A Week in the Life of Cougar Hunter.

I haven’t been in the field much this year, but thankfully, I have friends that are in the same business. And they too do stupid shit...and tell me about it.

Cougar Hunter spent the last few months as a desk jockey, then found himself in the field chasing bears. His week looked something like this:

Day 1: While following a signal for a radio-collared bear, he stabbed himself in the leg not once, not twice, but five times before he realized it was a needle in his pocket and not a thorny bush. Despite his ineptitude, he found the radio collar he was looking for. Unfortunately, it was no longer on a bear.

Day 2: He found another radio collar. This one was on a bear that was in a den! Too bad Cougar Hunter left his drugs and equipment in the truck. When he got back to the den, the bear was gone.

Day 3: Bear from day 2 outsmarted Cougar Hunter by crossing into private land. Land Cougar Hunter did not have permission to go onto, so Cougar Hunter followed a radio signal to another collar…that was no longer on a bear.

Day 4: Cougar Hunter was outsmarted, yet again, by the bear from day 2.

Day 4…a little later: Cougar Hunter went home to get ready to chase Cougars. Bears are way too smart for him;-)

Government Vehicles and I don’t get along…

Almost as much as me and snowshoes.

I have had a long string of “accidents” while driving government vehicles. My inability to drive a government vehicle without wrecking it began when I was fighting wildfires. On one particular dispatch, little did I know, the fire wasn’t going to be the dangerous part of the job, getting to the fire was.

I had been driving for eight hours—because I was young and stupid and didn’t know how to boss boys around yet—and not one of the five boys riding in my rig was awake, which pissed me off. My truck was the last in line of a four vehicle caravan. We were in the left lane, passing a car, when suddenly the car sped up, cut off the first vehicle in our caravan, then slammed on its brakes and cut across the median. By the time my foot hit the brake pedal, the front of my truck was eating the back of the van in front of me.

On the plus side?

Every dumb boy in my truck was wide awake...and I didn't have to drive anymore.

BIOLOGISTS WHO STUDY ANIMALS THAT CAN EAT THEM REALLY SHOULD BE SMARTER THAN THE AVERAGE BEAR.

But many times, we're not. We just get lucky.

A friend of mine recently told me a story about one of his less than stellar moments. In this story he was trying to collar a cougar, therefore I have dubbed him Cougar Hunter.

After Cougar Hunter had successfully treed (meaning hounds had chased the cougar until the cougar climbed a tree) the cougar and darted it, he proceeded to climb the tree so he could pull the soon to be sleeping cat to the ground. But the cat didn’t fall asleep. It climbed higher. And so did Cougar Hunter. Which made the cat climb higher yet. Before Cougar Hunter knew it, he and the cat were 75 feet up an 85-foot-high tree…swaying in the wind.

Not too bright.

To make matters worse, the cat never fell asleep and Cougar Hunter had to abort his mission. But he learned a valuable lesson: Before climbing a tree after an animal that can eat you, check the dart with binoculars to ensure the drug actually administered.

Two Wildlife Biologists go Mountain Biking in the Woods and…

…prove they’re not so bright. And yes, one of those bikers/biologists was me.

A couple weeks ago, a friend of mine—who will from now on be referred to as Wordsmith—and I went mountain biking in the snow. About two miles into the ride, we heard a woodpecker and stopped to identify it. Our brilliant conversation went something like this.

“Do you see it?” asked Wordsmith.

“No. Do you?”

“It’s right there?” He pointed.

“Oh, yeah, I see it now.”

“What kind is it?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted.

“Oh wait, it’s a … uh…pela…pelaginous… Damn what are those things called?” said Wordsmith.

“Pelaginous?" I wrinkled my nose at him. "What the hell are you talking about?”

For those of you who don’t know, there is no such thing as a pelaginous bird, but there are pelagic birds. They’re sea birds. Any sea bird. Woodpeckers are not sea birds, therefore they are not pelagic or pelaginous.

“Do you mean a downy?” I asked, trying to get us back to woodpeckers? “Oh wait, I know what you mean. You’re thinking of a…uh…pileated!”

