Something Wild Watching Me

A True Story

While living on ‘The Mountain,’ a small foothill of the Sangre de Cristos Mountains in New Mexico, USA, I hiked daily on the mountain and its adjoining foothills. As incomprehensible as it was to me, I was the only one on that side of the mountain--and possibly the other side--who hiked throughout its rocky ridges and deep sandy ravines. The only tracks I ever saw in the whole area were those of my Wild Friends and my own barefoot tracks in sand and mud.

People often think of a desert area, even a desert foothill as barren of all life, and yet, those foothills teemed with life. I never went a day without crossing paths with several of my Wild Friends; bear, deer, coyotes, rabbits, ferrets, mice, packrats, snakes, bobcats, mountain lions, ravens, and many other Wild Ones. I thrived in this rich, life-giving environment. I was part of a vitally alive Wild Community, a community that I was acutely aware of and that was acutely aware of me. Living with the mountain was a thrilling experience.

Over the years, my daily presence became very familiar to a family of ravens who also lived on the mountain. Our relationship became one of great respect and highly interactive communication. However, during my first few hikes up the steep rocky slopes, the ravens came soaring in with repeated, shrill calls, warning their tribe that a human trespasser had entered their territory. They also warned me to leave and that the territory was already taken.

I had communed with ravens many times before and knew how to behave, and roughly what sounds soothed my black-winged friends. Their concern for their territory soon turned to curiosity. With time, our relationship evolved into one of deep familiarity, respect, and warm greetings.

If I did not immediately see my friends on my hike up the steep mountain, I stood on a huge, visible boulder, and with arms raised upward I called out to the tribe of ravens. I never had long to wait before they glided in on black, arched wings, usually only four, but sometimes with fifteen or twenty neighboring family members. They always introduced me, as they circled low over my head and glided past my body.

NOTE: The commonly used terms for a group of ravens is, “an unkindness, a horde, a congress, or a murder.” However, many scientists and ornithological groups now try to change these names to “group, flock, family, tribe,” etc., as they feel the old names do not serve to protect and honor such intelligent, beautiful birds. I agree, so I use words like “family, tribe, or group.” Thank you.

As the ravens and I conversed, they circled lower and lower until they flew only five to ten feet above my head. I saw every detail of their wings, their perfect feet tucked tight against their bellies, and their beautifully curious faces. Their heads tipped as they glided past, so they could better see me with one black eye. In these intimate meetings, the sounds were soft, reassuring, and inclusive. The ravens gently swirled around me as if to wrap me in their Raven Love.

After they adopted me into their tribe, they were eager to teach me the correct family sounds. They were extremely patient--like adults teaching a child to speak. They often became very excited when I got the sounds correct. They would repeat them over and over to me, as they flew closer and lower. This tribe of ravens taught me more Raven-Speak than any other raven family I previously had encountered.

Ravens are extremely intelligent. They learn very quickly who the kind humans are as well as who the mean humans are. They never forget a face (or voice), even if a person wears different clothing. They can remember someone months and even years later. They also are very protective of anyone in their family or neighboring families.

One crisp autumn day I hiked southward across multiple ridges, far from the raven’s territory, and well beyond my normal hiking range. I loved hiking into new territory. My keen curiosity always drove me onward. What might I see or discover? On these explorations, I loved to come face to face with snake species I had not yet seen, or other Wild Ones I had yet to commune with. What exchanges of wisdom might we share? What would they teach me about their world…and mine? With each step, I merged deeper and deeper into the life of the mountain.

I continued up one ridge and down into its adjoining ravine, then up the next ridge and down into the next ravine, and so on. I had become very fit from such rugged terrain and sideways mountain traversing. I knew it was unnecessary, but it allowed me to venture into places that would otherwise be unexplored. I finally ended up in a deep sandy ravine with steep, almost vertical rocky sides. I knew that during heavy rain, mountain runoff would roar with the force of whitewater through the narrow slot. I only had to observe the debris still tangled high on the canyon walls to see the height of the canyon’s previous raging ‘river.’ I made a mental note to not be standing in the ravine’s sandy bottom with an all-powerful wall of brown water surging toward me. I had seen the immutable force of flash floods. They can devour everything in their path. Nonetheless, my second mental note was to return to the ravine during the next heavy rain and witness the unleashed water…safely from the bank above.

As the day wore on, I climbed out of the canyon, and while I still had daylight started the long trek home. After about half a mile, I sensed someone or something watching me, and possibly following me. I felt the prickles of awareness on the back of my head and neck. My years in the wild have not only honed my senses but have taught me to respect such cautioning sensations. In most cases, it is a snake I sense on the trail, just before I see it, or it is some other animal about to cross my path. It rarely is anything alarming, rather a simple call to awareness.

