<----- Sound Off

A blizzard; an incredible chase; a record breaking tom mountain lion and now the loss of my best dog..."Ole Chief".

The lion hound’s name was Ole Chief. As a puppy he showed some outstanding traits: loud bawl mouth on trail, hard chop on tree, and a good mind for things in between. As an outfitter with an outstanding pack of veteran lion dogs, I can attest all he had to do was excel, and he did, like no other.

It was December, with snow on the ground; a client ready in camp. The lion hunt was on. One of my guides, Duane Freston, found a lion kill in the bottom of Slick Rock Canyon. My client Bob and I went down to see if the track was made by a large enough tom to fulfill his long awaited desire. Upon reaching the kill, we could tell both a big tom and a female lion had been feeding from it. Bob was impressed by the size of track the old tom had left. So, he took a stick and broke it off to match the exact size of that track. The kill was two days old, and lion tracks headed off everywhere. After making a two-mile loop, we found where the tom tracks left and decided to start dogs on the two-day-old track. Duane started his reliable, old "Bones," and I started Chief. The two hounds cold trailed all day and into the night ten miles and no jumped lion. Over the next two days we treed a female and a young tom, and turned them loose. Not big enough for Bob.

The next day, Bob and I cut for tracks down Slick Rock and found a good fresh tom track. Bob got out and measured it with his track stick and said, "not big enough." I asked, "Are you sure? He’s got a good stride." Bob was determined to go look for "that Big Tom." We didn’t cut anything else that day.

The next day Don Keady from New Jersey arrived in camp. Don and Bob were friends from other hunts and got along well. On the fifth day Duane took Bob, and I took Don. Don and I went back to Slick Rock, and near the bottom we cut a good tom track, the same tom track that Bob had turned down the day before. I called Duane and Bob on the radio and told them to come join in on the fun. We turned Dunny, Yank, Bones, and Slu out on the track. They trailed for three miles or so, and three canyons over we could hear them "treed." Walking up the canyon toward the tree, we found a dead two-point buck that had been killed by this lion. When we arrived at the tree, all four hounds were bawling and chopping continuously as they gazed upon a trophy tom. Don killed him with a bow. That tom was a trophy indeed, as he weighed 180 pounds and dry scored 14 9/16 inches. What a day!

Bob couldn’t believe the size of the tom Don had killed, as he had turned down the track. The next day we split up to look for the tom track that would fit Bob’s stick. Don and I were going down Cooper Canyon, cutting tracks, when Don shouted, "There’s a lion running across the road! It looked like a big one!" Two hours later, Duane and Bob came up, and we turned Bones, Slu, Chief, and Sly on the track. In half a mile they treed a nice tom. After a close inspection, we guessed him to be around 150 pounds and probably would score 14 points or so. This was the fourth lion Bob had turned down. The following day, Duane and Don left camp. Duane needed to report back to work and Don got on an airplane for New Jersey.

On day seven Greg Wilson, a friend of Bob’s and past client of mine, arrived in camp to join in on Bob’s hunt. We decided to hunt higher in Tom Patterson Canyon. It paid off. There it was, the tom lion track that fit Bob’s stick. I turned Chief, Yank, Sly, and Rowser on the track. They cold-trailed five or six miles. Bob and Greg followed the dogs, and I cut higher to try and freshen up the track.

After a 12-mile loop, there he was-a smoking hot track. I called Greg on the radio and told him to pull the dogs and meet me where we had started. I went back to camp to get more dogs and save time, arriving back to the track at 3:00 p.m. I sent Dunny, Slu, and Bally down the track and went back to pick up Greg and Bob.

The afternoon was getting late when we got back to where the dogs were. We drove two miles and stopped and listened. We could hear the dogs treed in a rough canyon below. Both Greg and Bob were worn out, but said they could make it to the tree. We took off. When we got to the tree, there was barely light enough to see the monster tom. I guessed him at mid 15s and 200 pounds. By the time Bob got his bow and gear ready it was pitch dark. We built a fire and pondered our options. It’s illegal to shoot 1/2 hour after sunset. Furthermore, Bob was in his fifties and having chest pains. We decided to pull dogs; Duane’s Slu bitch was 60 feet up in the fir tree. I had to climb up and get her, but when I got to her the lion got nervous and jumped. The dog and I climbed and nearly fell at several points before we reached the ground. I knew we could find his track in the morning,. so I decided we should climb out and take up the chase tomorrow. What a sight, three grown men with flashlights wallowing their way up the canyon through the snow to my truck.

The next morning we picked up this brute tom ‘s track again heading east into some big roadless country. I sent Chief, Dunny, Yank, and Sly on his track. They were running it hard over one ridge and down into a big rough canyon. It was on foot from the ridge top. Bob, Greg and I got two miles out to the edge of the canyon and could hear the dogs still trailing hard clear across the main drainage and up the canyon wall on the opposite side. Greg and Bob were pretty worn out, so I decided to get to my dogs. I got down to the drainage floor and started up the other side in rough, steep, vertical, and jagged ledges. A major storm was coming in and it started snowing.

I got about another mile up and could hear the dogs baying the big tom one canyon over. I sat on a point to try to see the dogs, and faintly, in the far distance, I could make out dogs and lion on the edge of a sheer face. About that time the snowstorm changed to a BLIZZARD. It was bad. Visibility was reduced to about 50 feet, which made me realize I couldn’t get to my dogs. I had no choice but to try and follow my tracks in the old snow to get out by dark. At times I didn’t know whether I was going to make it, but I did. At the truck Greg and Bob said the radio was predicting a major winter storm warning for the next two days, with snowfall of two to three feet. Knowing the situation we went back to camp. Bob and Greg had to return home for prior commitments, and I had no choice but to wait the storm out.

Three days later, with snow machines I broke drifts and got over mountains to get to my dogs. Walking back to them, I found Dunny and Yank trailing out. Sly was ledged up and I found my old Chief dog lying at the bottom of the ledge where they had fought the tom bayed on the ground. He was dead. I buried one of the best dogs I ever owned at the bottom of the ledge and said my farewells. He was an exceptional hound and his memory will last in my heart and mind forever.

Before and since then, I’ve filled many clients with good tom mountain lions. After all these years, my opinion remains firm that hunting an OLE tom lion through the canyons and rim-rock slopes of Utah remains at the top of my list.

End note: two weeks later one of my guides, Duane Freston, filled Bob’s hunt on a nice 13 13/16 tom, weighing in at 150 pounds.