by Boone
Then came the morning of February 26th. It was clear and cold, and the snow was hard and crusted. After a good breakfast, I turned the hounds loose and headed for a saddle in a ridge a mile from the river. My dogs reached the saddle first and had a track started by the time I got there. But they’d trailed-off the other side of the ridge, down into the canyon, then up the other side and over the end of a ridge that came down from the high country. Not knowing if they were trailing forwards or backwards on the track, my only choice was to try to stay within hearing of them. In the steep Selway Bitterroot, that’s not always easy. I headed up, staying on top of the ridge they’d crossed. From there, I could hear them well enough to know the direction they were going.
Three hours of uphill climbing later, I found where the dogs and lion had crossed the ridge that I was on. After another hour of steep climbing on snow that was getting soft, I could hear the dogs barking treed. They were still a long way off.
When I finally got to the scene, I found the cougar treed on a steep, north-facing hillside, in a tree that had fallen downhill and was not lying in the tops of others. When I saw it, I realized for the first time that my dogs had treed the cougar that I had spent most of 30 years looking for. It had been a long time since 1961, when the lion I killed that year had challenged Teddy Roosevelt’s record cougar. I would take this cat.
The big lion was nervous and wanted to get out of the tree. I was nervous and didn’t want him to jump. I had already gone farther down the mountain than I’d wanted, and I did not want him to jump and go even farther down into the canyon. It was already going to be a long trip out.
Light conditions for picture taking were very poor, but I tried a few photos anyway, while the cat was still in the tree. Then I tied up my dogs in case I had a cripple, a situation that can get dogs hurt or killed. The shots were at close range and the two slugs in the ribs from the Smith and Wesson Model 19, .357 Magnum pistol put an end to the excitement.
Skinning the heavy cat on the steep hillside in two feet of snow was no small job. An hour later, I had his hide and head on my back and had started up the mountain. In another hour it was growing dusk and I was only on top of the first ridge. Camp was still miles and hours away.
I can only estimate the cat’s live weight, but from experience and the size of the hide (laid-out on a log, it was 9 feet, 7 inches long) I’d put it at 225 pounds. While I would later find that the hide and head weighed 42 pounds and my backpack 18 pounds, the entire load felt like it weighed 100 pounds.
It was dark when I hiked into camp three hours later and the stars were out again. It had been a long 27 years.
NOTE: This outstanding trophy, taken on an excellent example of the epitome of a fair chase hunt, was awarded the coveted Sagamore Hill Award at the 20th Big Game Awards. While at the Awards, in the spirit of sharing this exceptional trophy with all sportsmen, Gene Alford donated this skull to the Boone and Crockett Club’s National Collection of Heads and Horns, with the collection on continuing display at the Buffalo Bill Historical Center, Cody, Wyoming.
Image from B&C Archives
Original score chart for Gene Alford’s cougar, which scores 16-3/16 points. The tom was taken in Idaho County, Idaho, in 1988.
Image from B&C Archives
Cougar scoring 15-8/16 points taken by Jerry J. James in Idaho County, Idaho, in 1982.
Determined
By Jerry J. James
19th Big Game Awards Program
MY COUGAR HUNT BEGAN IN THE SPRING OF 1979 WHEN I FIRST DECIDED TO GO ON A HUNT. I WROTE LETTERS TO GUIDES, AND THEN EAGERLY AWAITED THE MORNING MAIL FOR THE REPLIES TO COME. I WAS ABLE TO NARROW MY GUIDE SELECTION, AND AFTER CALLING SEVERAL REFERENCES, I FINALLY DECIDED ON BOB SMITH OF KOOSKIA, IDAHO. I HAD READ ABOUT IDAHO’S REPUTATION OF HAVING LARGE CATS, AND THE SELWAY-BITTEROOT AREA HAS YIELDED NUMEROUS RECORD-BOOK CATS.
My enthusiasm was brightened, when upon arriving in Lewiston, Idaho, I was informed that they had a fresh snow in the high country. My enthusiasm was quickly dampened, though, when my hunt began the next day and the weather turned extremely warm. The snow quickly melted, and the possibility of finding a fresh track was just about nil. Bob and I spent a week walking in the high country with no luck. I returned home, but I was determined to try again.
