The War on Predators
<p>In2015 I was hiking in the Siskiyou mountains of southern Oregon in early January. It was a gloriously sunny day, the light reflecting off the two feet of pristine snow that my dog and I were tromping through. We were the first to brave this trail since the snowfall, and our footprints were the only blemishes on the untouched blanket of white. As we were the only car at the trailhead, my dog was off leash, lolloping ahead of me and happily sniffing out rabbits under the drifts. I was toying with the idea of wildlife photography as a career choice at that point in my life and had my expensive camera with me. I was snapping away, focused on my dog’s antics, when the hair on the back of my neck stood up.</p>
<p>There was no sound to alert me; no smell or shadow falling across the sunbeams. But <em>something </em>made me look up and ahead of me down the snowy trail. A massive adult male cougar, at least 130 pounds, stood about forty feet in front of me, his eyes locked on mine. </p>
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