Cougars: sign of the cat

Cougar on snowWhen you are out in the wilderness, it is helpful to know the signs of the cougar, which might tell you that the cat has been by recently, and could still be in the area. This information can be helpful for self-protection, but it is also interesting for its own sake, to be able to understand and interpret the clues in nature.

Cougars leave the same types of signs as many other animals: scat, marks on trees, and tracks. A cougar might also leave uneaten food lying around for a while. Depending on the size of the animal it has killed, it might take a few days for a cougar to consume the entire body. The cougar covers its food cache with a thin layer of dirt and leaves. If you ever find such a cache, you might want to leave the area immediately, as it is very likely the cougar is nearby. But perhaps take a minute or two to look for signs of the kill, such as blood on the ground or drag marks. The cougar will also mark the cache by leaving the scent of its urine nearby, scratching up dirt to cover the urine.

Cougar claw marks on trees are a rare and precious find. With territories as big as 100 square miles or more, the chance of finding the tree a cougar has scratched is smaller than finding a needle in a haystack! Cougar scratch marks can be as high as six feet from the ground, or lower down. Sometimes cougars will use the same tree several times, so there could be multiple sets of claw marks. According to Barbara Butler, author of the fascinating book Wilderness Tracks: How to Sleuth Out Wild Creatures and Wayward Humans, the spaces between cougar claw marks are narrower than those of bears. However, this isn’t that helpful unless you are familiar with the width of the space between bear claws! Barbara luckily provides some additional information: the fore print of a cougar is 3.5″ wide, versus the print of a bear, which is 3¾ – 4″ wide. Ian Sheldon and Tamara Hartson, in Animal Tracks of British Columbia, provide a bigger range: 3.3 – 4.8″ width for cougar fore prints, versus 3.8 – 5.5″ for black bears. Clearly, there could be quite an overlap, making identification based on the claw marks alone unreliable.

However, there are usually other signs nearby for the watchful tracker. Cougar scat is often composed of chunks of dense whitish matter, about the size of charcoal briquettes. There is usually a lot of fur in the scat. Whereas bear scat is usually a big pile or several pieces of looser material, ranging from blackish to reddish, depending on what the bear has been eating. In the later summer and fall there will be lots of berries in bear scat. At other times grass and twig bits are more common. 

Monkey Valley cougar tracksAnd then there is the track itself. It is easy to distinguish between a cougar print and a bear print if the print is clear. Look for animal tracks in mud, soft sand, snow, or bare dirt. Bear rear foot prints look almost like a human foot print, longer than wide, with tapered heel, and often all five toes displaying clearly, with the claw mark well in front of the end of the toe. Cougar prints are roundish in shape, with four toes, and the claws seldom show. Barbara says that cougar claws register about 5% of the time.

I took this picture of a cougar track beside the barn at Monkey Valley, a few springs ago. I spent quite a while looking around the area nearby, but didn’t see any other signs of the cougar. The hind print is slightly smaller, almost registering over the front print in this example. It seems the cougar must have had its thick winter fur on, obscuring some of the details of the print, such as the front lobe, which is usually clearly divided in two, and the toe prints. Here the front middle toes have blended together. Notice that the prints are wider than long(to be continued)

Cougars: planning for an encounter

Cougar pupJust kidding! A little hubris was creeping in there…

Even if the chances of a cougar encounter are very remote, and the likelihood of an attack even slimmer, we must all be aware that the possibility exists, and prepare ourselves with a plan for what to do.

Children: Remember, most cougar attacks have been on children and youths under the age of 16. Cougars are especially drawn to small children, perhaps because their high-pitched voices and erratic movements make them harder to identify as humans and not prey. So keep your kids close by, and if you encounter a cougar, pick small children up off the ground immediately.

