Opening Tease

So what should we make of these mountain-lion sightings cropping up throughout New England?

They’re certainly noting new. The first sighting I recall hearing about was way back in the 70s when construction crews were clearing the forest on both sides of a Roaring Brook hollow for the new Whately Glen reservoir along the Whately/Conway line. The news spread fast around South Deerfield.

“Yeah, the guys were sitting there at midday eatin’ sandwiches and — Bingo! — outa nowhere steps a mountain lion, long, sloping tail, and it walks right past them, bold as brass.” At least that’s the story I recall.

Since then, there have been many similar sightings. More than you can count. Northeast Kingdom, White Mountains, backwoods Maine, North Shore, Quabbin, Goshen State Forest, Shelburne, Colrain. You name it, a cougar’s been seen there. Or at least it seems that way.

Myself, I’ve been in a lull when it comes to writing about big cats, but I’ve more than covered it over the years, and circumstances dictate that I touch on it again.

Why?

Well, it all started in Shelburne at the start of shotgun deer season when an old softball teammate piqued my interest. Right there, in a veritable wildlife refuge near my home that I’ve hunted some, he claimed there’s been a big cat prowling. Saw evidence, had a local woodsman inspect it and, sure enough, appeared to be a big cat.

Bemused, I filed it in my memory banks, behind all the other similar info I’ve encountered over the past 30-some years, and moseyed on.

About two weeks later, on my normal routine with my dogs, I stopped to chat with a neighboring farmer and, lo and behold, more food for thought.

“Have you seen the mountain lion?” she asked.

“No, what mountain lion?”

“There’s been one around here. Three people have seen it around my cornfield the past couple of months. If you see it when you’re hunting, shoot it. I want to see it.”

Hmmmmmmm? Interesting.

Here I am, not two miles as the crow flies from the site my old softball buddy identified as a big-cat’s domain, and now another report, in my mind a credible report.

At the very least, it gets you thinking. You start to wonder, if there’s a big cat in my neighborhood, then why haven’t I seen it or at least sign of it? A puzzling question.

I discuss it with my hunting buddy, run it by my wife and ponder it over and over again: If there’s a big cat living where I’ve run my dogs twice daily for a couple of years, wouldn’t you think I’d be aware of its presence?

Maybe, maybe not.

Within days of my impromptu neighborhood chat, I’m hunting along the Deerfield River in Conway and my hunting buddy, an old trapper from way back, approaches me in the woods. We’ve completed a small push, four or five deer, fresh tracks in the snow, have burned us, fleeing down a steep bank toward the Deerfield, and it’s over. Off to somewhere else.

“Hey, Bags,” he says, motioning with his hand and arm, “follow me, there’s something I want to show you. It’s only a little out of our way.”

So off we go, him leading the way through the hardwood stand. We pop out into a rye field, angle toward the back corner some 80 yards away, poke into the tangled edge overlooking the river far below, and pick up his boot prints. He walks maybe 30 feet, stops, studies the ground and points.

“Yeah, right here, take a look at this and tell me what you think.”

Two feet from his right foot is a round impression in the snow, big around as a softball, pads clearly discernible. Cat tracks. Big ones.

“Let me tell you something: I’ve trapped bobcats, 30-plus pounders, and that’s no bobcat. Too big. And it’s no bear, either. Gotta be a big cat.”

We backtrack, find a few more clean impressions and I’m convinced. Big cat. The kind you’d hate to see curling its lip at you.

“We’ll have to stop and talk to the farmer one of these days, see if he’s seen a big cat in the neighborhood.”

A few days later, my friend talks to the farmer on the phone and asks him the big question.

“No, I’ve never seen one but my son did a few years ago, t’other side the river, over by Cosby’s. He said there was no mistakin’ it. Had a long, sloping tail.”

A few days later we’re shootin’ the breeze in an abutting landowner’s dooryard, talking about deer and turkeys and bears, and we pose the question. Ever seen a big cat here?

“Yeah, I swear I saw one over there, across the road, walking through the pasture. At first I thought it was a deer, then a coyote, but then I saw the tail. Sure it was a mountain lion. Never seen it since, but I guess they’re around.”

Perhaps so, but they must have an uncanny ability to avoid people … most of the time.

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