Mountain lion, puma, cougar, panther, or catamount is second in size only to the jaguar among cats in the Americas.  I was born into a family of Penn State alumni and as a child I knew the cat only as the Nittany Lion.  Developing as a hunter and eventually becoming a Penn State Nittany Lion myself; I was clearly destined to develop a fascination with this powerful predator and no doubt eventually plan a mountain lion hunt.

The mountain lion despite his strength, size, and habitat to feast on large animals such as deer and elk, did not evolve as the apex predator.  Submissive to the bear and wolf, the cat remains evasive.  He is an ambush predator and rarely seen by chance.  Cunning, the cougar travels great distances in search of his prey or mate.  Territorial but with a wide home range, the cougar seems almost mythical at times. 

Perhaps the most elusive of all North American big game animals, the cougar creates quite a challenge for the hunter.  Unique compared to other big game hunts, there is a required symbiotic relationship between dogs and hunter - one cannot be successful without the other.  I’ve done many hunts solo but this is one animal that necessitates a good hounds-man to accompany you.  Without the hounds the hunter will likely never encounter the cat.  Without the hounds-man the dogs will likely not find the lion.  Your hounds-man becomes your guide and boss.  He is responsible for the dogs and therefore determines were to go to find a track, how to follow the dogs, and when to quit.  Even if you paid the man, he remains in charge. 

Two styles of lion hunting exist.  Snow hunting consists of driving roads until a fresh cat print is found.  The dogs are then allowed out to track.  The guide follows his dogs and helps along the way until the cat is treed.  The most true and able hunters will follow the dogs in pursuit.  The second and much more challenging style is dry ground tracking.  Mules are used to travel great distances in search of a fresh lion track.

I imagine one of the first hunting techniques must have been tracking; think of the African bushman.  Such a rudimentary and fundamental approach only seems appropriate to be done by primitive methods.  Hunting on snow machines or riding in a truck wasn’t for me.  Riding mules mixed with hiking by foot like frontiersman of our past seemed most fitting. 

My great western hunt began in Grand Junction.  I was picked up and taken to a bunk house adjacent to the home of Wayne Pennell, my outfitter.  The bunk house had all the modern conveniences electricity, propane heat, hot shower, refrigerator, even a satellite TV, and wireless internet.  The following morning I prepared my breakfast, packed my lunch, and headed out to meet my guide.  He was preparing the mules and dogs for our days travels. 

Similar to how I’ve tracked deer in Northern Maine, several days are spent simply discarding unused areas and discovering the pockets where the mountain lion are currently active.  I spent four days riding a mule alongside my guide and hounds-man before finding a fresh track.  An estimated 200 miles were covered over my five day hunt.  A sore backside, painful knees, and muscle cramps in places a person never knew they had muscles can be expected.  Tough clothing such as a tin cloth dust coat or leather chaps were helpful when riding among the many cedar and sage brush thickets.  Days of searching revealed scratches and prints made from a mountain lion but most of those lacked freshness.  Freshness is a relative term.  A print a few hours old is considered fresh when tracking deer.  Hunt mountain lions with proper cold scenting dogs....a two day old track is fresh enough. 

A fresh lion print needs to be found early in the morning to allow time to trail the animal.  If discovered late in the day often there is not enough time to catch up to him.  If a print is found late in the afternoon the dogs will be tired.  If hunting in warm temperatures the dogs will potentially over heat before reaching the cat.  If a good print isn’t found by a certain time the day is over and we returned to the truck.  The country is rugged and in most instances there is only one way up and only one way down.  It will take most of the day to finish a loop of travel.  If no fresh print was found riding the loop we headed home early; there will not be enough time in the day to finish a second loop.  

Throughout the search the hunter needs to decipher dog prints from that of his quarry.  With the experience of a good guide one can learn quickly.  Cat prints will not show toe nail marks while a dog print often will.  The shape of a cat and dog print will differ.  The first and fourth toe pads of a mountain lion tend to point more forward rather than a dogs whose first and fourth toe pads may point more laterally.  The pad of the cat will have three lobes pointing backwards.  A dogs will only have two.  An experienced tracker such as my guide Wayne Pennell can quickly tell them apart. 

On my hunt it wasn’t until late afternoon during the fourth day that we found a lion track fresh enough to provide scent for the dogs.  It was two days old but the hounds began sounding off and working to find the next piece of scent.  The dogs could follow enough to get a direction on the cats travel...it was heading west.  Plans were made for the next morning to start our daily search several canyons to the west.

As we had done the four prior days, mules were brushed then saddled.  I fed them oats while Wayne the hounds-man and guide, gathered up dogs.  Dogs and mules were subsequently loaded into the trailer.   Roughly 25 minutes later we arrived at the base of the mountain. Collars were placed on the dogs and mules were unloaded.  Within a few hours of riding we crossed a two day old mountain lion print.  It was Wayne who first saw the track.  He could tell it was older by the fact the print appeared to have been pulled up from the frost that night.  He called his dog Uno to scent the print.  Uno barked, but the frost and dry sandy soil made it difficult to trail. 

