Surprise encounters on hunt

I write this with some concern knowing it sounds questionable. However, this is my story.

Bow-hunting season started on Sept. 6. A rainy night created what many would say are perfect conditions.

Unfortunately, the patterns changed rapidly and the temperature soared to 15 degrees higher than normal. Not letting this stop me, I donned my hunting attire and headed off to a favorite elk haunt for opening morning.

It was somewhat disappointing not seeing a single track in a trail that normally signs numerous animals, but I decided I would take a stand and begin cow calling.

After hours without so much as a whimper, I opined that the high temps, bright star filled nights and dry conditions were a huge issue and no change was in sight.

Contemplating the problem, I decided that if I was an elk, I would go where it was cool, with lots of feed and predator free. Having hunted the same area for numerous years, I believed I knew the perfect place and that would be my destination the following a.m.

Up bright and early, fully attired including trail cam, and side-mounted .45, I head down a "trail" that I knew to hold animals.

Most hunters don't like to tread in the area because it can be deep in bog, and without good boots, your feet can be rapidly swimming, or should I say, oozing, in mud.

Undaunted, I launched with a goal of putting a trail cam in place, overlooking an area that has always shown great promise.

After a brief interim I reached my destination, but I decided to continue down canyon and put the camera in place when I returned. I would continue until I no longer saw "fresh sign."

Time passed rapidly, boredom soon took over, and I was ankle deep in mud. Since nothing appeared to have recently passed this far down canyon, I decided to head back and place the camera where I wanted it to be in the first place.

Many minutes passed before reaching my Kodachromatic destination. Ironically, I thought it may be more prudent to place the camera after I sat in position for a while.

Fast-forward about an hour.

I've set-up in order to view a large area. My Elk estrus scent wafers were placed in trees and I can see in all directions; well enough to get a shot should one prevail.

While most feel the woods hold a very quiet relaxing serenity, in actuality, the sounds of natures glory surround anyone wishing to listen.

With this in mind, the rustling of the brush from my left caused me little concern, thinking it was either a deer slinking through the woods or possibly a squirrel doing his autumn work.

I lay in wait for my quarry, cow calling with multiple calls, munching on some very sweet huckleberries. Minutes pass without a sound that might signal the oncoming of the trophy bull elk that I destined in my simple mind.

Sitting against a tree in a prone position, my old arthritic trunk soon succumbed to the pain that Ibuprofen usually alleviates.

I needed to drastically change positions or suffer the inevitable stiffening that only a body of 60-plus years could endure. Reaching over my right shoulder for an object that I cannot recall, I straighten my right leg to stop the shooting pain in my knee only to hear an immediate and very loud rustle in the brush that sounded eerily familiar.

At the same time something pounced and swatted my now tingling right leg and foot forcing my auto-response to immediately kick with my left leg.

It was quite startling to turn back to the forefront to find a coyote sitting at my feet, an arm's length away. Wait!

After gaining my now enhanced senses it becomes apparent that the critter kneading my right foot isn't a coyote.

Sitting at my feet, less than 4 feet from my now terror-torn face was a cougar, licking his recently tagged nose and staring right into my eyes.

As I look at my visitor, I'm stunned that my new friend was able to slink into my position with little effort or sound.

Shocked on how small its smiling face seemed with its black "stripes," round nose and relatively small ears, I determined it was a young feline, possibly a kitten, just recently kicked out to live on its own.

This was my second occasion to welcome a cougar to my comfort zone so I seemed somewhat calm until the dire straits of my situation sank in.

My initial thought was to reach over my shoulder to an un-knocked arrow with the attached razor sharp broad head knowing I would not be able to fend off this magnificent creature with such a paltry weapon should he launch from his position.

After collecting my thoughts, I remembered my .45 automatic colt pistol strapped to my right side which may be my only recourse to being kitty kibble.

I raised my left arm across my face, naively thinking I could possibly push him off. As I search my right side for my exposed hog leg .45, all I can see in my field of vision is my Timex Expedition watch, with a very large cougar back drop.

The time is exactly 11:45 a.m. My thought? "It's 11:45 and I'm about to be mauled by a cougar - this ain't good."

Eventually, I find my side mount and bring it up to my left arm, all while the cougar patiently watches.

My purloined companion, licking his bruised nose and emitting a growling/purring sound of satisfaction and control, allows me to pop a round into the chamber without any interference. Arms fully extended and only a few inches from the still roiling muzzle of snagglepuss, my shaking hands stand ready to pass him into the past.

It's truly amazing what you think when the chips are down and all I could muster was the fact that I didn't have an Idaho Department of Fish and Game cougar tag, even believing it was out of season.

"I'll get cited if I shoot the animal without the appropriate credentials." How dumb is that? (The season had actually opened a few days prior.)

Undaunted, I hold a very unsteady, in fact, shaking bead on my guard.

After an incredibly long time, my newfound predacious pet decides the odds aren't favoring this game of cat and mouse and off he slithers as quietly as he came in.

Standing broad side at 20 yards and in eyes view of the very place my trail cam should have been placed, I could see that God's own was about 4 feet from neck to rump plus another 2 feet for tail.

Boy or girl really isn't important because this wasn't just a kitty playing with a new toy. Was I afraid? No, but why couldn't I remember how to unload the very weapon that was just made ready?

The story continues...

Eventually, I placed the camera in place and headed to dryer turf.

I needed to exit the area before momma cougar reared her protective head. About halfway, I hear some heavy brush movement. Rapidly I get my binoculars to eye and see the movement of a large animal around 25 yards.

Initial thoughts were of cougar mom, but proved to be something much larger and darker.

The color was a cross of brown, black and tan.

"Was this an elk?" It's clearly browsing for food, but certainly not a cougar.

Having only a bull elk tag, I'm searching for antlers but can't see them.

"Raise your head!"

"Are you a bull elk?"

My discovery moves gracefully across the mud bog, finally raising its head.

"Oh man, it's a grizzly." My third in as many years.

Doing the Michael Jackson left shuffle, moon walk, trying to keep Yogi in sight, I watch him browse berries from my 10 o'clock to 1 o'clock position until he gets to the very trail I just walked.

Immediately, his nose went cloud bound in my direction and the race is on as he turns to his hard right and starts a gallop directly toward me.

Already knowing that I beat the odds once in the last few minutes and the griz rapidly approaching my position, I stand in total shock.

In a little more time than it takes one's blood pressure to enter the danger zone, my hand again searches for my side mounted terminator, only to watch my grizzled friend abruptly stop - once again feeding on thumbnail-sized, aromatic huckleberries.

So what did I learn? That nobody believes me.

Ron Polley is a resident of the Twin Lakes area. His adventure took place in Boundary County near the U.S.-Canada border.