I feel like…like I’m being watched!
You know the feeling, the feeling that you’re being watched. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and you get that uneasy feeling that something’s just not right. Everyone has a story and every story is different. The following events lay the foundation to my story. The story of when I felt like…like I was being watched.
It was Friday morning, opening day of our pig hunt. My dad and I climbed the hill behind camp, dropping into the auroras, rich with wildlife, and loaded with sign. Excitement rises as we sweep through the valleys in search of the elusive javelina. By noon, my dad and I, having found our favorite spots, over a mile apart, enjoy lunch and a mid-day nap. While watching the feeding grounds and valleys in front of us, I spot the herd emerging from their day beds. We attempt to coordinate an attack, or rather an ambush. Shots fired, but after all the dust settles & smoke clears, the ’hockey pucks’ are nowhere to be seen. Without a drop of blood, we humor each other new plans of attack: empty the gun & just throw the bullets at them. Laughing, we knew we should start heading back. The sun was setting, as we drifted through the long valleys. My dad set up at the mouth of the last draw before dropping down the hill to camp. I set up at the opposing end. As we watched, hoping to catch the pigs on their way to bed down for the night. I decided to cross the draw and sit up on a rock. I was working my way quietly through the wash when I began hearing rocks crumbling. Detecting an unfamiliar odor, I sulked around. Then dad spots a large coatimundi working its way through the draw, curious too, of the noise I was making. We, once again, attempted to coordinate an attack. Unfortunately, you can’t kill what you never see. As dusk faded into night, we made it to camp. Tomorrow: New Game Plan!
Saturday morning, the sky's just light enough to see, feeling energized, we’re ready for the New Game Plan. As we drop into the draw, dad sets up near the mouth again, with intentions to call. I double-time it to the opposing end of the long valley that I had watched Friday afternoon. Within 5 minutes of leaving my dad, I hear his 12 gauge sing out to a grey fox. I paused for a second, and then continued my swift movement to the prime spot I noted Friday. I reached the rock, climbed up, shed a layer, damp with sweat, and donned a couple warmer layers. All day I watched the valley, positive the javelina were playfully prancing through the brush laughing at me. All day my attention was drawn to the rocks I had been sitting on Friday afternoon. All day I felt like…like I was being watched. By mid-day, I was full of energy and tired of sitting. I packed up a mini-day pack, leaving the bulk of my supplies at the rock. I headed out through the valley in search of the elusive peccary. I moved through their day beds, fresh with sign and obscene comments written in the sand. The pigs had been here all morning, right under my nose. While working my way back to the rock, the uneasy feeling sets in. Something’s not right, something involving the rocks from yesterday. I packed up the rest of my stuff, deciding to drift through the long valley and hook around to drift back to camp. As I moved through the valley, the rocks become of more interest. I notice a shaded rock, under a tree, and cut over to it. Quickly moving out of the open, I drop the backpack, and begin glassing the rocks. I slowly study each rock and every crevice, anticipating the flick of an ear, or tease of a tail. Then I see it! She made a standing leap from one rock up to another, of at least 15 ft, wow. The mountain lion moved in attempt to find where I went. She had been watching me all day, from the same rocks I had sat on the previous day. That uneasy feeling now turns to excitement. The adrenalin starts pumping as I watch her desperately try to locate, possibly her next meal, me.
I radio my dad, quietly explaining the situation, inquiring advice. He repositions himself so that he can see the rocks. Even though he is at least a mile from me, and probably two, as the crow flies, from the rocks, I feel safer now knowing he’s watching. I set up a ‘bench rest’ on the shaded rock, using my sweater for padding and support. With the .223 sighted in on the rocks, I begin a fawn bleat with a mouth call. Within minutes, my dad and I both observe the lion, with ease, in three bounds, descend at least 75 feet to the base of the rocks. As she disappears into the brush, on her way to me, I notice more movement on the rocks. Two cubs playfully bat at each other on the very rock I had been sitting on. There is no word to explain how I felt. I was nervous, anxious, excited, and fired-up. The adrenalin was in full gear now, I was remembering how I felt the first time I skydived alone. What a rush! Now, I know she’s on her way. As I continue calling, I analyze my surroundings, to anticipate where the attack may come from. Observing my blind spots, knowing cats hunt using cover, the uneasy feeling sets in again. After an hour of calling, I notice the birds have stopped chirping, in fact the wind stopped blowing, it was truly ‘dead quiet.’ After another hour, the sun finally sets behind the mountains. Knowing it will be dark soon, I stop calling, afraid to move, I slowly emerge from my cover, noting my blind spots, watching for movement. I crept around my stand, but no lion, that I can see. I pack up quickly, never turning my back in any potentially dangerous direction. I move swiftly across the valley and up the embankment. I turn around, posting up; I scan for movement, for any signs of the lion following me. Still with the uneasy feeling that I’m being watched, I drop down through the next valley. As I work my way back to camp, I do so in stages of 100 yards or so. Posting up, knowing I’m being followed, I keep vigilance for anything out of place. Finally, I reach the hill behind camp, certain that I was followed for the majority of the way. My adrenalin is still flowing. Wow, what a day!
You know that uneasy feeling, when the hairs on the back of your neck stand up and shout. Know that is your sixth sense, alerting you. Alerting you, that something’s wrong. Remember that when you feel like you’re being watched. You just may be. You just may be a menu item for a predator. A predator that even without weapons is at the top of the food chain. Take note of your surroundings, and always keep your flanks covered. This was my story of the pig hunt when I felt like…like I was being watched.
~*~ STRENGTH & HONOR ~*~
-MJM-