The next year was a repeat of the first, with no snow. I planned my trip for two weeks later, but little did I know that Idaho would experience a snowless winter. When you consider the number of miles that guides cover when there is snow to cut a fresh track, you can imagine how lucky you would have to be to jump a cougar under non-snow conditions.
My plane trip home was once again a long ride back to Minnesota. But, I was even more determined than ever to get a cat. I vowed that my third trip would only happen if snow conditions were perfect, and I planned on staying until I was successful, or Bob sent me home, whichever came first.
Finally, in late December 1981, I got the call. Bob said that they had 18 inches of snow in the high country, and more was expected. My first night after arriving was spent in renewing acquaintances and preparing my equipment. I shoot a 60-pound Bear Alaskan bow, with Bear Magnum arrows and Satellite broadheads. My equipment has accounted for numerous whitetails and two bears, and I knew that this would be adequate medicine for cougars.
The hunt began with Bob and I driving the back roads in his four-wheel-drive truck, along with his two best cat dogs, Chief and Ralph. Chief is an Airedale and bluetick hound cross, and he has been involved in more than 100 cat kills. Ralph is a pit bull and Walker hound cross, with a big hate for cats and bears. It was really a switch, driving back roads through more than a foot of snow, compared to our first two years. I was really amazed at Bob’s ability to determine what kind of tracks there were along the road. I had never seen a cougar track, so I had Bob stop several times for tracks that I thought were those of a cat that he called elk, etc. And, he was always right.
As we drove along, Bob told me about different cougars he had taken over the years. I told him that I wasn’t fussy after two unsuccessful trips; all I wanted was a cougar, and he did not have to be a record-book cat. Bob told me that if I got a cougar, more than likely it would make the book, as the cats in his area all seem to have large heads and every mature cougar would make it.
About 10:00 a.m., we cut a day-old cat track crossing a bridge and heading up the side of the mountain. We took to the trail, with Ralph on a leash while Chief was allowed to run ahead. The cat headed straight up the mountain, Bob and I following in a foot of snow. Bob told me that Chief did not have to be leashed because he would only run the trail if Bob gave the command. Once the command was given, Chief would run the trail silently until he jumped the cat. Then, the hound would take over and he would bark like crazy. Ralph was leashed so that he would not take the trail. Because of Idaho’s remoteness, Bob does not want to turn his dogs loose until the trail is fresh, as his dogs could be gone for days. Four hours later, the track was not getting any fresher. My legs were suffering from cramps from climbing the mountain, so we decided to quit. I was dog tired and soaking wet as we slid down the mountain to the Bronco.
That night, about a foot of snow fell which made it impossible to go back and follow the old track, and we found no new tracks that day. For me, it was a welcome relief, as I was still tired from the first day. That night it snowed again, and next day we cut another cougar track on the road. The cat had crossed the river and headed up the mountain. Bob was really excited, as he thought the cat was a big tom with skull measurements that would easily exceed 15 inches. The track looked as big as a pie plate in the snow.
We started up the mountain again, with Ralph on a leash and Chief following the trail. After climbing about a mile, we came to some rock bluffs where the dogs went wild. The cat scent was strong in the rocky area, and both Chief and Ralph were barking like crazy. Bob sent Chief on the trail and turned Ralph loose, and the chase was on. The trail paralleled the river for about a mile, then headed downhil
l straight to the river. We tried to keep up with the dogs, but it was impossible as the snow was more than three feet deep, and we did not have snowshoes.
We could hear the dogs barking down by the river, so we raced down the mountain. Unfortunately, the cat swam the river. After that, our daily equipment list included a boat, and we hunted both sides of the river. I doubt that we could have followed the cat anyway as we were both tired and it was getting late. Bob also thought that the cat had crossed the river before he had even turned the dogs loose, as the cat had made a lot of tracks down by the river.