The lion was still heading west.  Given the lack of a fresher track we set out on this one.  It was Wayne with his experience and knowledge of how the mountain lion travels which kept us on point.  Demonstrating the intrinsic symbiotic relationship between hunter and dog, it was the guide who kept on the old track.  Understanding travel patterns through cougars he’s hunted in past seasons and years, Wayne was able to pick up the cat print again several canyons over.  We came to a small creek bottom and Wayne allowed his dogs time to hunt.  Within seconds the dogs sounded off in harmony to the fresh scent of a mountain lion.  By Wayne’s skill we had caught up to within a day of the big cat.

A fresh track made much easier trailing.  Many miles and hours passed through the most rugged canyon country one can imagine.  Stiff hiking boots with good ankle support are need to traverse such treacherous terrain.  Walking rather than riding the mules allowed better examination of the prints.  The mules at this point trailed behind us.  Leather gloves to hold the reins were helpful not only for leading the mules, but also to move cedar branches out of our way as we bushwhacked along the lion track.  After hours of tracking, the lion prints headed toward steep cliffs near the top of the mountain.  The hounds-man yelled “give em hell boys” as the dogs sounded off in rapid secession.  A combination of information including the dogs frequent barks, the fact the prints were heading into steep cliffs, along with the gps information all indicated the cat had been treed.  Likely treed on an outcropping along a cliff face. 

Mountain lion hunting is not about the kill.  When a lion is treed shots are most likely close and simply.  One needs only a light weight gun with iron sights.  Hunting the cougar is about the process.  The fun is in the tracking.  Mountain lion hunting is a throwback to the old days, to the days of those explorers and westerners who settled this country.  Read the journal from Theodore Roosevelt and you’ll quickly see hunting with hounds was a way of life.  Now, tracking and hunting with hounds is a lost art.  Those select few who retain this skill are to be respected.  There is no other big game animal in North America who is consistently hunted by this technique.  Every hunter should experience this classic style exemplified by hunting the mountain lion. 

Hunting the American lion is about the process.  The challenge is in the track.  The pride is in participation and putting the time necessary to find him on dry ground.  I will not tell you if I killed that mountain lion or not, that is not the purpose of this article.  The purpose of this article is to briefly describe the process; which is the reason for hunting this animal.  If you have ever wanted to test yourself physically and mentally against one of the greatest predators in the America’s then consider hunting the cougar.  Wayne Pennell at Cathedral Bluff Outfitters can help along the way. 

Day 4 - 3 pm
After three days of hard hunting than involved over 70 miles in the saddle performing extreme, back-county riding combined with another 10 miles on foot, the action has finally picked up, turning red hot in just the last few moments.  We had scoured mile after mile through steep, rocky canyons, washouts, cliffs and dense, tangled brush in search of an elusive quarry.

We were up high, just beneath a massive rim of near vertical cliffs overlooking Arapaho Rock in Northwest Colorado.  Wayne Pennell, of Cathedral Bluff Outfitters, professional outfitter and guide, had been working on this tom for several weeks.  The tracks and scratches told a compelling story for an expert like Wayne.  This is an exceptional lion.

As winter morphs into an early spring, elk and deer feeding patterns suddenly shift, and they abandon high country for new feeding grounds.  When the food source moves, so too do the predators.  Finding fresh elk sign is the key to finding fresh lion sign.  After a brutal, 3-day search, we are rewarded with a hot track.

The cougar is close when the dogs jump it.  Unfortunately, it heads straight down into one of the steepest, nastiest witch-holes imaginable, with the hounds tracking close behind.

The dogs are out of sight and out of earshot immediately.  Gusting wind makes locating the dogs difficult.  After ten minutes, Wayne drops off the rim to investigate.  He can't tell if the cat is treed, has escaped, or whether the dogs are trapped on the ledges or even killed.  The wind masks all activity below.  Wayne's call means we are in business.

After several moments of frantic probing, I find a way off the rim without taking a 50 ft nose dive onto the ledge below.  Aggressively I push down slope, slanting left to connect with Wayne.  Gasping for air, I scramble through loose rock and boulders, then stop to view the intense action on the edge of a 400 ft bluff.

The cougar is 250 ft away, but nearly straight down, with nothing but air between us.  Wayne confirms that it is a BIG tom and I slide into position, hanging over the cliff-edge and using a few scrub branches as an improvised shooting rest.  Below us, a lone hound Lindsay is battling to keep the cat pinned down.  The lion is only partially visible on the ledge below.  Brush, clinging to the rocky outcropping, is in the way.

The lion surges forward and strikes at the hound.  The dog dodges and fearlessly fights back, driving the cat into full view for an instant.  I pull the trigger and the lion goes down and goes tumbling 200 ft to the rock below.  To Wayne's horror, the lone hound, close on the lion's heels, slides over the cliff as well.

