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Last weekend I decided that I was going to do a short backpacking weekend in the
I made it to the trailhead as the sun began to disappear behind the mountain peaks and the cold chill descended into the canyon. At one point in the night, I checked the temperature. It was a cool 32 ºF. I went straight to work gathering wood and getting a small fire started. After warming up, I laid out my bedroll, had a few sips of whiskey while watching the fire, and finally fell asleep.
I woke early and set out on the Reynolds Trail, which took me up an old jeep trail into the forest. After a short distance I came to a forest sign – and yes, I was on the right trail! I continued along the trail, climbing its gradual slope until cresting a ridge. The trail then descended through a ponderosa pine forest interspersed with manzanita, emory oak, and alligator juniper. The day was cool, but small gaps in the forest canopy let through sunlight, creating warm spots on the forest floor. Eventually, the trail bottomed out at Reynolds Creek, which was flowing. I crossed the creek, and then began to climb over a second ridge that led me to a scrubby knoll and the Boyer Trail junction. I continued on the Reynolds Trail, enjoying full access to the sun's warming rays.
Moments later, I heard some movement just off the left side of the trail about 30 feet ahead. The thick brush masked the identity of the mover, but from the snapping twigs and crunching leaves, it sounded large and I thought I might get an opportunity to see an elk or deer. I slowly inched forward to get a better angle. I could not see what was making the ruckus, but I could hear it moving. Suddenly, I heard a sound that I don't think I could even describe. All I can say is that I'd never heard the sound before, and that it startled me quite a bit. At the very moment this shrill screech pierced my peaceful mid-morning saunter, all hell broke loose.
The movement of three animals exploded in the scrubby thicket ahead of me on the trail. I could make out two of the animals flushing away from me by the crashing sound of quick movement through thick vegetation. I did not see either of these individuals. The third animal was easily identified as it flushed in my direction. At first I was in shock, maybe awe, maybe both. For what seemed like minutes, I stood there not believing what my eyes were seeing. In reality, that split second of paralyzing disbelief quickly gave way to the realization that I was in trouble. I have to admit that despite some harrowing experiences with wildlife in the past, this particular experience hit me the hardest - maybe because I was alone, maybe because of the proximity. Irregardless, my shock turned to panic as I realized that running down the trail, in my direction, was a mountain lion. The short distance between us closed very quickly and at about 20 feet, I raised my hands in the air and began shouting gibberish at the lion. Somewhere the warning to "not run" if confronted by a lion had burned itself into my subconscious. I stood my ground, all the while knowing that one-on-one, my money was on the lion. Fortunately my tactic worked, and the lion quickly bolted off the trail and disappeared into the forest. I quickly reached down and grabbed two softball sized rocks. Speaking some strange adrenaline inspired language, I shouted and banged my rocks together. I tried to make as much noise as I could until I was able to back down the trail. At this point, my senses seemed to be on heightened alert and every little rustle of leaves was a lion stalking me through the forest. I was honestly freaked out.