Adults: If you meet a cougar while hiking or working in cougar country, follow these guidelines:

  • Never approach a cougar. Normally they will avoid a confrontation, but they can be dangerous when protecting their young or their food. All cougars are unpredictable.
  • Leave the cougar an avenue of escape.
  • Face the cougar and remain upright.
  • Back away slowly. Do not run or turn your back to the cougar.
  • Stay calm. Talk to the cougar in a confident voice. “Good kitty, that’s a good kitty…”
  • Make yourself as big as possible. Pick up sticks or branches and wave them about. Raise your arms in the air.

If the cougar becomes aggressive:Angry cougar

  • Convince the cougar you are a threat, not prey.
  • Throw rocks at the cougar.
  • Speak loudly and firmly.
  • Brandish a big stick. (Or cattle prod, if you happen to have one handy!)
  • If the cougar attacks, fight back.

Many people have survived a cougar attack by fighting back with rocks, sticks, bare fists, fishing poles, back packs, and so on.

Now you have a plan for protecting yourself and your children if you should encounter a cougar. And you also know that the chances of encountering a cougar are very small. You run a much greater risk of being harmed by a bee, another human, or a car.

In the next few postings I will talk about cougar signs that you can watch out for, neat facts about cougars, and the special circumstance of encountering a cougar while on a vision quest or vision fast(to be continued)

Cougars: what to do if you meet one on the road

There is a saying, “If you meet the Buddha on the road, kill him.” This is Cougar roaringconcerned with our mind’s tendency to latch onto ideas and use them to fit our experience into preconceived shapes. Such as, for instance, the idea of how to become enlightened through emulating the life or practices of the Buddha. Since none of us is the Buddha, this won’t work. The only thing we can do is be with our direct experience in the moment, but even hearing…

[The writer was attacked by a cougar and is now in Burnaby General Hospital…]

Cougars: and now for the facts

As I mentioned earlier, when I first moved to Monkey Valley I did some research Beautiful cougar in the wildto find out about cougars, consulting my handy Mammals of British Columbia. But recently I came across a great pamphlet put out by the BC Ministry of Environment, Land and Parks and the BC Ministry of Forests, called Safety Guide to Cougars. This has information that finally put my fears to rest, once and for all. (That is, in combination with my own direct experience of the paucity of cougar encounters, detailed earlier in this thread.)

Safety Guide to Cougars

The pamphlet begins, “British Columbians are fortunate to share their province with cougars, one of the most mysterious and elusive of all creatures. The cougar’s secretive habits and astounding predatory abilities—a cougar is capable of killing a 600 lb moose—have resulted in a wealth of misconceptions and irrational fears.”

According to this government publication, in the past 100 years, only five people have been killed by cougars in BC. To put this in perspective, at least three people are killed by bees in Canada every year! The tiny bee is much more of a threat than the wild, magnificent cougar. Of those five who were killed, four deaths occurred on Vancouver Island.

There have also been 29 non-fatal cougar attacks in BC in the past 100 years, with 20 of them occurring on Vancouver Island. And the vast majority of cougar attacks were on children under 16 years of age.

While I might be suspicious of some things the government tells the populace, in this case I believe they would err on the side of caution. These facts are intended to reassure, and I find that they do. I am not running on Vancouver Island. I am not a child. The chances of having an encounter with a cougar are miniscule, and the chances of being attacked even lower. Given that I’ve already seen one from my car, that may be the only encounter I have with a cougar in my entire lifetime.

This has set my mind at ease. I hope hearing my story has soothed your fears as well, dear reader and potential visitor to Monkey Valley. In the next posting I will tell you some more facts about how to handle a cougar encounter if you ever have one… (to be continued)

Cougars and cattle prods

Bull stands his groundI’m not sure now where the idea of a cattle prod came from. It probably came to me when I was out on a run, dodging Douglas Lake cows and hoping the bull wouldn’t charge me. I looked at how big the cattle are, and thought they are actually much bigger than a cougar. So maybe if the cattle prod moves them around, it might have a deterring effect on a cougar as well.

