morning 12-3-06
Written by Grampa Will   
Tuesday, 16 January 2007
It it now 6:50, breakfast is over and tea is drank, the dogs have been released from their chains, ready to load up for the days hunt. We are not after anything to kill, it will be a photo opportunity if I can remember to take the camera. Will write more upon our return. Yes, yes, the first successful hunt of the season. Of course, as every year, it seems like it was somewhat of a cluster. The tracks we found were of a female Mountain Lion and at least two kittens, maybe three, there were tracks everywhere. Oh to add to the cluster, the tracks were three days old and had an inch of new snow in them. Being unable to determine which track was which and where they went last, whether it was up the mountain last or down the mountain first, guess that would be the same thing though, would it not? Anyways we took the oldest dog and turned him loose on a couple of tracks headed down off the point of the steep ridge. The old pooch seemed to take on more and more interest as he went from us and to the right. He bawled a few times but with the long drawn out chores it was easy to tell that it was an old track for sure and he was having trouble working it out. It has always seemed like if there is more than one lion, then the job for the dog is harder also.

The old pooch is really not that old but bares the age of 4 years, a black and tan hound dog with not a lot of experience to speak of but he appeared to be working his hardest. However he came back up on the road to start a fresh. We grabbed up his collar and steered him on one of the many tracks headed up the mountain. There was again a few long drawn out bawls from old Buddy the hound but alas he showed back upon the road. Well this other fellow and I were standing there scratching our heads and came up with the bright idea to turn loose another dog, guess we figured two head aches were better than one and sometimes it is but sometimes it's not. More times then not one has more trouble with more dogs, especially on an old track. Well what the heck do you know, so we turned the two of them loose and they went tearing off down the hill and again went to the right with a lot more bawling. Now some people who read this would know but some won't that a bawl is a bark from a hound dog, it is more drawn out then a typical bark and can be heard a lot further away. All of a sudden there filled the air quite the racket of dogs sounding off. Up the hill they came kind of toward us but angling slightly to where they would miss us on the uphill side. We saw them cross the road but didn't see any thing in front of them. Now they are above us and getting to the top of the ridge fast and going out of hearing. At this point in time the two black streaks had no problem running whatever it was that they were running and were sounding off continually.

Well when Buddy and Sheba (the other dog we turned loose) got out of hearing it didn't take us to long to realize that we had better walk over and see what  kind of a track those two were chasing. Not having a lot of confidence in them and knowing their past record of chasing unwanted game, it was nice to know where they had crossed. But on arriving at the spot, we were amazed to find no other tracks but theirs. Running in the wind, barking away, it is not a good concept, but not losing hope we followed their tracks up the hill. They were out of hearing for sure and so we were left alone, trudging up the mountain of deep and cold snow to an unknown destination and a fate that only the future held.
We topped the first little finger ridge and as we stopped to catch our breath, the sound of the dogs floated softly in the air. They were somewhere to our right which would have been to our left when we had first started. They seemed to be a long ways off, so with the thought of a long walk ahead of us, we headed off in that direction. As these rugged Rocky Mountains, with their trees of many shapes and sizes, their rock outcroppings, ridges and valleys that were carved so many years ago, have a tendency of doing, the pups were not that far off after all. For when we topped the next finger ridge we could hear them pretty clear and hope was increased. "They are still moving " Bobby said in a rather confident tone, and they were and as luck would have it coming back in our direction, thank God for small favors. So there we were in what seemed like  the middle of nowhere, atop a lonely ridge covered in snow, and snow upon us from the winter wonderland that we had just came though. Buddy was now below us in a small valley and Sheba was atop the next finger ridge about a quarter mile away but coming back fast. We stood there in awe of the beauty around us and that sweet sound of running hounds that filled the air. It is hard to describe the feeling that comes with hunting hounds until one has experienced it for themselves. It is not like some people think, that hunters are just killers or get off on the killing, it is the hunt, the freedom, the chase, the working of the dogs and the awesome country that we are so blessed to be a part of. It is like looking for that new book that was to be released or like searching the record store for your favorite song. Whether you are hunting for the forbidden mushroom or the ever so lovely honey suckle for it's ever so sweet nectar delight. It is in away the very same. As Sheba was on her way back and Buddy was just below us. We started to make our way down toward him. We were again into lots of lion tracks and by lots of tracks I mean there would be one every 30 feet or so, all going somewhere but not any in the same direction. Buddy was not staying in any one place in particular either and even left the area he was in when Sheba went screaming by. We arrived about that same time and quickly gathered her up. At least one could say that they were still after the big cats and not doing some thing wrong like running deer, which is one of the worst things to happen. However it was obvious to tell that the female was not on any one track but was indeed just running around talking her fool head off at all the scent available. It would be a good guess that at least one member of the puma family was somewhere close but they had eluded the dogs. The conversation was of speculation about were the heck could they be. But then of course, up a tree was about the only option. Which one of these magnificent specimens of Douglas Fir were they in? This part of the forest must be a chunk of state forest because there are still trees larger then 2 ft. in diameter, there just doesn't seem to be any nice sized trees left. Anyways we had about looked up as many trees that our old necks could take and had started to move down the hill back toward the truck when Buddy bawled a couple of times and made Sheba go nuts on the leash, to no avail however for I didn't let her go. We talked a little as we stood there waiting for Buddy to come back down, when he bawled again. I told Bobby that he looked like he was in the same place as he had bawled before. When he made that noise for the third time in the same spot we decided to go look. Back up the hill we went, our strained necks, cold feet, and tired legs had only about a hundred yards to travel to the base of a tree that held a 45 pound tawny colored animal that one might mistake for a nice house cat until of course one got a hold of it. To me it was and is one of the most beautiful animals that has ever been created. It sat perched upon a big limb about 15 feet from the ground and seemed very content with it's self and the safety that the hight offered. It was one of the kittens and that was success to us. No we didn't take any pictures but there is always next time. So until next time. God Bless to all. Grampa  Will