That night, it snowed again. We decided against taking a boat across the river and following the cat. The track would have been over 36 hours old, and the cat could have been 15 miles away. We drove up one back road where a tree had fallen across the road. We turned around before we got to the fallen tree, since we did not have a chain saw to remove it. That night, it snowed again. As we headed up the road the next day to where the tree had fallen, I joked to Bob that there probably was a cat track just beyond the fallen tree. Sure enough, there was a track only 100 yards on the other side of the tree! Needless to say, a chain saw was added to our equipment list after that. The cat had crossed the road and walked up the fallen tree and then up the mountain. The track was already over 24 hours old, but we decided to follow it anyway, hoping the cat had made a kill on the mountainside. Unfortunately, the cat had not, because he continued to climb the mountain. Soon we were wading in four feet of snow. After about four hours of trailing, we headed back to the Bronco totally exhausted. I didn’t think I was ever going to get my cat.
The sixth day, we did not cut any tracks. This was just as well, as I was still too tired from the day before. I saw more hills in Idaho in one day than I have seen in Minnesota in a lifetime. The scenery was beautiful beyond description; and during the day’s hunt, we continually saw numerous deer and elk.
The seventh day was a perfect day for hunting; we had two inches of fresh snow. We stopped at a cafe to have a cup of coffee, and we were told that a truck driver had seen a cougar right next to the road two days before. We went to where the cougar had been sighted, and then spent some time in the area listening for ravens which might indicate that the cat had a kill. His track was too old to follow, so we decided to cover our daily route.
After some time, we found the track of a large cat that had crossed the road and headed up the mountain. The track was filled with snow, but we knew that it had been made during the night. We hoped that the cat was not too far away. We started our usual procession of Chief leading the way, with Ralph on a leash, and me bringing up the rear. We headed up and then paralleled the mountain, when the cat track turned and headed into a small canyon. All of a sudden, Chief, who had gotten out of our sight, started barking as though he had jumped the cat and was following the trail. Bob turned Ralph loose and he headed down into the canyon. After days of walking, I was finally listening to hound music.
The chase was short; soon both dogs were barking that the cat was treed. We hurried over to the tree, and there was the most beautiful sight that I have ever seen. The lion looked golden brown against the green pine trees, and it was obviously a big tom. Finally, the moment I had worked at for the last three years was about to happen. Bob tied up the dogs as I positioned myself for a shot with my bow. I only had a small hole to shoot through as I released my arrow. The arrow deflected on a small branch and hit the cat on the side of the head. The cat started snarling, and he knocked off every branch as he started down the tree. I nocked another arrow, and took another quick shot before the cat was halfway down the tree. The arrow hit him right behind the front leg. The cat died before he could go 20 yards.
I beat the dogs to the lion, but I remembered what Bob told me about not touching the cat until the dogs got there. I knew what he meant when Ralph hit that lion wide open. I am sure he would have chewed on me too, if I had been holding that cat. Chief gave the cat the business too, but he knew he had done his job, just as he had done dozens of times before.
Later, we laid the hide on the floor. The big tom measured 8 feet, 7 inches long. Bob joked that we could stretch him a lot further, especially if we used two pickups. Needless to say, I was elated. After hunting 22 days over a three-year period, walking at least 200 miles, sliding down mountains, and crossing icy rivers in a rubber boat, I had finally taken my cougar.
Fortunately, this is not the end of my story. I received a phone call from my taxidermist in the middle of July. He had sent the skull to the University of Minnesota to have it cleaned in a bug-box. After receiving it, he had taken the skull to a Pope and Young scorer who gave it an official score of 15-11/16. My cougar was recognized as the new World’s Record at the Pope and Young Club Awards Banquet on April 9, 1983, in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. It also was awarded Pope and Young Club’s prestigious Ishi Award, which is the highest form of recognition given by the club. The Ishi Award is presented only when a truly outstanding big game animal is taken, and the award criteria are similar to those for the Boone and Crockett Club’s coveted Sagamore Hill Award.
Never in my life did I believe this could happen to me. I called Bob Smith and thanked him for a tremendous hunt, as it had been a real experience to see Bob and his dogs work. I also reminded him about the big cat that swam the river and got away from us. There is no doubt that cat was larger than the one I shot. I am sure when someone gets him, Bob Smith and his dogs will also be there.
Photo from B&C Archives
Cougar, Scoring 16 Points, Taken by Brian K. Williams in Archuleta County, Colorado, in 2001.