I went to a farm supply store in Chilliwack, and learned there are different types of cattle prods—short ones and long ones! What kind should I get? This decision required some thought about being attacked, and from what angle would the attack likely come. I imagined a cougar leaping on me from where it was perched on a tree above. I imagined it attacking from the front and side. I imagined it leaping out of nowhere and biting my neck. In the end I decided I needed a short one and a long one. The long one I could use if I saw the cougar coming from the front or side. The short one, worn in a belt holster, I could use to zap the cougar if it was biting my neck from the rear.

Cattle prod--the long versionAre you getting an impression of how ridiculous this is? Well, it took me a few more years to reach that point. I bought both sizes of cattle prod, and for about a year I ran with them both. The small one I wore in a belt holster, around my waist. And the long one I carried in my hand. I did this for at least a year, until I realized that no cougars have ever attacked me, and I’ve never even seen one while out on a run, and it seems unlikely that any cougar ever will attack me. And although I’d never seen any cougar since that one I saw from my car, I’d seen plenty of deer. And I know that the deer are the cougar’s favourite food.

So I finally reached the conclusion that given the cougar has plenty of deer to eat, and given that I am in the middle of a large area of relative wilderness (not encroaching on cougar territory like the houses in North Vancouver), it is very unlikely that the cougar would want me for dinner. So I stopped carrying the cattle prod, and enjoyed the freedom of running without weapons! As you can see, it took a number of years for my direct experience to outweigh the strength of my fearful fantasies… (to be continued)

Cougars: pistol-packing mama!

TargetPrior to moving to Monkey Valley I had little exposure to guns. My dad taught me and my sister Kim to shoot a rifle one summer at the family cabin on Knouff Lake. It was fun, shooting at cans on a log. Learning to watch for the kick. But since then I’d never used a gun, and probably never even seen one.

I believed people when they said I needed a gun at Monkey Valley. Being there all alone, and especially when out running by myself, it seemed I needed a gun for protection. So my mom lent me a rifle, and I enrolled in a course to learn how to handle guns safely. This course also was a prerequisite for obtaining a PAL license, which is required by anyone who owns, buys, or possesses a gun. I got the license, and I practiced shooting the rifle at a target that I nailed to a tree by the woodpile at Monkey Valley. This was kind of fun. I practiced cleaning and oiling it. I kept it hidden in my bedroom closet, easily accessible if anyone broke into the house during the night. I went over in my mind the steps involved in getting and loading the gun in the dark. It seemed that having the gun there made me more afraid of intruders, not less!

Pistol-packing mamaI went to a gun store on Renfrew Street in Vancouver to look at guns and get prices. I went to the outdoor sporting goods store in Merritt (the Powderkeg, now out of business due to Walmart and Canadian Tire big box stores being invited to take over from the local businesses), to see if prices were cheaper. I found out about the local shooting club in Merritt. My final piece of research was to go shooting at a range out in Chilliwack with my course instructor. This was a chance to try different types of guns and see how they felt. I had been leaning towards a pistol of some kind, which I would be able to wear in a holster while running. I found that running with the rifle was a little cumbersome!

I was excited about going to a real range to practice. In the class we never shot a loaded gun. I’d driven past the Pacific Shooter’s range many times on my way to go trail running by the Seymour River. My instructor lived in Langley though, so I drove out there and we drove to the range in Chilliwack. The day we went to the shooting range was overcast and chilly—a dreary winter day. No one else was at the range. My instructor showed me the protocols, like where to put our stuff, how to put up the targets, and what flag to raise to indicate the range was active. Then he showed me how to turn and shoot. He reinforced some of the principles I’d learned in class, about holding the gun and positioning my body. I tried shooting with his pistol. It was very black (energetically black, though actually a steely colour of metal), very heavy, very loud. And very powerful. I could see how using a gun makes someone feel powerful.

