No matter how much time I spend in the woods (particularly in mountain lion dense areas like Montana) I can never find one.
Most people wouldn’t want to find a mountain lion. I go out of my way to try and find them. But no luck. Yet. Usually what I find are signs warning of mountain lions. Maybe that’s the scariest thing of all…mountain lions as nothing more than a figment of our imagination, bolstered by signs such as these, like some passed down mythology.
I’ve spent an enormous amount of time in the Rocky Mountains this fall. I have failed to glimpse even one mountain lion track. But I like to think they are up there in the higher country, peering down between juniper or ponderosa pine and wondering if I’d make an easy meal. Maybe this is why I look for them. I like the idea of not being at the top of the food chain. There’s humility, ego-check and adventure in this. I emerge from the Rockies knowing that there are things beyond my desires between the strip malls which can knock me off that tired path with the swipe of a paw.
There’s a mountain lion around. Sure there is. Sure.
I was this way everywhere on the west coast. All I wanted was to glimpse a bear or a mountain lion. I thought maybe, just maybe we would have an encounter in Big Sur or the redwoods. We tend to stray away from other humans and take the tough track. Looking high up in the trees, down in stream beds, and around ponds. Nothing. I am very humble. I was looking to be further humbled. Knowing we were most likely not going to see a cougar or bear, didn’t make it any less disappointing. I invite some danger into my life. Adventure, excitement, danger. What is life without these things?