by: Jonathan Lesperance
Real Hunters: Max Ahlvers, Jon Lesperance, Jason McNutt, & John Almberg
I
was awakened by several wet kisses from a soft fuzzy muzzle. My friend and hunting buddy, Jason, had let his fiancé’s small pug Isabella into the room to wake me up. “Time to get going,” Jason said. “Did we get any snow last night?” I asked. “Not enough to cut a track, the wind has burned off all of last night’s drop,” Jason replied. That meant we would be calling coyotes instead of looking to cut a mountain lion track. I pulled myself out of bed and began to put on the camouflage zoot suit required to fool today’s demanding coyotes. We loaded the truck and after a quick petrol stop to fuel the truck and a McDonald’s breakfast to fuel us, we were off. After a brief 30 minute drive we were out of town and driving through a valley to get to our first stand. We were surprised at the amount of fresh snow that had fallen the night before, and it looked as though the wind had taken little effect through the valley. We began second guessing our choice to call for coyotes instead of looking for lion tracks. Suddenly we were casting a suspicious eye toward every post-holed set of tracks that disturbed the snow across the road we were on. Either way, we both felt that is was going to be an eventful day. As we were beginning to climb out of the valley we both noticed an odd track that spanned the width of the road just shortly ahead of us. The track looked like a kid had taken an old aluminum saucer and went sledding across the road. Coincidentally,
this was our initial conclusion before Jason pulled the old Chevy up to the site of the track for closer inspection. I rolled down the window to give a nonchalant glance at the sled marks, still considering it to be left by some young child making the most of a snowy Christmas break from school. Suddenly Jason’s voice broke the sound of the truck motor as he excitedly exclaimed, “That’s a big cat!” Immediately after hearing his revelation I understood the significance of the sled marks on the road. “He’s dragging a deer! That means there’s a fresh kill nearby!” I replied. Jason parked the truck and we both jumped out for a closer inspection of the dramatic scene we had stumbled upon just a few hours after it must have taken place. Upon our investigation we determined a few things: first, that the kill was a mule deer. We were hesitant to follow the trail to its end for fear of bumping the lion off of the carcass if he was indeed still feeding on it. This caused us to be uncertain if the dead deer was a doe or a buck, though we assumed it would probably be a doe since the area we were in is considered a local nursery due to its high population of does and fawns. Secondly, we found a second set of tracks from the lion heading against the direction of the drag trail. We were unsure if this was the lion’s tracks that were made during the hunt, or if the lion had buried his kill and left to bed down for the day. Finally, we realized that the lion was not as big as originally thought because the tracks made on the drag were splayed
out and deeper from the extra effort the lion had to exert in dragging his kill. From the second set of tracks Jason concluded that the lion was either a large female, or a young Tom, and we were both hoping for the latter. Jason immediately got on his cell phone to notify some friends with hounds about our discovery. Meanwhile I took pictures of the drag and tracks and recorded some video footage of the scene. After several phone calls, Jason walked back to the truck and informed me that he had only left voice mails and spoke with the wife of one of his friends who told him that they had already taken the dogs out to cut tracks somewhere else in the area. After considering what to do, we decided to continue on with the original plan of calling coyotes. We did our best to cover up the drag marks on the road and the other tracks, with the hope that we would get a hold of someone with dogs later and could resume the chase for this lion. Mountain lion hunting is a rather competitive sport, both among outfitters and the die-hard maniacs who risk life and limb as well as their hunting trucks in the hope of cutting just a single lion track in the snow.
