South Dakota—A scientist, using a vacant summer cabin as a blind, is treated to a rare viewing of a mother cougar and her three cubs.
My interest in wildlife grew out of a childhood passion. I always felt a deep connection to the wild. I knew I would spend my life continually seeking to know more about it. But when I saw a BBC film called Puma: Lion of the Andes, my focus became clear. In the documentary, the brilliant filmmaker Hugh Miles tracks and documents a female puma in the wilds of southern Chile. There are no settlements nearby and, in time, the feline comes to accept his constant presence and his ongoing observations. Eventually, she gives birth to a litter of kittens, and we see the family’s early life play out before our eyes. I was completely mesmerized from beginning to end. At the time, I had no way of knowing just how much this film would impact my life; I just knew I needed to know more about this amazing animal.
A few years ago I was working on a cougar research project in the Black Hills of South Dakota. One afternoon I got a call from the groundskeeper of a remote, vacant summer camp. He informed me that he had discovered a fresh deer carcass, presumably killed by a cougar, in the woods surrounding the camp.
That afternoon, I drove to the location and found the deer, covered almost entirely with leaf litter and twigs, the trademark concealment of a cougar’s kill. Although it was winter, snowfall to this point had been minimal. Patchy areas of snow revealed evidence that a family group—a female and her kittens—had been feeding on this kill the night before. At that time, the kitten-sized radio collars I had ordered had been delayed from the manufacturer but I was told they were due to arrive any day. So, in the meantime, I decided to see if I could observe this family group and determine just how many kittens there were. I asked the groundskeeper for permission to stay the night in an old cabin that was less than thirty feet away from where the cougar had cached her kill. As luck would have it, a full moon scheduled for that night was likely to increase my chances of seeing the family returning to the kill after dark. I placed an old VHF radio collar inside the remains of the deer with a magnet strategically balanced on the battery. When the family returned and began to feed, the battery would simply roll off and the collar would start transmitting a silent signal. Inside the cabin, the receiver would begin to beep, alerting me of their arrival.
It was a frigidly cold night so I suited up in my warmest winter gear, jumped into my sleeping bag, and placed my receiver on the floor next to the couch and waited. Shortly after nightfall, the static from the receiver was replaced by a “beep, beep, beep.” The female and her kittens had arrived. Within moments, I could hear the crushing of bones and the sound of growling kittens fighting over food.
To keep my presence unknown, I needed to move with great care inside the cabin. I slowly peeled back my sleeping bag, climbed out, and began to make my way to the window. The old wooden floor proved to be the greatest test to my patience. With each step, the floor groaned under my weight. The window, not six feet from the couch, seemed miles away. However, I knew that if I let my excitement get the best of me, the cougars would hear me and quickly disappear into the night.
I finally managed to reach the window. Standing to one side, I slowly moved the curtain just enough to peek out with one eye. To my great disappointment, the family was invisible, hidden by the shadow of the cabin in the moonlight. I prayed that soon my eyes would adjust to the light and I would be able to make out at least some figures. I waited, thrilled just to be listening to the sound of meat and bone being eagerly devoured by the cougars. More time passed and the family remained hidden, so I resigned myself to the notion that even without seeing them, this was still a great honor indeed. After all, I was able to remain undetected in the presence of a female cougar and her kittens as they fed on their kill less than thirty feet away from me.
As the night grew bitterly cold, I decided to return to the warmth of my sleeping bag. I crept back to the couch as slowly as I had moved away from it and crawled inside my sleeping bag. Eventually, sleep got the best of me and I began to doze off, all the while being serenaded by the sounds of the cougars. I believed I would be hard-pressed to find an experience to compare to this in the future. I was dead wrong.
Some time had passed and I awoke suddenly to the sound of a soft “thump.” It took me a moment to get my bearings and remember where I was. Then I heard it again… “thump.” I sat straight up in my sleeping bag as I realized the sound was coming from the deck that surrounded the cabin on two sides. All at once I knew it had to be the female and her kittens. I slowly crept to the door that bordered one side of the deck. I gradually moved the curtain that covered the window on the top half of the door. As it was on the opposite side of the house from the deer carcass, the deck was flooded in moonlight. I stood and listened but heard nothing. I began to wonder if my imagination had played tricks on me and I had not really heard anything at all. Then, all at once I saw a small shadow coming out of the darkness in the distance and moving up onto the deck. It was one of the kittens. It strolled right past the door less than two feet from where I was standing. Before it even registered in my mind, another one followed behind it. Then, in the dirt just on the other side of the deck, arrived the mother and one more kitten.
As they moved past me, I realized I needed to make my way to the window that bordered the second side of the deck. If I thought my patience had been tested the first time I had to creep across the room, it was nothing compared to this. I was even more impatient this time as I slowly, quietly crept across the room. I finally made it to the window and peeked out to see that the mother and the final kitten had now joined the other two on the deck. The mother lay down in the middle of the deck with her back to me. I could see that her belly was large and full. As she rested there her tail repeatedly curled up and then flopped back down again. Near her, two of the kittens were pouncing on one another, rolling around the deck, a single ball of fur. Then the third kitten started to swat at the mother’s tail. Within moments, its interest turned, and the kitten began to growl playfully and bite at its mother’s neck—the mother quickly put a stop to this.
The kitten then retreated and turned its interest to a small strip of wood that had fallen off one of the window sidings. Soon, the three kittens were batting the wood back and forth across the deck. At one point, two of the kittens jumped up on a picnic table and resumed a wrestling match. They eventually tumbled off the table and back onto the deck. The mother continued to lie there contentedly, tail slowly curling up and down, periodically licking her front paws and staring off into the darkness.
The family remained on the deck for the better part of a half hour. All of this took place within ten feet of where I was standing. The observation ended as abruptly as it had started. The mother got up, took a long stretch followed by a deep yawn, jumped slowly from the deck, and disappeared with her kittens into the night.
To this day I still pinch myself when I remember that evening. I know I shared a truly rare and unique honor with Hugh Miles as I silently observed these incredibly fascinating creatures, gaining an unobtrusive view into the secrets of their lives.