| It was a bright sunny day
with six inches of new snow in mid-December. Deer season was over, and now I could focus
on reducing the mountain lion population to save our deer herds. At 6 a.m. Byron Bird and
I loaded up the dog sled behind the snow mobile and headed up Morgan Creek near Challis,
ID and over the summit to Meyers Cove. We were looking for the notorious mountain lion
known as Snaggletooth. This cat had evaded us many times before, making giant figure
eights in the snow, crossing over his own tracks trying to confuse our trusty black and
tan hounds. Just last year we had him cornered, and he got away, but not before showing us
his rotten smile which earned him his nickname. We
cut a track in the virgin snow towards the end of the road and unleashed the dogs. The
chase was on. Our lead dog had a piercing bay that was easy to distinguish from the rest.
She led us to an elk kill that appeared to have been abandoned just moments before. This
was to our advantage because Snaggletooth would be running on a full stomach making him
sluggish from the extra bulk.
Trying to outsmart us, he had scaled a
steep cliff over a deep, narrow canyon thinking the dogs would never catch him. But the
great Mutta would not be outdone. Mutta was a 10-year-old black and tan, the leader of the
pack and a new mother. She circled around the cliff until she and the pack had
Snaggletooth cornered. Long before we caught up with her, we could hear her howling,
indicating she was in for the kill. As we approached, we witnessed the battle that was
taking place. Snaggletooth was swinging away at the hounds. He injured two of the younger
dogs, knocking one down the cliff with a swipe of his paw. The veteran Mutta was holding
her ground and acting as if she were in the ring with Muhammad Ali, bobbing and weaving.
We saw Snaggletooth make a death-defying leap for his life and head off toward Camas
Creek.
We though it was over. He had evaded us
once more, but Mutta was not about to give up. She went down the cliff, circling to catch
up with his scent. The dogs were out of our sights. We were relying on the radio collars
and the faint sounds of the bays. Byron Bird, my friend and hunting companion, was
concerned for his dogs when he saw all the blood on the trail. He was afraid the young
dogs might be in danger of losing their lives. For two hours we tracked them over the
creeks and roads. We finally got a strong signal and spotted the cat running down the
cliff about one-half mile away with the hounds in hot pursuit. He crossed the creek and
went up the other side; he was exhausted from the chase. The dogs had him treed. This was
a first! The hounds were baying in harmony alerting us to their success.
In order to reach them we had to put on
our snowshoes. We had a half-hour hike and hoped the dogs could hold on that long. To
complicate things, Byron had just had a pacemaker implanted and I was recovering from
reconstructive knee surgery. What a pair! We had no business tracking hounds, but here we
were.
We approached the tree and Byron started
gathering the dogs, checking their injuries, and tying them up so we could harvest
Snaggletooth. He was an enormous cat, possibly weighing 210 pounds. His face was scarred
from years of battles with hounds and his ears were frost bitten. As tired as he was, he
was still snarling, exposing his rotten teeth, and slashing at us with his claws.
I got out my camera to get a picture. As
I stood under the tree, the cat leapt out of the tree and landed right on me, knocking the
wind out of me. Poor Byron's pacemaker was put to the test. Mutta broke her leash to come
to my rescue and attack the cat. She saved my life as the cat came at me. I injured my
hands in defensive gestures, but survived.
The cat was too exhausted to run any
more and just went back up the tree. Mutta made sure he stayed there, literally going out
on a limb to keep him at bay. After examining my wounds and determining they were as
superficial as were the dogs' injuries, I pulled out a Browning 9MM high power and with
quivering aim, I got him. The hollow point went right through his chest and he collapsed
instantly, tumbling through the branches to the ground at our feet. Mutta dove out of the
tree and mauled the cat. Then she strutted off proudly wagging her tail in victory.
We were one tired crew of dogs and
handlers, but we now had a cat to take home. Even though our adrenaline was rushing, my
knee was throbbing, Byron was winded, and we faced a long journey back to the snowmobile.
We didn't think we could make it. How were we to get this nine-foot cat out of here?
Fortunately it was a down hill run. We leashed the dogs to the cat, and acting as a team
of huskies pulling a sled in the Iditarod, they pulled him proudly all the way back down
the mountain to the
snowmobile.
When I look back on memories of this
hunt, what stands out in my mind is not only Mutta saving my life, but the scene of her
leading the pack dragging the cat. What a dog! What a dog!  The Score Sheet |