“Yes! It’s a pileated woodpecker.”

I snort with disgust at his stupidity. “That’s not a pileated. My parents have them in their backyard. Pileated woodpeckers are much bigger than that.”

The next morning, I looked up the stupid bird. Sure enough it was a pileated woodpecker. Even worse, Wordsmith had looked it up the night before and knew I was wrong. But he is much nicer than I am and didn’t feel the need to rub my nose in it. Instead, he let me live in my own little world—one in which I’m much smarter than I really am.

Shit…I Mean, Shoot.

As a wildlife biologist who studies bears, I have a few holes in my education. One of which is my lack of firearm training. A while ago, I asked some friends to teach me how to shoot. A couple weeks later, they took me and a few others out to a firing range where we first learned about gun safety.

Rule Number One: NEVER EVER EVER POINT A GUN, LOADED OR UNLOADED, AT A PERSON!

After the safety talk, we shot rifles and shotguns. That day I learned three very important things.

First, NEVER EVER EVER POINT A GUN, LOADED OR UNLOADED, AT A PERSON! Okay, so already knew that, but it’s good to have that drilled into your head.

Second, I suck at shooting.

Third, I am never going into the woods during hunting season again. Some people should not be allowed to handle guns. I’ve heard of people getting shot while hunting. I’ve seen movies that feature idiots handling guns, but until this day, I hadn’t experienced it. I didn’t actually believe I knew someone dense enough to turn toward a group of people and swing the gun so that it too pointed at said group. Rightfully, the group yelled and got the hell out of the way. When the idiot realized what she’d done, she pointed the barrel of the gun at the ground and said, “It’s okay. The safety’s on.”

Yeah, right, ‘cause safeties never fail, and didn’t you hear the part about NEVER EVER EVER POINT A GUN, LOADED OR UNLOADED, AT A PERSON!

Bears: Not the Sharpest Color in the Rainbow, but they Sure are Stupid…I Mean Tough.

I’ve always said, if I were to be attacked by a bear, I’d rather it be a grizzly than a black bear. Depending on the situation, many grizzlies attack because they perceive you as a threat. Which is why playing dead can work with a grizzly. If the threat is gone, they’ll most likely walk away. If a black bear attacks you, you’re dinner.

A few days ago, I witnessed some typical grizzly bear behavior. We had let four cubs of the year into a several acre pen. It was their first time out. Their first time on soil. Their first time on grass. And their first time to come in contact with a high-voltage electric wire.

Most bears that come in contact with the electric wire get zapped once and never get close to the wire again. So when one bear sniffed the wire, got zapped and ran away, we all thought, great. It’s learning.

And then it proved us wrong.

Although he was only 150 pounds and not even a year old, he wasn’t going to be defeated by a wire. He approached and sniffed it again. Had the wire played dead and not zapped baby bear, baby bear probably would have left the wire alone, but the wire zapped him. And baby bear got pissed. It attacked the wire with its open mouth. Zap! Attack. Zap! Attack. Zap! Attack. Zap! When all was said and done, the wire finally defeated baby bear.

But the moral of the story is this: Unless you know you can defeat the grizzly, best not to antagonize it.

I Hate Snowshoes...Even When I Don't Have Them On.

The second time I wore snowshoes was as successful as the first. But only because I took them off.

I hiked five miles up a snowy road, down a hill through a clear-cut then came to a stream. The only way across was to climb onto a giant fallen tree and walk across it. I couldn’t climb onto the tree with my snowshoes on, so I took them off, strapped them to my pack and walked across the fallen tree. On the other side of the stream, I jumped down from the tree.

And fell through the crusty snow up to my armpits, my arms winged out to my sides the only things stopping me from falling further. I kicked my feet down, but couldn’t get solid footing. I tried to grab the snow with my gloved hands and pull myself out of the hole, but I couldn’t get a hold of anything. The snow was too slick and icy on top.

So what did I do?

I took off my pack, slid it in front of me on the icy snow then grabbed a hold of it and wiggled my way out of the hole. Then I stood up.

And promptly fell through the snow up to my armpits again.

And again...

and again.