Ravens and the Cougar

Ravens tipped me off.

Four feet of fresh snowpack, and I was sweating heavily. I had entered Mount Rainier grounds on a forest service road to trek in the backcountry at low altitudes. I had no desire to create or be caught in an avalanche, so I would snowshoe amongst the huge trees, away from the rivers.

I saw a raven flying low over the road, and he followed me as I cut into the trees. Using animal tracks, I followed a route I had traversed in the past. The weight of the snow in the branches was worrisome to a certain degree, but there was little wind.

Snow drifted four feet up the trunks of trees, and my peripheral caught a Douglas Squirrel sneaking into a tunnel in the snow. Watching for a minute, I saw it bound up the trunk and leap to another tree.

Entering a clearing, a dark mound was on the snow, and ravens were cawing from the trees. Something dead, but what? I approached with caution, scanning the area constantly.

The ravens were watching over the remains of an elk. As I got closer, a male cougar leaped up, facing me. Snarling, it stared at me; I froze. Make yourself big. He’s enormous, two hundred pounds.

Snarling, he stared; I held his gaze. He bit another chunk off, eyes on me.

“GO ON NOW!” I shouted, poles overhead, waving. “GET!”

I took a deep breath as he bounded away and disappeared into the trees.