And I knew after trying it a few times that I could never shoot this gun at a cougar or any other wild animal. I felt that I would prefer to be killed than to inflict this shocking violence on a living creature. So that was the end of the gun episode. I returned the rifle to my mom. I resumed running with a hatchet. And I still kept imagining the cougar attacking me while I was running… (to be continued)

Cougars: a man, a truck, a dog, and a gun

A dog like ShaulaWhen I told people I was moving to Monkey Valley, they inevitably thought I needed a man, a truck, a dog, and a gun. In fact, when I first bought the place, I had the man, Hugh McMillan, and we were getting along pretty good. I bought a pickup truck—a beige Ford Ranger that needed some work but was priced well below market value. And my mom gave me a beautiful Siberian husky-malamute cross puppy, with white and grey fur and startling blue eyes, and the cutest curly tail, whom I named Shaula, after the star in the tail of the constellation Scorpio.

But I was still living in the lower mainland, and I found that having a puppy, training her, walking her twice a day, and cleaning up her poop, was not for me. Maybe having a dog in the country would be great, but I wasn’t ready to move yet—in fact, it took Hugh and me two years to install the solar power, pump, and hot water heater. Plus that’s how long it took for two-way satellite internet to be available in Canada—an important component for me in being able to work from Monkey Valley. Shaula and I parted ways long before then. First I took her to the SPCA, but felt so sad at abandoning her, I cried buckets and went to retrieve her. A few weeks later, at the end of my rope again, I sent her by airplane to Williams Lake, where my mom retrieved her and eventually passed her on to a tree planter from Ontario. As far as I know, she lives there now, happily I hope.

A truck like mineJust as having a dog wasn’t for me, the truck didn’t work out that great either. The first winter Hugh and I went up there after snow fall, we found that with only six inches of snow the truck got bogged down, fishtailed around, and refused to go very far up the unplowed logging road. And in the city, driving a stick-shift in stop-and-go traffic drove me nuts. Not to mention trying to park it! I still have nightmares about a certain parking garage on Granville Island! So the truck had to go. I bought a four-wheel drive Geo Tracker instead. Hugh said it was a chick car. But it handled way better in the snow than the pickup, was easy to park, and great on gas.

And, sadly, to my regret and many subsequent wonderings if I made the right decision, when it came time to move to Monkey Valley in 2002, Hugh and I had a parting of the ways. So, long story short, I moved to the wilderness with no man, no truck, and no dog. All that was left was the gun… (to be continued)

Cougars: fears in the dusk

When I first moved to Monkey Valley, my biggest fears were attack by cougars, bears, and humans. I’ve already documented some of the encounters with humans. Pretty innocuous, and nothing like my late-night imaginings of a Charles Manson-like gang bent on my murder.

So it is with cougars. Due to my enjoyment of running in the wilderness, fear of Beautiful cougar of my dreamscougar attack has seemed to be the biggest danger I would realistically face at Monkey Valley. Especially since I usually run at dusk, which is when I imagine the cougar is most active! I remember hearing a few years ago (or was it six years ago now?) that a jogger was attacked on Vancouver Island. The writer of the news story made a joke about joggers persisting in wearing lycra leggings and behaving like deer, as if we are practically begging cougars to attack!

Soon after moving to Monkey Valley, I was driving along a logging road about 10 KM from my home when I was graced with the very rare sight of a cougar in the distance. It crossed the road in front of me, several hundred yards ahead, and leaped up an embankment and disappeared into the woods.

Its grace and power was amazing to behold. It sprang up a bank that was eight feet high or more, compressing its haunches and making the leap in a single bound. It was a beautiful tawny burnished goldy-red colour. Gigantic! I would guess at least six feet long. So incredibly, obviously powerful and alive. The encounter was such a brief flash, but its memory has stayed with me all these years. My impression was that there was no way I was a physical match for this creature that was bigger, stronger, faster, and way wilder than me!

