The Surprise Predator: How a Bear Hunt Became a Mountain Lion Encounter

The late September air felt like a relief after going through one of the hottest summers on record in Arizona. And the bear I watched beneath me wasn’t too shabby either. It was a lone boar feeding on acorns just 80 yards away. My blood was pumping and I had a smile from ear to ear. I was scouting for an upcoming October bear hunt and feeling good about my chances. Little did I know my expectations of what was to come would change entirely in more ways than one.

A week later, my eyes kept glancing in the rearview mirror at the small camper I towed behind me as memories of past hunts replayed through my mind. The many memories of successful bear hunts in the area I was headed, combined with the fact that my wife and daughter were joining me on the front end of this hunt, made my heart smile. It would be the first time they ever accompanied me on a big-game hunt.

Shortly after getting camp set up, I set off to glass for the evening where I had seen the bear during my pre-season scouting. This particular vantage point sits over a perennial pool of water nestled in the bottom of a canyon. I figured with how hot and dry it had been, everything would be glued to water. But, as the sun disappeared behind the mountain, a herd of javelina was the only occupants in the canyon. My enthusiasm didn’t wane. My girls were waiting for me in camp and opening day would be here soon.

Unlike other hunts where I am typically hellbent on getting after it, this one felt different. I was more concerned with walking the hills and trails that were so ingrained in my past, but this time with my family at my side. Showing my daughter these special places meant way more to me than finding a bear while they were here. So, my scouting efforts the next few days were minimal, but productive. I found where not to go for sure. Feed was scarce and I hadn’t seen a bear since my chance encounter with the lone boar a week prior.

Opening Day

In hunting, there’s always a chance, with opening day being your first crack at success. All of that said, romanticization is all opening day held. Well, that and other hunters. My partner and I ran into a group hunting the same area as we were. It was crushing, but an expected reality when hunting public land. We were already diving into our backup spots and opening weekend wasn’t even over. It was Friday and my family would head home after our morning hunt. From then on it would just be me and my good friend, Dillon, for the next week.

Throughout the weekend we bounced around avoiding people and trying to find adequate water sources given the unseasonably warm temperatures. With some digging, we found a few giant pools of water that rested in the bottom of a rugged high desert canyon. “There just has to be a bear in here,” I said to myself. After a few hours I spotted something, but it wasn’t a bear.

“Dude, there’s a lion bedded on that rock over there.” The mountain lion was bedded 250 yards away and calm as a cucumber. With a lion tag in my pocket, I laid prone behind the rifle and prepared for a shot. But, my actions were halted when I saw a second head pop up. There were two lions. From what I could tell, it looked like a mom and her sub-adult offspring.

In Arizona, the legal parameters around a mom and kitten state that if the kitten doesn’t have spots, then both lions are legal. The problem was, the smaller lion was bedded facing me and I couldn’t see the body that well.

After about an hour or so of observing these lions, we started doing all manner of things to try and get them to stand up, everything from making elk calls to literally yelling. They didn’t care. Both just went to sleep. Oh, the life of an apex predator. Not knowing for sure about the status of the younger cat, I passed on the shot.

More Hunters and a BIG Tom

Sunday morning we decided to once again take our chances in the canyon where I scouted the bear pre-season. Conditions were perfect as we tiptoed into our spot long before the sun cracked the horizon. Shortly after glassing light, my enthusiasm for the morning plummeted as a group of hunters worked their way out to the edge of the canyon directly across from us. Can’t blame them. It was a good spot, but defeating nonetheless. We didn’t see anything that morning and quickly started looking for alternatives for the evening hunt.

Our best judgment told us the lions from the previous evening would be gone and instilled some hope that a bear might stroll in for a drink. So, we went back into that spot with a pep in our step. Again, no bears, but about 45 minutes before dark, my eyes almost came out of my head when I saw another lion walk through an opening. This was a different lion and appeared to be a big tom. He was 342 yards away but did what lions do best and vanished, never showing himself again.