Wayne and I slash our way to the left, circling, driving to get on the scene.  Rapidly we descend, hand over fist until we hit a sheer rock wall.  We're stopped cold and there is no possibility of descending further in this direction.  Then we hear multiple dogs barking from over the cliff face and we know that dogs are alive and that they have found a way down.

Wayne works over to where the lion and dog had gone over and discovers that his hound is alive, but trapped 25 ft below on a narrow ledge.  The cat is out of sight further below.  Quickly he uses rope from his pack and repels off the cliff and within moments he recovers the brave dog.

Another dog joins us from out of nowhere, and we circle to the right to find a way down.  Several dogs are barking far below and this gives Wayne hope that his valuable, highly trained hounds are OK.  We force our way over the treacherous edge and gasping in the thin air, plunge down the rocky, unstable slope.

After reaching the bench 400 ft below, we scramble left over undulating mounds of loose, sloping debris.  As we crest the final mound, Wayne finds that one if his top hounds, Pepper, lay dead a few yards from the cougar. 

The cougar is an absolute monster.  After a few hurried photos we quickly go to work skinning the cougar and boning out the meat.  Packs loaded, we are ready for the trek out.

Wayne says it's the biggest lion he's ever caught!

4 pm
We are in trouble.  It took eight hours to get to this point.  The mules and our jackets are miles away.  We must climb several thousand feet, vertically just to regain the ledge where we jumped the cat.  Wayne carries the added weight of meat and the hide in his pack.  We are dangerously low on water.  There is less than four hours until darkness.  The math is against us.

It is too dangerous for us or the mules to move at night on this mountain.  We risk being trapped high up on the mountain overnight, freezing, & dehydradted.  This prospect we did not relish and we move out like our lives depend on it.

The climb to regain the rim is a grueling, hand-over-fist slug fest.  Every twenty feet we stop to catch our wind and allow our pounding hearts to slow just enough.  Then we continue the back breaking, muscle wrenching climb.

The extra weight in Wayne's pack is difficult to balance as we scale the rock face.  He wrenches his back several times to keep from going over the edge uncontrollably.  Disaster averted, his back aches and throbs intensely as we continue our climb.

My right thigh no longer wants to work.  Five hours earlier my thigh was impaled on a jagged branch as my mule plunged through a particularly nasty thicket.  I shrugged off the injury at the time, but now, the 10 inch gash has swollen and the thigh muscles spasm and fail to cooperate.  Climbing with one good leg is nearly impossible.

5 pm
We regain the rim, but take only a moment to catch our breath.  We grab handfuls of snow whenever it comes within reach to cool our overheated bodies and fend off critical dehydration.   Hot sweat from our exertions does not bode well.  If we are still on the mountain when the temperature plummets, cold sweat and hypothermia become the enemy.

Neither of us talks as we propel ourselves through the wilderness.  Fatigue, pain and thirst gnaw at us and the dehydration is nauseating.  Neither of us has enough saliva to spit just once - not for a million dollars.

Every fifty feet a voice in my head begs me to lie down and rest.  A stronger voice knows what will happen if we can't find the mules and get off the mountain by nightfall.  It is a marathon, an ordeal of endurance as we struggle to maintain a punishing pace.

6 pm
Exhausted, we locate the mules.  (Wayne knows the mules will be mad and not tolerate trying to tie the lion on so he gets on his mule with the heavy lion still in his pack).  Quickly we load up, throw on jackets against the dropping temperature and push the mules down the mountain.  We go like demons, but is it enough?  It took four hours to ride in to this point.  We have less than two hours until nightfall.

In the saddle, Wayne's pack becomes a more onerous burden on his already aching, wrenched back.  Keeping my right leg in the stirrup is nearly impossible.  Compensating for the thigh wound for two hours has left my left leg a cramping, painful mess.  The only improvement in riding over walking is that we get to catch  our breath in the thin air.  The dogs are now exhausted and we have to push them to keep up.

We smash down the slope on the mules, navigating nasty deadfalls and steep, jagged ledges.  Fear is a great motivator and I am motivated.  Crimson twilight spans the western horizon and we press into dark tunnels of forest and rock.  Our elevation drops and I feel energy return as the concentration of oxygen rises.  The plunge downward is a bone-jarring, muscle-wrenching test.  My muscles are overtaxed, aching and only partially responsive.

Suddenly we are engulfed in blackness.  The darkest timber is behind us and a waxing moon offers just enough illumination to keep the mules moving safely.  We press on and on.  Exhausted, we reach the truck an hour after nightfall.

Epilogue
Mind over matter.  That's the only explanation for covering the ground we did, in the time we did, in the condition we were in.  Physically, it is the hardest four hours I can every remember.

The cat is magnificent as is Wayne and his phenomenal hounds.  I owe them everything, especially Pepper who was lost in valiant pursuit.  I will try to hunt with Wayne again.  I've never met an outfitter who worked as hard as Wayne.  His hounds and this country are unsurpassed.  I must come back to this place.

This will go down as one of the most difficult, most thrilling, most satisfying and enjoyable experiences I've had in the field.  Mentally and emotionally, this journey has left me more alive, invigorated, and connected.