Because I hike barefoot, I never make much noise, but nonetheless, I periodically pause to listen when I hike. However, with such a strong sense of being watched and followed, I paused more than I might have otherwise. Although, I stopped, waited, listened, and looked all around I did not see or hear anything of concern. Yet, I still pondered whether or not to make noise. If it was a human, especially a man, I did not want them to see me…a solo female hiker. If it was a bear or large cat, making noise could be advantageous.

Although Nature is my church and I experience deep spiritual communion with Nature, I also am extremely practical and tend to be well prepared for many contingencies. Since I often hike alone, I carry mace in the event of a human attack, as well as Counter Assault, a much stronger repellent, for potential bear or cougar attacks. I always have both ready to grab in an instant, and I know how to use them.

I have been told by several doctors that my hearing is well above the normal human range, which can be very useful in situations like this. After I hiked another half mile or so, I again stopped, waited, and listened…and there it was, an almost inaudible ‘ticking’ sound. Tiny, invisible grains of sand dislodged from above, were falling and hitting the rocks below. The air was very still. Not a blade of grass moved. Nothing moved. I knew it was not wind-disturbed sand. Something followed me, just up above me, something hidden out of sight, something capable of extreme stealth.

I now knew I was not followed by a human. I smiled at that realization. It would be the rare human who could move with such silent, fluid grace. Humans, usually make so much noise, and in this steep rocky terrain I would hear the crashing of loose rocks, heavy breathing, grinding gravel under Vibram-soled boots, chaffing of one pant leg against the other, and more. A human might be able to quietly move, but most likely not with combined silence and speed. The animal that followed me was capable of speed, stealth, and distance.

Few land species in the desert, or anywhere for that matter, are capable of traversing great distance rapidly and with such softly padded silence. I instantly suspected that a curious mountain lion followed me. I had encountered several bobcats on my evening hikes. They tended not to follow but seemed to prefer to scamper away as quickly as possible. The only bobcat that ever lingered was a small bobcat that often sat outside my casita window while I worked at my desk. When I went to the window, sat on the floor, and looked out at him—with both of our faces inches from the glass—he would stare straight into my eyes, divining my soul. I fell in love with him.

As to mountain lions, I remembered the time I was making plans for a solo vision quest up on the high mountains of the Sangre de Cristos, at about 11,500 feet. I encountered a National Parks Service ranger who said that although mountain lions will often follow a hiker for miles, the hiker will almost never see the lion or even know they are being followed. He also told me that the lions are just curious. Apparently, there had been no attacks on humans in the area of my vision quest. Yet, I also knew that as we humans encroach on mountain lion territory, the lions are apt to feel more threatened and might become more assertive. I really could not blame them.

I felt thrilled at the idea of a mountain lion following me, and so close. Yet, I also knew to remain solidly aware and observant as I continued to traverse the ridges and ravines. I made sure to frequently glance at the rocky area above me…and behind me. When I stopped to listen and wait, I occasionally heard the minuscule ‘ticking’ sound of falling sand.

As I drew closer to my ‘home ridge,’ I decided to hook up with a well-used deer trail that led to the backdoor of my little casita. It would speed up my descent in the rapidly cooling dusk. I knew the way by heart, even in the dark, as I had communed many times with my Deer Family on this trail.

Finally, I was almost upon the deer trail when suddenly my raven friends flew in from the west, fast and loud, straight toward me and the mountain. Across the evening air rose their wild racket of short, strident, warning calls. I watched as they circled around and around, and occasionally dove down low while gliding over an area off to my left. I knew something was amiss. They were warning me of a potential threat or trespasser. They flew on past me toward the deer trail and circled, again with more warning calls. I had lived in the wild long enough to not ignore one of nature’s most intelligent guardians.

Curious and cautious I moved steadily forward. I had my Counter Assault spray and hiking poles ready, not in fear but rather in solid, grounded awareness. I stopped once more to listen. When I heard no more ‘ticking’ sand, I wondered if the lion might have moved further up the mountain, away from the raven’s loud racket. Large cats do not like sudden loud noises, and will often startle and flee. As I slowly headed downward, I made sure to continually watch my back. As I went, the ravens’ warning grew louder, and I grew more cautious. Suddenly, I wandered around a small cluster of juniper trees and came straight upon a large male mountain lion. He squatted in the middle of the trail, doing his ‘business’ twenty feet in front of me.

Upon seeing me mere feet away, the huge cat startled and rose from his squat and into a partial crouch with his head low and thrust slightly forward. He stared straight into my eyes. I was about to yell, raise my arms, flail my hiking poles, or even use my Counter Assault…if needed. The spray would reach the lion, although, a large male cat like this one could easily leap the distance between us in mere seconds and be upon me before I could do anything. I once read how they can leap up to forty feet. But given space, usually, mountain lions prefer to escape. Although I would fiercely protect myself, I did not want to make an unnecessary enemy, one that might remember me with more aggression.