We started talking about the very real possibility of taking a lion during this hunt rather than a bear. After all, we’d seen 3 lions in 24 hours at this point. More lions than each of us had seen in our entire lives. It seemed they were all glued around water, so we’d stick to that plan, knowing a bear might come in for a drink as well.

Mountain Lion Hunting

Intentionally speaking, the vast majority of lions are taken with the aid of hounds. Without dogs, they’re borderline impossible to find on a regular basis. Most folks simply don’t have the time to invest that it takes to effectively glass for lions. They’re searching for  a proverbial micro-sized needle in a giant haystack. Lions also have a large home range, unlike deer and elk. I’ve been told they will cycle through the same area every six days or so. I’ve also heard that females have a range of around 60 miles and toms up 
to 150 miles.

With that said, water was holding lions, but not just them. It was holding their food as well. If food is concentrated around water, logic says lions won’t be far. They also seem to hang high up around cliffs, leaving many lions unnoticed by hunters.

Lions may be hard to hunt, but opportunities to hunt them are rather easy to come by. In Arizona the tag can be bought over the counter and the season lasts most of the year, spanning from the end of August to the end of May. You can also obtain an OTC lion tag in Colorado and Montana. Heck, in Utah you don’t even need a special tag and can pursue lions year-round. And in Idaho, a hunter can choose to punch their deer or elk tag on a lion, too.

“Lion at the Water”

There are some hunting spots that no matter how many times you put yourself there, you can’t help but be optimistic. This is one of those spots for me and where I saw the bear pre-season. Dillon and I snuck our way down to the vantage point and made ourselves comfortable. I couldn’t help but regularly peer across the canyon, checking for other hunters. Fortunately, we had the canyon to ourselves this evening. Things were looking up. After a rather uneventful evening, 20 minutes before dark, something popped out.

“Mountain lion coming down to the water,” I aggressively whispered as I watched a lone lion disappear behind a rock as it lowered itself for a drink. A few seconds later the lion emerged and worked its way toward us, 188 yards and closing. Behind the gun, I followed the apex predator with my crosshairs, its shoulders rising and falling beneath the spine with each step. Once in an opening, the lion turned ever so slightly quartering towards me. There was my opportunity.

“Mheep” left my lips and fell into the canyon. The lion stopped. My finger slowly applied pressure to the trigger and soon after my rifle kicked and echoed throughout the canyon. As if the rug had been taken out from under it, the lion fell but wasn’t done. It was a fighter through and through. The lion ran another 20 yards. BANG! Another shot rang and the lion fell once again. But still, it ran, this time out of sight. Dillon and I looked at one another in disbelief at what had just happened. 4 lions in 48 hours had graced our presence, the final of which had just taken two bullets.

Because we never saw the lion die, and with night falling fast, we elected to wait until morning for the recovery. Tracking a wounded lion in the dark didn’t sound like the smartest idea and I knew the meat would be fine given the time of year and chilly nightly temps. Sleep was not on my side that night.

Recovery and Respect

Conversation was not hard to come by the following morning. Between wondering about how our tracking job would go and reflecting on what had happened in the last few days, our vocal cords didn’t get any rest between sips of coffee.

Both of my shots felt great, but as we twisted our way through the thick scrub oak en route to where we last saw the lion, hope was surging through me. I hoped it was indeed dead and the bloody breadcrumbs would at least be minimal. Soon, my nerves calmed as I saw fur up ahead in the rocks. The lion didn’t go far and relief washed over me.

I marveled at the animal. It’s not often you get to walk up on a mountain lion and truly see it in detail like this. From the claws and teeth to the ultra-soft hide, I wanted to take some time to absorb everything. The animal beneath my hands was one that made its living eating deer and elk. An ultimate predator and a species I respect immensely.

We took our time breaking down the lion. The meat was cool to the touch and smelled perfect. I couldn’t wait to get it home to feed my family. As we packed out of the canyon, I was filled with gratitude for the entire experience. From that first bear while scouting, my family with me in the beginning, the public land grind, the unexpected and the ultimate payoff. My smile is still stretched from ear to ear.

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