It's thunder storming outside right now. Maybe the lightning and noise made me remember.
It was mid 1970's. March, Late march. In montanna as well as minnesota, winter was starting to give up its hold. Still, nothing much is going on. That is, until late that night when the phone rings and it happens to be a friend named David Talkington. David just happens to guide hunters in montanna sometimes, and especially if they would like to hunt cougars.
During this time period, cougars were not at all like today. Their numbers were decreasing and a worthy hunter would only allow himself one in a lifetime.
Having a understanding wife who would be minding our young son by herself, understanding that hunting was a lifesblood, she agreed that it would be necessary to book a flight the very next day. Now airlines were much different then, they actually helped people rather than treating them like dirt. So by mid morning i was on a plane destined for great falls.
At the airport i was met by David and this strange creature by the name of windy lee. For those of you who know this area and its people, you will understand when i refer to windy as a creature. One of the last cowboys.
Off we went. Stopping at bowmans corners for lunch I was hungry and couldn't understand why the other 2 didn't eat. Then around 7 o 8 that night we stopped for supper. This was macs bar and grill, and it was saturday nite. As i said i was much younger then and didn't understand that at macs on saturday nite they served a prime rib. Not just any prime, a plate was served about the size of a 2o" truck tire. That along with a few 7 oz buds. Now windy was quite well know in the bars of the area, and when we arrived everyone wanted to buy windy and his friends a beer. By the time that 40# roast appeared we each enough 7 0z buds to provide the company with their yearly profit.
3 am - off to bed to arise by 5 am. Then off to search for tracks.
All this time, windy was telling stories, All true tool Most had some sexual indentations in them about this ranchers daughter or the like, but all holding so much humor in them that att one could do was to hold his ribs in place. I asked
david if he had heard all this before, and believe it or not he hadn't. In any case we were off, hunting a mountain lion, complete with hangovers, lack of sleep and sore ribs laughing all the way.
It was mid morning as i recall (to the best of my ability) we crossed a fresh set of tracks. Had to be fresh because it just finished snowing.
Off we went. Now david raised his own lion dogs. hey were devoid of any bones or intestinal structure, as they were 199% pure muscle. My dog was tied to my wrist, davids to his, and windys to his belt. Windys dog was named dink. A big black and tan, stubborn as could be. I asked why he was named dink, and the answer was that it was as close to be called prick in public as he could.
Up the hills and down we went6. I should say the dogs went, because i believe my dog simply dragged my along. Finally we had the cat in a circle. We knew he had to be above us, probably in a rocky cliff. A strategy meeting was held and decided that windy would go up the left side, david the right and me the middle.
About half way there by dog got the scent. I could hear davids dog hot on the cat too. Well i was going straight up that mountain, because the dog was dragging me, when dink came shooting across my front, followed by windy, holding his pants in one hand while making dinks ancestry most colorful. It seems that when dink got the scent, he took off ripping the belt off windys pants.
It was only a few yards when the dogs had the cat in a tree. A nice big ponderona pine. and it was about 40' up, looking down on us. We studied that cat for awhile, until we determined it a female. Now wanting to shoot a female the plan was to leave it down and go find another. At the time i was quite a picture taking nut and i want to get a few good shots of her, so we proceeded to throw some snowballs at her. Finally one of us hit her in the face with a snowball. Now this just isn't possible. Their reflexes are much to quick for that. David looking at her commented that she had blue eyes. Now cats have yellow eyes, not blue , and after while we figured out that she would not see the snowballs coming.
Now i would rather take a blind cat anyday than a perfectly healthy one so i cocked the hammer on my S&W 57 and sent a 170 gr 41 mag up through her heart.
When she came down, we saw that here eyes were a solid milky blue. no pupil or retina. Showing her to a vet in town he found that she had glaucoma. Not at all common in a wild animal. With the cattle calving soon, the ranchers were gleeful that she was out of the picture.
Now the moral of this little story is that a trophy needs not be the biggest one, the most colorful or anything like it. The trophy was indeed one of a lifetime,, with compadres that were also ones in a lifetime. Their lifetimes came to soon, and they, the cougar and all the memories that go with it are indeed trophies.

Thanks for sharing, a great story for sure.

The trophy was indeed one of a lifetime,, with compadres that were also ones in a lifetime. Their lifetimes came to soon, and they, the cougar and all the memories that go with it are indeed trophies.

Butch,

Precisely and something too often missed in pursuit of a particular score or trophy that fits a preconceived ideal.

Mark

Nice!

butchbloc, thanks for sharing. A great, memorable adventure.

Jim

Goode example of the trophy being the hunt and the animal killed icing on the cake.

Great story, Thank You for sharing.

Excellent!!!

Thumbs up and kudos from here on an excellent writeup!

Very nice story, thanks for sharing.

Good story Butch, and a great trophy to boot!