Lock Tail
By Brian K. Williams
25th Big Game Awards Program
MY MOUNTAIN LION STORY BEGAN A LONG TIME AGO WHEN I WAS JUST A BOY. I GREW UP IN SOUTHERN OKLAHOMA WHERE I HUNTED COONS, BOBCATS, SQUIRRELS, AND RABBITS WITH MY DAD, DAVID K. WILLIAMS, OUR FRIEND, CHARLES “COTTON” RUSSELL, AND MY UNCLE, MARK GILLHAM, WHO WERE ALL HOUNDSMEN.
My family moved to Colorado in 1979. My dad raised and hunted with a few bear hounds the first couple of years we lived in Pagosa Springs, until he became a government trapper near Grand Junction. He hunted with Larry Sanders and Jeff Brent, the state bear and mountain lion men, for a couple of years. I accompanied them a few times in the summer after problem bears that were killing the local ranchers’ sheep.
I attended high school in Pagosa Springs where I met Mike Ray, his dad, Dick Ray, and Dick’s brother, Sam (owner and operator of Bear Paw Outfitters), and Dick and Sam’s brother, Rodney. I started guiding for Dick, owner and operator of Lobo Outfitters, just after I finished high school.
The Rays had a lot of good dogs then, as they do now. About four years after I began working for Dick, I went to work for his brother Sam. I acquired some dogs from Sam; I even traded him a crazy old horse for one. I hunted bear and lion with him for several years; those were the best years of my life. I raised my own hounds for a little better than 10 years, then the constant barking of eight hound dogs started to wear on my neighbors, so I reluctantly decided to sell them. I called Mike, and he and Dick agreed to buy my dogs. Four of my dogs were really proven. Charlie, Andy, and Pebbles I got from Sam. Doozie, a female, I bought from my old friend, Cotton, in Oklahoma. I also had a few pups. I told Mike that Snoopy, one of the females, was going to be a good hound.
After that I didn’t lion hunt much until I booked a hunt with Lobo Outfitters in January 2001. This would be the hunt I would never forget. A little before daylight on the morning of the first day of my hunt, Mike and I took off on snowmobiles in search of a big tom track that Mike believed was in the area. We had gone about two miles when Mike stopped dead in his tracks, and as sure as the nose on your face, there was a huge track in the two-day old snow. We tried to cut the track again by circling the area. Not finding it again, we knew it had to be in that area.
We went back and picked up the dogs, but by then it had warmed up and the dogs could only cold trail. But to hear my old dogs, Andy and Pebbles, tr
ailing again was music to my ears. I was kind of glad that they didn’t tree a cat that day because my hunt would have been over too soon.
We hunted a few more times in February and also in March, but I was unsuccessful during those times. Other hunters with Lobo Outfitters, however, took a good many lions that season. Some were huge, with one scoring 15-6/16 Boone and Crockett points.
It was a long summer and fall. Then, on December 1, 2001, after a good six-inch snowfall, I resumed my hunt with Lobo Outfitters. Harold Thompson, a local dentist and a good friend of the Rays, was my guide that day. Harold went out early to beat the rush of other lion hunters in our area. I had overslept that morning and was rushing around trying to find my tire chains. By the time I arrived at Mike’s, he was loading dogs in the truck. He said that Harold had gone ahead of me. Mike told me to take Andy, Jube (a dog Mike and Dick had raised), and Snoopy. Mike was taking a hunter to a different area. I was glad to hear that I would find Harold in the same place that Mike and I had spotted the big tom track nearly a year before.
When I found Harold, he had already found a track not far up the road, so by the time we figured out that it was a female, the other lion hunters had hit the other roads in the area. Harold and I made a different plan. He was going to go to the end of the road, and I was going to make sure the other hunters hadn’t missed anything.
I called Mike on his cell phone and he told me they had found a good tom and all but had it treed. I told him where Harold had gone, and Mike said that it was a bad area and Harold was probably stuck. We hung up and I went to check on Harold. To my surprise, he wasn’t stuck. He informed me that he had found a dandy track near the end of the road. He had already called Dick, and Dick told Harold that we might as well try it. We went back to where Harold had found the track and turned the dogs out. It was 11:30 a.m., and my thermometer read 26°. We had a chance!
