Wednesday, 5 July 2017
Blood Chilling Tales From The Timberland!
When we were kids out camping and hunting I never cared about bears at all. Bears are like us: they're big and happy and stupid as long as they don't get hungry or sick - generally speaking if you see one, you walk one way nonchalantly and they will go the other way. But cats...? Those things just creep me out. Once while out hunting I went to collect Bob or Skinbag on the way back to the truck and we could see Skinbag's footprints in the snow - followed by those of a cougar. It had tracked him for a couple hundred yards and then broke off without him ever knowing he was being followed and stalked.
Old Jim from the rod n' gun club tells of a similar tale: he was sliding down a game trail after elk in the foot hills when the hairs on the back of his neck rose - and he turned around to see a cougar about 20 yards behind. He slowly brought his rifle to bear and was lining up for the shot when the cat just decided to move on. Jim wisely held his fire. Slightly rattled, he carried on about 200 yards up the trail and was confronted by a nice bull elk that even offered him a nice broadside shot.
"But I couldn't take it!" he snivelled as he told us the story later at the range, "because if I dumped it and had to pack the meat out - I would have to get past that damned cat!"
I've never seen one and would prefer not to shoot them if at all possible - but I've seen their tracks everywhere in the west country and if they showed up in my neighbourhood I would tell the cops that they either get rid of it or I will!
It doesn't bother me to say it: I will always respect bears... but I fear cats.