Death showed me one of its faces here, where the dust holds a track until the next strong wind. The sun did not warm me on that day. The cold chewed on my hands and dusk shoved the light aside to make way for the darkness. A clump of toyon bushes stood at the high […]
Though I told my Facebook users that I feared the worst for the lion, Fish and Game seems to be following a So-you-wanna-be-around-humans-we’ll-let-you-live-around-humans” policy and sending it to a zoo.
A mother and her cub have been spotted in these parts.
It was about ten to twenty yards south of the Sleepy Hollow entrance that I saw faint tracks in the dust on the left side of the road.
On Tuesday, I went for a walk along the Sage Scrub Trail. There, preserved in the hardened mud along that mountain biker-eroded canyon, I saw a series of about ten tracks.
Yellow police tape and red signs remain looped around the area following this month’s earlier mountain lion attack. I suspect that bikers are ignoring the signs.
Was this my lion, the lion that I frightened off last October?
We can and will learn from this. My sincere condolences to the family of the victim, to the woman who was mauled, and the two survivors of the incidents.
Think of it: a biker never stops to look. He is always on the move, always — in the eyes of the lion — fleeing. It’s like dragging a piece of red yarn in front of your cat. It’s going to induce it to pounce.
I came upon a park ranger who was deciding what to do with a dead rabbit. It had clearly been killed and chewed.