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Tip o' the Day

There's a difference between grizzly bears and mountain lions. No, I'm not talking about their obvious physical properties; I'm referring to tactics appropriate in an encounter with each animal.

According to all the latest research, in a sudden encounter with a cougar (mountain lion), you can throw out much of what you've learned about responding to grizzly bears in similar situations.

If you discover a big cat in close proximity, never play dead; it's the worst thing you can do! Don't even so much as crouch. Instead, stand tall. Spread your jacket or shirt to appear larger--cougars can be intimidated by size.

Conversely, appearing larger to the fearless grizzly bear may make him feel threatened and trigger a violent reprisal. Playing dead with the same animal may, so it is said, lead the bear to conclude you pose no threat. Playing dead with a mountain lion, on the other hand, can lead the big cat to view you as a ready-made table delicacy.

Never turn you back on a cougar. They usually attack from the rear.

Do not jog alone in cougar country. There is evidence a cat's predatory instincts can be triggered by running humans who unwittingly mimic actions of the big felines' normal prey (several joggers have been attacked, each while jogging alone along isolated foothill roads and trails).

If you encounter a lion, all advisories tell you not to panic or make quick movements. Most tell you, also, to talk calmly to the cat, while backing slowly away.

Many of the same printed materials says never make direct eye contact; that "mountain lions may perceive eye contact as a threat." But I don't buy that one. Most info sheets will also tell you to avoid eye contact with a grizzly bear, and THAT I feel prudent--I don't want him to feel threatened. But if a cat can be threatened, and I already feel threatened, I want him to join the crowd.

I like the information released by the British Columbia Ministry of Environment: "If a cougar is advancing toward you, make a lot of noise by yelling and screaming. Use a club or stout stick to poke at him while continuing to make noise. Back away."

Everybody says "don't panic." One state advises you to "talk calmly" while one province advises "yelling and screaming." Of course, telling a person not to panic while a cougar is advancing with visions of pot roast is akin to saying,"don't get pimples." And advising one to talk calmly is probably appropriate advice for lion tamers, but hardly suitable for a computer programmer from New Jersey who's out for a day stroll in Glacier Park.

Yelling and screaming sounds like better advice; it sounds as if it's a pearl of wisdom I would find easy to follow. Was I lucky, it might even come out as something more than a whimper.

I have just finished The Phantom Ghost of Harriet Lou. Wow! It was wonderful! I was transported from my stateroom aboard a destroyer to the wilderness I roamed as a teenager. Your tales were well told, enlightening and dead on the money. The open ocean on a calm clear night is beautiful, but I'll never hear the hoarse bellow of a rutting bull. Driving a warship from the bridge into heavy seas and tailing green water is exhulting, but not nearly as much as stumbling across grizzly tracks that haven't begun to fill in. Thank you for sharing with me. My dad sent me the Thursday Great Falls Tribune, no matter where I am in the world for the last 13 years. I have always enjoyed your writing, but this book was special.

FOREST FIRES BECOMING WAY OF LIFE

Some years ago, in the mid-1980s, consensus developed for a different approach to forest management. Prior to that time, the primary use for America's National Forests had been to supply raw material for the people's insatiable appetites for new homes, offices, shopping centers, indeed for cities themselves. But as the ramifications of turning the nation's forests into the nation's "tree farms" became more apparent (devastation of clearcut logging, sediment-filled streams, disruption of wildlife patterns, reduced recreational opportunities) the public rebelled, resulting in politics dictating new direction.

With that new direction mandating a reduced role for timber harvests, economic rationales for previous techniques of forest management went into free-fall. As forest managers scrambled to salvage both reputation and profession they were, of necessity, forced to re-examine former policies, forging cuts where possible and feasible. One of those management policies coming under intense scrutiny was their fire suppression program.

Instituted shortly after the turn of the previous century as a result of a series of disastrous wildfires that consumed millions of acres of forestlands, it became policy to throw all resources at all fires--to hell with the cost! It was a practice that enjoyed near-unanimous support from all segments of American society, from the President and Congress, clear down to primary school children first introduced to what became one of the most successful symbols in all American promotional advertising history: Smokey the Bear.

As decades and technology advanced, the cost of fire suppression advanced with it: Smoke jumpers, retardent bombers, bucket carrying helicopters, specialized "hotshot" crews, et al. Previously those costs were supposedly justified by monies generated through the sale of public timber from public forests. But with forest management emphasizing timber sales drying up, and it's consequent income productivity also dwindling, some managers began questioning the need for costly fire suppression efforts.

Coincidentally, new research began spilling out that also questioned the national policy of maximized fire suppression. One research result claimed that our century of successful fire suppression contributed to an overload of dead and dying wood on forest floors. That school of thought evoked images of explosive forest tinder building--certain to lead to future mega-disastrous wildfires. Meanwhile, a second research advocated the need for some fires for healthy forest renewal. One could assume it natural for the two schools to converge by asking: Might it not be prudent to allow some wildfires to burn?

It was a question posed to the highest management levels within the U.S. Forest Service at the same time those levels struggled to cope with a need for massive budget cuts amid declining revenue. Reluctant go-aheads were tendered on a more or less experimental basis. On-the-ground managers began developing fire planning to implement the new program. Like a snowball rolling downhill, the new policy took off. Firefighting capabilities were reduced at considerable savings, replaced by skeleton fire "planning" staffs.

The policy shift was carefully considered and designed. Its objectives were noble and sound--except for a couple of problems:

1. Beginning in 1988, much of the West entered a series of unexpectedly dry years. Yellowstone burned in 1988, followed by '98, 2001, '03, '06, and '07. And that's just the years in this place and during my time. There were other fires in other places at other times: Colorado, Arizona, California, New Mexico, Texas; name any western forest and epic conflagrations likely occurred there during the period.

2. The proliferation of folks building their idyllic homes snuggled up as secluded retreats against what they like to think of as their National Forests.

Then lightning struck. Or someone was careless with a campfire, or a cigarette stub. Or an unmuffled piece of mechanical equipment sparked.

Historically, there are recorded times when over 200 lightning fires were ignited in one National Forest during one night. One such storm occurred on the Flathead National Forest in 1940. It's possible that only our innocence has thus far protected us from such calamity in this tinder-dry year of 2007. In 2007, with our limited resources already stretched to the hilt in battling fires that have already necessitated evacuations of hundreds of homes along the east and west fronts of Montana's northern Rockies, we have little time for entertaining further fireworks from heaven.

Reduced fire suppression; accelerating fire danger. Irony exists somewhere there.

 

Roland Cheek wrote a syndicated outdoors column (Wild Trails and Tall Tales) for 21 years. The column was carried in 17 daily and weekly newspapers in two states. In addition, he scripted and broadcast a daily radio show (Trails to Outdoor Adventure) that aired on 75 stations from the Atlantic seaboard to the Pacific Ocean. He's also written upwards of 200 magazine articles and 12 fiction and nonfiction books. For more on Roland, visit:

www.rolandcheek.com

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