"Ms. Mountain Lion: Southern Arizona" (c) 2010 Stu Jenks
The glare from the late afternoon Sun makes seeing out my windshield difficult. It doesn’t happen often as I climb this steep well-maintained dirt road in some mountains south of Tucson, but when it does, I can hardly see.
I turn up another hairpin and again am blinded by the Sun. Then I see something in the road. I know what it is immediately even though I’ve never seen one in the wild. I stop my truck in the middle of the road, pull the emergency brake, and turn off the engine. She looks at me, but she isn’t afraid. Curious, but not afraid. I stare back at her. We do this for a second or two, but it feels much longer. I quickly grab the 400 mm from the backseat. As I put the camera to my eye, I see her begin to stroll away. I click off three quick exposures through the glare of the windshield. The mountain lion then disappears into the forest. I start the truck back up and pull past where she had just been. I get out and begin to walk toward the edge of the road. At the edge, the land falls steeply away, into a jumbled mix of brush, Mexican Oaks and Alligator Junipers. I’m scared but in a good way. I know I’m not in any real danger unless Ms. Mountain Lion is rabid or extremely hunger. I hope she’s not sick. I hope she recently had a meal.
I peer down the hill, hoping to catch a glance of her, hoping to perhaps photograph her face. Her face. Hmm. That might not be such...and then I stop thinking about photography. I need to become big. I raise my arms above my head, my huge white Canon in my right hand. I still walk and look over the edge but my enthusiasm for that great Cougar shot has greatly diminished. I’m now afraid, but not in a good way. I’m foolishly stalking an animal that stalks prey for a living. And I can feel her eyes out there somewhere. She sees me but I can’t see her. She stalking me. I’m now the prey.
Usually I would thank the wild animal for allowing me to see her, to be with her, to share her space with me, but I don’t today. I just back away from the edge and slowly walk back to my truck. I walk sideways as to not show the cat my full back. I open the truck door, enter, close the door and begin to breathe again.
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