The second type of lion hunters were exactly the kind of people we were hoping to contact. Over the last several years, Jason has harvested two very respectable toms with these gentlemen, and I had the privilege of harvesting a smaller tom with them as well. After quickly looking over the area to make sure there was nothing to tip off anyone else with hounds that a lion was in the area (despite the fact that all of our footprints had made the scene look like a small army marched through), we continued on our way, musing over the possibilities of what adventures the day might yet hold for us. We made one stand that yielded no coyotes. As we got back to the truck to drive to the next stand, thoughts of the lion drag and the kill would not leave our minds. It was then that Jason mentioned the idea of returning home to get a trail camera to post near the kill, since we figured we’d at least be able to get pictures of the lion that would be visiting the carcass over the next few days. This seemed like a novel idea and immediately we were headed back toward town. As we were driving, Jason continued to try to get a hold of the houndsmen. To our surprise, there was an answer this time. Justin, one of the houndsmen, answered his phone with, “You better have a found a big track to keep interrupting us.” Jason told him of our discovery and immediately we heard they
would be meeting us at the drag in an hour. We made our way to where the drag crossed the road and parked the truck. We made one quick phone call to another friend, Max, who had been trying to harvest a tom for the last four years with his bow, but to no avail. Max was all too eager to meet us at the prospect of finally getting his cat. Now we had a hunt! We got out of the truck and decided it would be prudent to follow the set of tracks opposing the direction of the drag to see if that was the initial path of the lion or if it was the direction it had headed to bed after the kill. This way we would know which direction to send the hounds after the lion. Following the lion’s tracks was one of the most insightful experiences in hunting I’ve ever had. We watched as the lion’s tracks went from long strides across open fields, to where they became hunched and methodical steps as it crossed a ravine and up the other side to the crest of a small meadow. At this point Jason and I noticed several fresh deer beds adjacent to the lion’s tracks. One bed was only two yards away from the lion’s tracks, and I was amazed at how the lion worked the topography of the land to close the distance. Then Jason pointed out how the tracks hunched together and then disappeared. We looked forward and could see where the snow had been disturbed about 15 feet away. This is where the lion
had taken its first bound. As we walked to where the lion had landed we could see another bound, landing again about 15 to 20 feet away. From this last landing we could see where a final third bound allowed the lion to connect with its prey, and the apparent struggle, explained by the torn up ground in the midst of hooves and paws in every direction – it left an ominous tension in my stomach. I was left feeling awe, respect, and a reasonable amount of fear. Being an archery hunter, I know how very difficult it is to get within 40 or 50 yards of a mule deer, and this lion was able to sneak in to 10 yards, and from there make three leaps that put it at the deer’s throat. Another difference is that a good archery kill is a bloody experience, since hemorrhaging is required to kill the animal. Yet at this kill site, save for one solitary drop of blood, there was nothing but tracks and a few tufts of hair. If a mule deer, with senses that far surpass my own, could fall victim to a lion with such apparent ease, what chance would I have if a lion ever fancied me for a meal? All these thoughts are normally kept in the primitive reaches of the subconscious, but watching the tale that the tracks made in the snow and dirt forced everything to the forefront of my mind momentarily. All that was left for us to do now was to wait for the dogs to arrive. Max showed up first and put a single broadhead-tipped arrow in the bulls-
eye on his target at 20 yards. We joked that if he could shoot lights out at 20 yards then he’d have no problem with the five-yard shot that likely awaited us when the cat was treed. Finally, Justin and John arrived with the hounds, and the mounting excitement began to peak when the first mournful bawl erupted out of the dog boxes. One by one we pulled the dogs out and got them collared up. This was nothing new to the dogs, they knew exactly what was about to happen, and their excitement paralleled our own. Once they were all collared we leashed them together and ran them to the drag trail. Justin and John began pointing to the lion tracks and yelling, “Here it is, here it is!” The hounds would plant their muzzles into the tracks, take a deep breath full of the scent and then throw their heads back into the air let out an excited howl, blowing snow and steam into the air. At that point it was time to let them go. We unleashed them and watched as they bounded off down the trail, each dog sounding off one by one as they encountered more and more scent. I paid close attention to John and Justin as they walked the trail. They could recognize and identify each dog’s bark like a father can recognize the sound of his child’s cry in the middle of a room full of children. They all sounded the same to me, loud and excited, but these houndsmen knew their dogs well and they were able to figure out which dog was in the lead and what was going on further up the trail, merely by the sounds of the bawling that ensued during the pursuit. We came upon the kill and I was amazed at how much effort the lion had expended on burying the carcass. It was a large mule deer, but only a doe to our dismay. Jason reached down and brushed off the dirt and branches that covered the corpse and showed me where the lion had opened up the cavity with surgeon-like precision and eaten the liver out of the abdomen. Except for some bites off a Teeth & Claws || Top photo, Justin, John & Max make their way to the tree where the cat is. The cat was missing a claw, possibly from a trap. The size of the lion’s teeth makes it easy to see how they can make short work of a mule deer. Bottom photo, Tacko, a Blue Tick, helps bay the cat while Bonnie is still up in the tree with the tom.
Deer Killer Down || Top photo, look closely and you can see the arrow in flight before it hit the cat. Middle photo, the cat falling from the tree after the shot. Bottom photo, Max picks up the seven foot two, 143 pound cat for some pictures. Photo right, Max and one of the hounds admiring their trophy, a true group effort by the dogs and all the hunters involved.