Previously I had imagined the cougar as little bigger than a coyote, and nothing to really be afraid of. But now that I’d seen with my own eyes its size and physical power, I knew that it could kill me with ease, if it chose to. I’ve spent a lot of time contemplating the size of the deer, the cougar’s favourite prey, versus the size of me. Only a few pounds difference, most likely. And the deer run a lot faster than I do!

One of the ways to deal with fear is to find out the truth. I did some research on cougars, reading up on them in Mammals of British Columbia, and learned that their territory can be as big as 100 square miles. I hoped that this meant the chance of my being in the exact spot as the cougar at the same time was very slight. But this didn’t really help assuage my fear. And one spring, Bob Ross of Merritt’s Tri-Ross Construction, who with his son Brent has done a lot of construction work for me at Monkey Valley, found cougar tracks in the mud by the barn. I examined their large size, and was struck with fear again. Clearly I was living in the cougar’s territory. There was no denying the potential for an encounter… (to be continued)

Holy cow, a visiting vole!

The other night I was wakened from a peaceful sleep by a crinkling sound. It’s not the first time this has ever happened, but it’s been a while. I replayed the sound in my head, and figured it wasn’t a human intruder—the sound was too small. It could be a pack rat, I thought, remembering that there is an unwanted pack rat living under the house at the moment. It might have come in the cat door…

But the sound seemed even smaller than that. Maybe it’s a little mouse that found its way in through a tiny hole, I thought. Donald was on the bed beside me, also listening. But he didn’t seem inclined to get up and go investigate. I decided I didn’t want to either, and hoped that maybe Donald would go catch it later. Then I promptly fell back asleep.

The next morning I went to investigate the little package of poisoned bait that I keep behind a bin in the loft. That seemed to be where the sound was coming from. There were a few loose kibbles around the package. Sweeping the floor downstairs I found some more clues: a kibble on the living room floor, and  a few tiny droppings near the bait behind the stereo. Hmm…Western heather vole

Then I heard Donald playing in the bathroom. That can only mean one thing. He has found a playmate. Sometimes he finds them outside and brings them into the bathroom to play with. Other times, as in this case (I do believe) he found one inside the house. The downstairs bathroom is black, because all the bathrooms and showers in the house are painted the colours of the medicine wheel: red shower, yellow shower, black bathroom, white bathroom. Donald likes the black bathroom as the place to play with his prey. And there he was, grabbing something in his mouth and flopping it around and letting it drop. He did that a few times, but the poor creature seemed dead, so I left him to it.

When I went back later to investigage, I found the corpse of a tiny little vole in the bathroom. Thinking I was being somewhat morbid, I brought Mammals of British Columbia into the bathroom and made an identification—definitely a vole, with its tiny size and short tail, and the shape of its nose. But what kind of vole? I went to get my tape measure, and measured the tiny creature. It was about 11.5 cm long, including a tail about 2.5 cm long. It looked like a lot of the voles in the book, brown with lighter underside, but the only vole whose size can be under 12 cm in length is the Western Heather Vole. I learned it feeds on green vegetation, grasses, lichens, berries, seeds, and fungi. Lots of those things around here. And it likes the inner bark of various shrubs from the heather family.

White mountain-heatherThat led, of course, to a consultation with Plants of Southern Interior British Columbia. Is there really heather around here? I learned that there are two kinds, white mountain-heather and pink mountain-heather. They are tiny shrubs, only 30 cm and 10-40 cm tall, respectively. They have blue-bell shaped flowers, and the pink ones do look familiar to me. But I am not certain if I’ve seen them. Clark, quoted in the guide, wrote “These cheerful bells ring an invitation to high places above the timber line, to those serene and lofty slopes where peace and quiet enter our Pink mountain heathersouls.”

And so the cycle is complete, from crinkling in the night to peace and quiet entering our souls. I took the dear little vole and put her body under a young fir tree that grows near the house, and wished that her spirit may be at peace.

