Hello, Kitty.
Needed a few days to process this experience. Sitting now in a wi-fi equipped coffee shop with a better appreciation for civilization.
Saturday Tricia and I hiked out in the backcountry of New Mexico, exploring one of the transitional areas between desert and mountain terrain. On advice from friends, we followed a stream deep into a gorgeous box canyon. By walking the streambed against the current, we eventually worked our way through an increasingly deepening and narrowing canyon, to the source of the water. In this case, moisture dripped from a seep about 20' up a rock wall in the 100' semi-circular ampitheater forming an overhanging dead end.
[EDITOR'S NOTE: My favorite living author, Craig Childs, writes about this topic much more eloquently. Simply a must read: The Secret Knowledge of Water.]
As the walls narrowed Tricia mentioned, "I wonder if we're being watched. This is perfect mountain lion habitat." I agreed, and we kept up conversation to advertise our humanness. Deer don't talk.
Several hours later, we retraced our steps along the watercourse, back to the sun, by now walking relatively open plain surrounded by buttes. "Deer," I said, "and...mountain lion! You were right." We were looking at palm-sized prints following and overlapping the mule deer tracks.
***
Somewhat later my blonde Scandinavian-ancestored companion was unhappily slow-roasting in the desert sun. We sought shade beneath a large boulder at the foot of a talus slope.
Those of you who know me remember I cannot resist anything vertical. Particlarly if it involves rock...a carryover from my rock-climbing days. "You rest here. I'm just going to check out the cliffs above us. I promise I won't climb or do anything stupid."
I scrambled up 50 sloping degrees of loose rock and soil, following the faint outline of a deer trail, reaching the base of the cliff about 80+ feet above Tricia. The soft dirt formed a nearly abrupt transition to beautiful overhanging rock-climber-droolable cliffs. Nearly abrupt...because there was a foot-wide path of oft-traveled dirt hugging the contours of the rock.
The growl coincided with my realization, "I shouldn't be here."
My scent was blowing downwind, around a blind corner.
"I'm going to pretend that was not what I think it was," I decided. Fear won't help me here. Without turning, I backed down the slope. Facing the sound. Mountain lions can cover 60' in a single downward vertical leap. They kill prey by sinking their fangs into the neck vertebra at the base of the skull.
***
Tricia had heard the growl as well.
She had called my name, almost a scream, but I had not even heard her. Seperated by 120' of space and curved earth, she had been both out of sight and out of earshot. Foolishly, I realized later the risk to her was even greater. She is 115 lbs, I am 185...about the same as a cat.
***
If I had to anthropomorphize the growl, I would characterize it as a warning. Not fear. Not aggression. Just an assertive suggestion.
This was the sound, but it was of longer duration, and more intense.
Pleased to still be here. Lucky enough to encounter one of these elusive "ghosts" whose range can be 25 square miles. Humbled to know I am considered prey, two hours drive from a concrete & neon city.
Bemused to realize every hiker, every mountain biker, who walks that trail is under surveillance.
And consideration.
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