front shoulder, only the liver had been eaten by the lion so far. We hoped that a bellyful of liver would cause the cat to give up the chase more quickly and that the dogs would have it treed before too long. As we continued on, the dogs in the distance were well up the side of the mountain and their barks were getting shorter and more excited, taking on a more staccato style than the previous long, drawn-out bawling. Jason said the dogs probably jumped the cat and were close to getting it treed. Jason and I decided to hurry at that point, since we could move the quickest and wanted to get to the tree as soon as possible in case any of the dogs were tenacious enough to climb into the tree with the lion. John and Justin had lost some of their best dogs at trees the previous season – one was strangled on a branch after climbing the tree, and another fell to a strong swat from a treed lion. The landscape began to change dramatically too; suddenly we were on an incredibly steep slope in several inches of snow, climbing through rocks and under deadfall timber. I joked with Jason through short breaths about critics of hunting lions with dogs that claim it is easy and no challenge. My lungs were burning and my legs were screaming to stop.This was my second lion hunt, and both of them have been among the most difficult and physically demanding hunts I’ve ever been on. Hunting lions with dogs does not make it easy, it only makes it possible. The dogs were getting louder, and they were barking treed. I was so excited I could hardly contain myself. I wanted to push all the more but I couldn’t manage to move any quicker. We still couldn’t see the dogs through the trees, but the barking was deafening. We moved through the trees and around some more rocks and finally got our first glimpse of the tree, and it was chaos! The dogs were going crazy, running circles at the base of the tree and trying to climb up the trunk before slipping off and falling to the ground. As I surveyed the upper reaches of the tree looking for the lion I realized a dog was nestled into the branches. It had managed to climb all the way up the tree and was barking like mad at a dark figure nestled in the shadows. The dog was a Walker hound named Bonnie, whom I learned later was beginning to make more and more of a name for herself in this pack of hounds, and she was probably the very dog to put the lion into the tree in the first place. I peered at the large cat making eye contact, and I realized instantly that this was a very large tom – its boxed head was big and round, with the ears set back flat against his skull. The cat locked its gaze intently on me as I approached the tree. I was able to see that this cat had blue eyes, and he was burning a hole through me with those large marble shaped eyes as I moved closer. Then, in an instant the lion switched his gaze from me to Bonnie and let out a very real roar and swatted at the dog, breaking branches and sending a flurry of snow down to the ground below. This sent the hounds into a frenzy at the bottom of the tree and it was obvious – the first thing
we needed to do was get Bonnie out of the tree. By this point the rest of the hunting party had joined us, and I volunteered to climb the tree to get Bonnie down. Climbing the tree was incredibly exciting. As I inched nearer to the dog and the lion, my heart beat was racing and adrenaline began coursing through my body. I grabbed Bonnie’s back leg and tried to pull her towards me but she refused with impressive strength, not wanting to leave the tree. I then had to climb even further into the tree to grab her by the collar, a move that took me from eight feet away from the lion to around five. I kept the lion in my peripherals and focused intently on Bonnie. I was finally able to get her by the collar and point her down the tree where Justin was able to take her the rest of the way to the ground. As soon as I had let go of Bonnie’s collar the lion let out another roar, the percussion of which hit my chest and immediately shifted my focus from the dog to the lion. As I looked towards the lion we locked eyes once again and this time he roared and swatted at me, breaking branches in my face. Instinctively I yelled back at him as I began to back down the tree. Once I was safely out of the tree I looked back at the lion, and realized my whole body was in tremors and my hands were shaking nervously. It had been one of the most exciting and frightening experiences of my life. With Bonnie and me safely out of the tree, we all resumed taking a few more pictures and video footage of the lion as Max prepared for the shot. We discussed a few possible shooting lanes and finally decided on a spot that put the lion broadside to Max at about four yards away, but nearly straight up. Max began to draw back his bow and the rest of us were either holding dogs or cameras, waiting for the last climatic moment of the hunt. Max came to full draw and anchored into position, settling his 50-yard pin low and behind the lion’s shoulder to
accommodate both the steep angle and short distance. Max paused for a second, then pulled his shoulders together and released the arrow. The arrow drove deep into the cat nearly straight up and thudded into the lion’s spine. The tree erupted with a flurry of snow and snapping branches as the cat plummeted to the snowy slope below. The hounds erupted into another deafening round of bawling as they lurched at the cat, pulling the leashes taut against their tethered trees or restrained by the rest of us in the hunting party. When the cat landed, it composed itself enough to make a final desperate dash down the canyon. Some of the hounds were released at this point, and Jason, Max, and I gave chase once more. Only 50 yards further down the canyon the cat was nearly expired as the dogs encircled it in their best efforts to provoke a final fight. By the time the three of us arrived at the scene, the lion had all but given up the ghost and Max put his second arrow back into his quiver since it would not be required on this hunt. Bonnie stood defensively over the lion, doing her best to be intimidating to the rest
of the hounds as she had apparently claimed this lion as her own. It seemed fitting that she should be so possessive, since in all likelihood she had put the cat into the tree and had been closer to it than any of the other hounds. Once everyone had arrived, we began to move the cat to a better place for taking pictures. This part of the hunt has become increasingly more important to me. Obtaining good pictures at the consummation of a hunt ensures many important things, such as immortalizing memories with great friends, honoring the fallen animal (regardless of size) and preserving the brief glimpses of real beauty that God sees fit to share with us. After the photo shoot we took turns dragging the cat down the mountain, enjoying the snow covered and now placid scene that welcomed us back to the trucks, tired and triumphant. Even the hounds were quiet, taking turns sniffing the dead lion. While it had taken all day to conclude what had started as a haphazard morning of calling coyotes, it had taken nearly four years to conclude Max’s quest for a lion. It was an exceptional trophy for all of us.
RHM