If you are interested in reading about other visitors to Monkey Valley, see these posts:

Thanksgiving and appreciation

Appreciation can feel like a soft pink cloud insideMy Diamond Approach group met in September and we explored the topic of appreciation. Have you ever felt an upwelling in your heart as you think about a person, appreciating him or her, or perhaps appreciating something they’ve done? Appreciation can cause an open warm feeling in the heart. It can be tender and sweet, light and delicate, or deeply yummy like a baby whose cheek or arm you’d like to bite.

At the DA weekend I was mostly resistant to feeling this kind of sensation. My heart was pretty closed, well-protected, and I felt like keeping it that way. As it happened, there were moments working with others where the vulnerability of the exploration we were doing just naturally caused my heart to open. In some case to myself, and in other cases to the other. But at the close of the weekend something happened that irritated me and that I allowed to close and harden my heart again. This is just the nature of the work! At the point in my inner journey that I’ve been occupying this year, I’ve been letting myself be hard, closed, irritated, or whatever is there, with a little bit of clear space around the experience that’s big enough to hold it. There is a gentleness about accepting my experience rather than rejecting it and trying to change it. There might be some self-indulgence too. But no one can force their heart to open.

Perhaps the recent DA weekend was still working in me the other morning when I read a 2006 article in the Globe and Mail, part of a stack of papers my friend Geoff Blake saved for me a few years ago, for use in starting fires in the wood stove. The article was about parents who send their kids to summer camp. It was somewhat sentimental and also humourous, about how parents enjoy having the time to themselves while the kids are gone, but worry about them until they know they’re having a good time. It made me remember that my parents sent me to summer camp one year. And suddenly, for the very first time in my life, I understood and appreciated how much my parents had made the focus of their lives caring for my sister and me (and later for two more sisters and a brother).

I’ve heard the Christian crap about honour thRainbow gardeny parents, and due to various childhood events that hurt me I never bought it. I thought my parents did not deserve to be honoured. That they had failed me so utterly I would never forgive them. I’ve done a lot of work to get through this. Therapy, spiritual work, and wilderness work including vision quests and other nature retreats. I’ve made conscious choices to heal, and done a lot of that. But suddenly, this Sunday morning before Thanksgiving, I was able to understand and appreciate my parents in a new way. To open my heart and feel the love and caring they showed in their choices and actions as parents. I cried for a while, and moved by this experience, cried many times throughout the day.

Wow, so this is what it feels like to be a normal person who feels her parents cared for her! I feel moved by so many aspects of the parent-child relationship and bond. With this comes a feeling of fragility, though. A poignancy about knowing these relations all come to an end. My dad died in 2000, long before this understanding blossomed in me. I shared my appreciation with my mom though (on Thanksgiving Day), and, due to a friend’s mother dying recently, feel the tug of fear and loss that will come with my own mother’s death. (Unless I die first, of course.)

We are so fucking vulnerable as humans. I don’t know how we manage to stand it. I think closing down the heart a little is probably a pretty popular defense.

Anyway, in closing this musing about thanksgiving and appreciation, I want to mention a few other things I am thankful for.

  • The black ghetto-blaster my sister Kim gave me in my early 20s. It has been working for several decades now! Lately I’ve been using it to listen to DA teacher Karen Johnson’s tapes on relationships while I do crunches. I feel grateful to Karen for the tapes, too.
  • Our dear earth mother, for nourishing me from her body with the food and water I enjoy every day. And all the people who raise, transport, and sell the food. And myself for preparing it.
  • My sister Katherine, for offering to come to Monkey Valley to spend my birthday with me.
  • My cat Donald, for his companionship, purring, and never being fake with me. If he doesn’t want me to pick him up he growls. If he doesn’t want to come home, he stays out!

I could go on… I spent a lot of the day on Monday thinking about things I am grateful for. Probably the warm humanness that keeps us all struggling on, doing our best, is what moves me the most in this moment.

Thanks to you, too, for reading and having your own response to what I’ve written.