The Free Radical

“What the hell is that guy doing?” I was pretty much talking to myself, as the three dogs were in the back of the truck; I was in the cab alone.

We had just passed the hoodoos. It was a big truck, driving very slowly in the shoulder of the highway. I needed to turn off just up ahead and I didn’t want to cut him off, especially in these winter driving conditions. As I hurried past him, I noticed that the back of his enormous pickup was filled with some strange structure, and a few dog heads were sticking out of it. Apparently this was a dog team.

“Oh great, just what I need.”

I parked at my parents’ house as per usual, since their driveway tends to be meticulously shovelled and I won’t get stuck. As soon as I unloaded the dogs from my little pickup, we could already hear the steady baying of the hounds over by the river where we’d just passed the other truck. For whatever purpose, they too had been unloaded, and they were already engaged in carrying out their task.

The beginning portion of our daily walk initially takes us away from the river valley. Both myself and my dogs were happy to be headed in the opposite direction from whatever drama was unfolding behind us. After last year’s several incidents as documented in these Daily Reports, I quickly concluded that this was another cougar hunt. When Sitka was still a fairly small puppy, the two of us had been already deep in the woods when we heard the very same baying of the hounds. It took me a few minutes to figure out that we were hearing a cougar hunt in progress, and then I immediately became nervous at the prospect of encountering a pack of hunting dogs with my new little puppy. Of course, it hadn’t occurred to me– or to Sitka for that matter– that we would encounter the cougar instead. That was Sitka’s official initiation into the Forest Life… one year previous. A stunningly magnificent cat leapt over Sitka just a few feet behind me, and we both watched it bound away effortlessly through the trees. For the rest of that walk I kept muttering to myself “Did that really just happen??”

As we made our way along the initial ascent, this time a group of four– myself and three dogs– we kept encountering odd footprints in the very fresh snow criss-crossing the path… and all the while dogs baying in the distance. The prints were human; it was only ten in the morning. They were all over the place, except on the path where you might expect them. It was quite obvious that somebody was either chasing or being chased… all over the snowy mountainous terrain! We continued on… cautiously.

When we reached the bench where the terrain levels out, the path turns toward the river valley. Even up here, the footprints zigzagged across our usual trail covering a great deal of territory and apparently scaling numerous barbwire fences. I has just pretty much concluded that there must be a fugitive on the loose when we (Sitka) discovered this…

It was a bit small to be from an adult cougar– though it had already been half eaten by Sitka. (What is it with puppies and cat poo?) Now I wasn’t sure at all what was going on. We continued on just a bit more.

Quickly, the hounds in the distance weren’t quite so distant anymore, and it sounded like they were coming straight for us! We immediately turned around and headed back down the mountainside. On the way down we heard sirens at the highway. Emergency vehicles were gathering somewhere near Dutch Creek. Okay, now I’m back to thinking “Fugitive.”

But I’m a curious fellow. Instead of heading back to the truck and cut our walk frustratingly short, I decided that we should make our way directly over toward the river where all the excitement seemed to be. Besides, suddenly, the baying of the hounds had ceased. The hunt was over… and I wanted the story.

Dutch Creek was scarcely in sight up ahead when we first heard human voices. They weren’t very far away. Then suddenly, through the trees, we could see a few dogs milling about. They were coming straight for us. I tried turning my crew around before the pack of hounds could overtake us… but to no avail.

Instantly we were surrounded by a pack of about ten dogs. They were all outfitted with radio transmitter collars. The first human attendee was all wired up with what appeared to be a CB radio mic strapped across his chest. He wasn’t very talkative as he merely expressed mild surprise at my presence there with my three dogs. The second human attendee, the older one, told me that they had just treed a cougar.

This had just been a practice run. There were a couple of young puppies amidst their crew who were just learning the ropes of a proper cougar hunt. Their dogs and my dogs got along just fine. Toby tried growling a few times to express her nervousness, but thought the better of it once she counted a full dozen dogs milling about.

So there you have it. It was another cougar hunt– though no cougar was shot this time. They just treed it for practice. The sirens had been a mere coincidence. The footprints all over the mountainside belonged to the younger less talkative guy. He must’ve gotten one hell of a workout! And at that moment he suddenly realized that he’d left his gun where they’d treed the cougar. I gave them directions back to their truck so they could resupply and then retrieve the gun.

Me and my dogs went back to our own truck, taking the back way. I was pleased. We had met up with the ‘dread pack’ of hunting dogs… and they were well-trained and perfectly amicable.

One last fear crossed off the list!