I knew not to turn my back and run, a person should never run from a large cat. It triggers their instinct to chase. I also knew not to crouch down, ‘play dead,’ or stand perfectly still as I could be mistaken for easy prey. I very slowly backed up preparing myself for the correct protocol and was very ready to use it. Strangely, the lion abruptly retracted his head, sat back on his haunches, and relaxed.

In milliseconds we assessed each other. I felt him assessing me. Was I a threat? What were his options? What were mine? At his darting glance at the slope above him, I knew he was not interested in confrontation. He merely wanted to get away, and I wanted to give him plenty of room to do so. While still facing him and slowly backing away, I raised my arm, pointed up the bank, and firmly said, “Yes, go on. Go! Don’t come down here. The humans will shoot you. Stay on the mountain. You’ll be safe up there. Now, Go!” I almost laughed when he tipped his head sideways as he intently listened. His glance followed my pointing arm, up the embankment.

Then, in one fluid motion, the lion rose, pivoted, and leaped fifteen feet straight up the trail’s almost vertical embankment…and vanished like a ghost. It happened so fast; I almost doubted his presence. But, there in the middle of the deer trail sat his huge scat, marking his territory. Two feline footprints, much larger than my palm, could not be denied. Grains of sand still trickled down the bank, and then grew silent. Being the color of desert sand, the lion blended into the hillside, as if melted into sand and stone. I knew he was gone. I could feel it.

So, this is why the ravens warned me.

I would be lying if I said I was not stunned, but more powerfully felt was the thrilling excitement of such a rare encounter. I stood in awe of a fellow animal filled with such massive power. I do not refer to his killing ability, although he would be swift and skilled at that. I refer to his ability to spring from a dead standstill into an almost fifteen-foot vertical leap. I could not image housing in my muscles such immense force, a force that could ignite as swiftly as a match thrown to petrol. The very idea of such a leap left me breathless.

It dawned on me that the lion might not have been following me, just to follow me. There was a good chance he had been headed to the well-used deer trail. After all, the preferred food of mountain lions is deer. One of my deer friends named, “Brave Deer"--who also lived on the mountain and used the same trail--had huge racking scars on her shoulders and neck, proof of her narrow escape from a lion, possibly the magnificent beauty I had just met. (READ “Brave Deer’s” True Story)

Without further incident, I made it back to the casita. My encounter with this lion sparked something so refreshingly primal and deep that I knew it would take days to absorb…and become part of me. Ever since this first lion meeting, I have had two other ghostly mountain lion encounters, and several mountain lion dreams, all of them utterly beautiful and transformative. Mystics might tell me that the mountain lion is one of my power animals or guides, but then, I would say that every animal I encounter and commune with is my teacher and guide. That is the Way of Nature. Even the flowers have something to teach…if we listen.

Robin’s Notes

BE PREPARED:
Some might say, I should have yelled and waved my arms the instant I saw the lion. However, no matter how prepared we are and how much we know about response protocol, we still never quite know how we will respond to these wild encounters until they happen. Each one is unique, even within the same species.

—— Wikipedia states: “A total of 126 attacks, 27 of which were fatal, have been documented in North America in the past 100 years. Fatal cougar attacks are extremely rare and occur much less frequently than fatal snake bites, fatal lightning strikes, or fatal bee stings.” ——

However, because I do a lot of solo hiking for the purpose of photography and communion with the Wild Ones, I usually hike fairly well prepared. Here is an excellent guide to mountain lion response protocol from the National Parks Service:
https://www.nps.gov/pore/planyourvisit/yoursafety_mountainlions.htm

ON FEAR:
Over the years, I have had dozens of people privately tell me they feel ashamed of their fear of nature. However, fear of nature is actually very common. Decades ago while living in the Australian rainforest, I learned that fear is hardwired into me (us) and serves a primal purpose…to keep me alive. Fear can give us need energy (adrenaline) if we are ever in a situation where we might need to either run for our lives or fight for our lives, the old fight or flight response.

Yet, on another level, fear can prevent us from charging headlong into situations that we really know nothing about and are not yet equipped to handle. I have found that fear can be a formidable ally or guide. Fear can be very healthy and necessary, as it warns us that we need more knowledge and awareness than we might currently have…before we venture into unknown territory or situations that could potentially harm or kill us.

I have always felt that fear is NOT something to feel ashamed about, but rather something to explore, listen to, and offer more knowledge and understanding. Sometimes fear is like a voice saying, “I need to know more here. I want to be better equipped before moving forward.” In this way, fear can be transformed into solid awareness and knowledge. When respected, fear can often keep us alive. Fear does not make us less, it has the potential to make us more.

Something Wild Watching Me

A True Story

Robin’s Notes

He Rose From the Deep

Of Children and Stars