans aren't very in tune to things like that, even if we think we are.

I kept thinking I'd see the FGT Homestead, just around the next bend in the river, at the next locust grove, just past those next cliffs... but I kept hiking upstream, and it never arrived. (A map would have been handy, yes, but I wasn't carrying one.) I was quite sure, when I decided to finally turn around for the day, that the FGT Homestead was indeed past the next set of cliffs. In fact I could see a road coming out on the other side of the creek in the distance that I was (pretty) sure we'd ridden out on. But I'd save that for another day.

I turned around and set out hiking cross country, taking a guess at where the dam was (I didn't have a compass, either - my GPS conked out soon after I set the starting point and timer on it). I crossed more drainages, found more canyons, passed through a sage grouse lek, and suddenly started seeing horse poop, and not too old. Horses!?

There shouldn't be horses turned out here for winter grazing, and there weren't wild horses here - the closest mustang herd is probably 20 miles northwest, across many fences. There were no cows turned out here at the moment either. I started seeing horse tracks that weren't too old. People riding out here (in the middle of nowhere)? Sure, we do things like that, but nobody else would be out here. And there was too much horse poop and tracks for a couple of random riders.

I followed the curve of a hill - and there they were. Two horses. A chestnut with gray mane and a pinto. Only two?? How very odd. If ranch horse were turned out here (unlikely), there would be more than two. But if they were wild horses... how did they get here and, a pinto?? (Pretty one, at that,)

They had their backs to me a hundred yards away. Good thing I wasn't a cougar. "Hey guys!" I yelled.

Their heads flew up and they whipped around and stared in my direction. I waved and walked around so they could see I was a human.

That set the chestnut off. He (she?) ran back and forth snorting, stopping, staring, bolting, running away, turning to run back and look - wild mustang behavior. The pinto didn't seem half as bothered, but he (she?) followed the chestnut closely.

I kept switching between my crappy little binoculars and my crummy little camera so I neither got a real good look at, nor real good pictures of them. The chestnut looked a bit mustang-y and had a longer shaggy mane, and in one of the pictures I think you can see a freeze brand on his neck. The pinto was more stocky, like a ranch horse, and her mane was shorter. I never got a good enough look to see if they were male/female, nor if they were shod.

I didn't bother approaching because I knew I wouldn't get much closer. They continued their behavior - the chestnut running back and forth and looking alarmed and snorting, the pinto following and looking, but not too worried.

I called a few people when I got home, but nobody knew anything about them. I called the rancher Bob who has the grazing allotment, but he didn't call back.

Today while out riding, I happened to run into, of all people, Bob. He was out checking on his cows (the ones stalking our fence line).

"I've heard of those 2 horses from different people over the last couple of years. I think they were dumped out there." One might have been a mustang someone had for a while, the pinto might be part mustang part ranch horse. Who knows. They've got plenty of grass out there now, and access to water, so... I guess we've got two Brown's Creek Mystery Horses out there. It must be good luck to come across them.

"You ought to be careful when you're hiking Brown's Creek," Bob said, when I told him of my mission to hike the whole thing. "Cats."

Cougars! "There are a lot out there," he said - but I'm skeptical. "A lot" can mean many things. There can't be that many out there, and anyway, the chances of seeing one are quite low. I'd be quite lucky to see one (preferably he won't see me) - luckier than finding two horses in the middle of the Owyhee desert.

If I do run into a cougar, hopefully he won't be hungry and I won't look appetizing. I will keep looking over my shoulders. I expect those horses will too.

Cougar

Wednesday December 31 2008

With much of the snow having melted, today was the first time we could hit the trails horseback in a couple of weeks. The horses were a little on their toes - who knows what could have taken up residence behind the sagebrush in that time. Things like... Horse Eating Monsters, just waiting to snatch some unsuspecting horse into their gaping maws!

It was a Horse Eating Jackrabbit that, soon after we started out, almost devoured Surri, who was leading Jose down the road. Surri skittered on ice, and Carol turned him right up the steep hill right after that killer jackrabbit. Jose followed, amused at the naivete of Surri and his Horse Eating Monster.

Near the top of the climb, Surri found his jackrabbit, which turned out not to be a Horse Eater after all, but what Surri DIDN'T see, and what Jose DID see, was the COUGAR on the hill.

Neighbor Charlie is, among other things, a sculptor, and he has a unique cougar sculpture on a hill. If you get a fleeting glimpse of Charlie's cougar on the hill from a distance, your heart will skip a beat and you'll do a double take - there's no mistaking what it is supposed to be.

As Jose and I followed Surri up the hill, to our left on a parallel hill, standing out on the ridge Jose saw something that struck every fiber of his prey-animal-being as danger. His head snaked high in the air, his ears pinpricked, his eyes grew wide as saucers, his nostrils dilated, and he snorted and inhaled and blew, trying to get (although fearful of getting) a scent of the cougar that he clearly saw.


I could feel his pounding heart shaking his body with great thuds, and it wasn't from exertion from the hill we were climbing.

I stroked Jose's neck, and told him there was really nothing to be afraid of, and he couldn't smell danger, but Jose knew this really could be a genuine Horse Eating Monster. One great thing about Jose is that he doesn't panic, and when I asked him to turn away from the cougar and keep moving, he did, though he was clearly alarmed. I let him turn to look back at it a few times - "See Jose? It didn't move" - but he kept snorting until we'd moved well past the danger, out of range of a big Horse Eating Cougar with big claws that might jump on our backs.

The rest of the ride was relaxing, and Jose found many fresh piles of horse poo on the flats to sniff. Wild horses? It was probably a rancher's horses turned out for the winter - we came across a herd of them last winter, though they certainly acted like wild horses.

Back at the ranch, Jose told his Horse Eating Cougar tales to his pals gathered round the hay feeder. A golden eagle flew in and alighted in our tallest tree and listened in.

I would bet that's not the first cougar, sculpted or real, that Jose has seen or smelled.