Being Hunted

Sunday felt off. Right from the beginning, I just "had a feeling" about today's journey that didn't sit right with me. Not prone to these feelings, I generally at least take notice, which I did, but decided to write it off as unwarranted fear and get my hiney moving.

My plan today was to access the West Fork Camp Ground, a trail camp, via the Silver Moccasin Trail off the Angeles Crest Highway. It would be a short hike (3.8 miles), but I was more interested in practicing setting bird traps than I was in the hike, so that was intentional.

I'm really having fun learning about survival skills, and I'm a big believer in learning by doing. Thus, although any bird I catch, I will set free, as trapping is illegal, I just want to know what I've been taught would work should I ever have the need to really use it. I had pre-cut dozens of sticks with the intention of finishing up the trimming down here, making the triggers and adding the finishing touches. They hung from my back like long pieces of kindling, all bundled up in a horizontal roll. My pack was a bit wider as a result, and as I hit many trees along the path going down, I was noisier than usual.

Someday I envision living in the wild for a bit. Someday I'd like to put these skills to the test.

I arrived at the trailhead at 2:30 pm. I figured worst case scenario, I'd get to the camp site by 4:30, make my traps (which still needed a lot of work), set up camp and get some sleep.I started my hike down the trail, getting down about 800 meters, when I realized I hadn't yet let anyone know where I was going. There are lots of things negotiable about my escapades, but this is not one of them. Add to that the fact that there were a few signs warning me not to disturb the vegetation, and that odd feeling crept up on me again. I've been out on a dozen hikes now, and I'd never seen these signs. 

Was the trail closed? Did this mean I should simply avoid the plants? I was a bit perplexed.

Vainly, I tried to get a cell signal, but to no avail, so I headed back up the hill to my car, so I could drive back down the mountain a bit.

The Hahamonga Cultural Center sits at the corner of Red Box/Mt.Wilson Rd. and the Angeles Crest Highway. Eddie, the purveyor is an affable man, who knows the area as well as anybody. He sells maps and gatorade and provides free advice on the trails in the area. I used the payphone outside of here to call a friend with hiking plans, and asked Eddie about the signs.  "Just stay on the trail", he advised. "That's all those signs mean."

Good. I thought. At least I won't arrive on Monday morning back from my hike to an angry ranger admonishing me.

I got back in my car and headed back to the trailhead. It was now a little after 3pm.  I figured I'd be in camp by 5:00--still plenty of time to get my work done.

The trail was beautiful and, as usual, I was the only one there. It wound through loads of newly grown grass, made present by our recent unusual Fall rainfall. Wow, what a paradise! Parts of the trail, per usual, were overgrown, even more so due to the presence of more young grass. It appeared one other person had been here over the weekend, however, as some of the grass was mashed down making the trail a bit easier to follow than it would be otherwise.

There were several wild cherry trees (bushes) still plump with loads of ripe cherries for the taking. Clearly some local bears were enjoying them too, as I saw piles of fairly recent bear poop.

I continued down the mountain for about a mile. More bear poop. In the span of the next mile, I saw 7 piles of bear poop in various stages of decay. Due to the fact that we'd had some recent heavier rains, the fact that all the cherry pits were still assembled in a loose-knit pile left me believing none of these piles were more than a few weeks old. Maybe I was following a bear trail. Maybe all that mashed down grass wasn't created by a human at all.

Clearly bears lived down here, and likely more than one.

And blackberries! When Springtime comes, I am gathering a bevy of my friends with buckets and coming back here. Nearly every trail I've been on (except the very high ones) have some blackberries, but I have literally never seen so many blackberry bushes in my life in one place! No wonder the bears like it here! Wild cherries, berries, water, grasses and dense underbrush. Bear heaven.

My wide-load stick pack must've brushed up against a Yucca tree. Suddenly what sounded like a dozen rattlesnakes shocked me to attention. Oy vey! The seed pods were just rattling. I hate these false alarms. They're so unnerving!

As I got to the bottom of the mountain, I crossed a small creek bed with a bit of water. The trail started to become lost then found. I kept following it down until it dead-ended at the bottom of the mountain, in a valley, in a dry creek. 

I started boulder hopping trying to find the trail. Crap! My wide-load stick pack was a bit cumbersome, but I managed.

The creek bed was about 8 feet wide with a 15 foot cliff face on one side and a more gradual climb up the other side of the mountain on the other. There were downed trees at regular intervals, forcing me to climb over or under them to get through. The mashed down grass which I was following became harder to find. Seeming trails were everywhere, but none lead me to where I wanted to go.

A rock about the size of a baseball dropped over my left shoulder.  There was an animal up there.

I've learned to be alert, listen and watch. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. I looked up that precipice for a few minutes, silent. Nothing.

I proceeded down the ravine, the dry creek bed. Another 50 feet and there was a loud crash not 15 feet from me. Something had either just landed there in the tall grass or had pushed a very large boulder over the edge. The brush was thick. There were downed trees. Something could be that close to me yet still remain camouflaged.

I was now certain I was being hunted.

Not seeing anything specific, I made myself as large as possible and yelled out the loudest biggest yell I could muster. "Yaaaaaaaah!" I stood there, frozen, looking. My eyes scanned the area. I was on full alert, heavy breathing, adrenaline coursing through my veins. Part of me wanted to go closer to where the rock fell out of sheer curiosity, but the saner side of me said, "Get the Hell Out!".

I pulled out my bear spray and readied the trigger. I scanned the area for definite signs of what it was. Nothing.

I slowly backed away from the area, my eyes darting back and forth across the area in front of me. I felt like a cop on one of those TV shows when they're trying to keep from getting killed by the bad guy.

I backed over the log I had just crossed. Still nothing. I kept backing away.

I backed up that trail a full 1/4 mile watching, looking, then I finally turned and hurried away. I still took a cursory glance over my shoulder every 20 feet or so until I was a full mile away.

That was the most scared I've ever been.

When I got back, I set about to finish making my bird traps, and I did some research on mountain lion hunting behavior. No bear would hunt me that way. Bears attack when provoked or when they're in fear for their young. Mountain lions stalk and silently hunt.

All that bear poop had me ready for a bear encounter. I wasn't even thinking about a lion.

I found this video which I believe is telling. You cannot even see the mountain lion even though it is less than 50 feet away. Even as it approaches, without the telephoto lens, it would be invisible.

I watched another video of a girl who was being stalked while hunting elk. She wound up shooting the lion point blank from 5 feet away. Then there was the lion who despite the man's stern protestations to back off, kept coming forward. It's their nature. Ultimately it did not attack and turned around.

I think it's time to get a gun.