Return of the cougar

American Forests, Jan-Feb, 1995 by Kevin Hansen

Predator personified, our biggest cat seems to be slowly gaining in numbers. But it remains a wraith in our imagination, and that is as it should be.

"HARLEY, I THINK I FOUND ONE." Harley Shaw walks over and follows my gaze to the ground at my feet. He slips off his pack and squats for a closer examination. Nestled in the loose dirt is the outline of a mountain lion track--a big one.

"Good eyes," he says, smiling. "Looks like you're getting the hang of it. It's a big tom--the first male we've found this year." From his pack he withdraws a small plate of glass and offers it to me. "Care to do the honors?"

Removing my pack. I kneel next to the track and gently place the glass over it. With a grease pencil I carefully trace the outline of the impression, mentally checking off the distinguishing characteristics: two lobes on the leading edge of the heel pad, three lobes on the trailing edge; toes elongated ovals and asymmetrically arranged. Yes, this is definitely a mountain-lion track--and I found it.

"Here's some more," says Harley, pointing at the ground farther up the road.

Finishing the tracing, I gingerly lift the glass and begin to transfer the track outline to a sheet of paper. I'm giddy over the discovery of my first track, and Harley chuckles at me as he takes out a small ruler and begins to take measurements.

After 26 years as a research biologist with the Arizona Game and Fish Department, much of it spent studying mountain lions, and after writing two books on the big cats, Harley Shaw knows a thing or two about cougars, as the cats are also known. That is why I quickly accepted the offer to join him for a week of tracking in the Huachuca Mountains of southern Arizona. Because of their stealthy nature, counting lions in the wild is practically impossible with current research technology. Harley is trying to develop a tracking technique that will allow him to determine the general presence of cougars in an area using minimum tracking effort.

I QUICKLY LEARN THAT real tracking is nothing like the movies. For eight days I drag myself out of my tent at 5 a.m. to follow Harley and his team of volunteers as we hike designated sections of firebreak roads and trails in the Huachuca Mountains. The early hour is for low-angle light, which accentuates the small shadows thrown by tracks and makes them easier to see. By 9 a.m. sunlight washes out most impressions. Surface is also important. That is why we are here in the heat of early June, when the roads are covered with the layer of dust that holds a track so well. Concentration and fatigue are also factors. Good trackers work only a few hours at a time. Finally, you must have patience--the patience of a cat. The reward for my patience is the big tom's track. We never see the cats themselves, only their tracks. Such is the nature of a predator whose survival depends on remaining in the shadows.

Mountain lions--also called pumas--are secretive, solitary, and highly mobile carnivores that occur in low densities and roam enormous tracts in western North America's diverse landscape. For decades, these characteristics made the cats extremely difficult to research. Thanks to the development of anesthetizing drugs, radio-telemetry equipment, and the persistent and painstaking efforts of a few biologists, the mysterious lions are slowly giving up their secrets.

Cougars once laid claim to the most extensive range of any land mammal in the Western Hemisphere. They once roamed from the Yukon to the Straits of Magellan, over 110 degrees latitude, and from the Atlantic to the Pacific. They can be found from sea level to 14,765 feet, and in habitats as diverse as Northwest forests, Southwest deserts, and Florida's Everglades--attesting to their resilience and adaptability. They are adaptable, but not invulnerable: Habitat loss and persecution have reduced the lion's North American range to the 12 western states, Mexico, British Columbia, Alberta, and a small remnant population in southern Florida.

UNTIL RECENTLY, biologists called them Felis concolor, literally "cat of one color" (see accompanying feature). Their coat is a plain, tawny brown, while their distinctive heavy tail measures almost two-thirds the length of the head and body. The sexes look alike, though males are 30 to 40 percent larger. Males measure six to eight feet from nose to tail tip, compared with five to seven feet for females. A typical adult male will weigh 110 to 180 pounds and the female 80 to 130 pounds. A rare heavyweight will top 200 pounds.

Newborn mountain lions enter the world weighing less than a pound. Litters average two or three cubs, which have coats covered with black and brown spots and rings around their tails. The cubs begin nursing minutes after birth. Within three weeks they weigh more than two pounds. After being weaned at two to three months, the young start to lose their spots, and they accompany their mother to kills. At 17 months their baby blue eyes have turned golden brown.

Many wildlife professionals believe the cougar is making a comeback. During the 1960s and 1970s, most state wildlife departments reclassified the mountain lion from vermin to game animal, giving the big cat a greater measure of protection. Only Texas allows unrestricted killing of the cougar. The setting aside of 700 million acres of public land and the passage of legislation such as the Wilderness Act have protected critical habitat and improved chances for the cat's survival. Wildlife managers point to increased sightings, as well as increased attacks on livestock and people. Compared to the status of cougar populations at the turn of the century--when most states still paid bounties--the animals certainly seem to be resurgent in many parts of western North America.