If you want to chase the ultimate big-game rush, call mountain lions.
by Scott Haugen
I was dressed and on the road within five minutes of capturing a mountain lion on a Moultrie Mobile cellular trail camera. The cat was cruising an old logging road in the foothills of the Cascade Range, less than three miles from my home in Walterville, Oregon.
I’d been hunting mountain lions in this jungle-like habitat for three years. I came close multiple times but had yet to get a shot. On the afternoon of April 25th, 2024, that all changed.
The cougar came to a fork on two ATV trails. I assumed it stuck to the upper path, which was brushier and had more green grass. Brush rabbits and gray squirrels, along with gray foxes, opossums, feral cats, and deer, had been popping up on trail cameras in this area. All of these are prime targets for lions.
Less than 20 minutes from when the cat appeared on the trail camera, I was in position. The trail the cat traveled joined another one a half-mile away. This junction is where I set up. I knew I’d have up to a 60-yard shooting lane, so I took a 28 Nosler. More than half the time, I’m toting a shotgun with me into this thick mess.
I set a FoxPro X24 less than 30 yards away on the other side of the trail, where I thought the cat would come down. Should the cougar appear where anticipated, I figured it would turn uphill, away from me, and go to the call. If the cat had already passed by and headed up the mountain, I figured I could call it back down.
For three minutes, I played jackrabbit distress sounds. I kept the volume low, figuring the cat was near. By the end of the sequence, it was full blast, penetrating the thick stand of 15-year-old Douglas fir trees blanketing the ridge.
Then I paused, slipped an open-reed Slayer Cow Call into my mouth, and hammered away with bird distress sounds. This has been my go-to sound for calling in bears in thick cover, and it works excellently on coyotes, too. Twenty seconds into the sequence, it happened.
React Or Fail
A gray fox came sprinting down the trail I’d expected the cat to be on, turned hard right, and sped toward me. I was already in the gun, which was set on tripod shooting sticks. I’d called in a lot of gray foxes and immediately knew something wasn’t right.
The fox was in an all-out race, running scared. I think the fox was making a move on the call when the cougar caught up with it. The hunter became the hunted, and the bushy-tailed canine scurried for its life.
I put my eye to the scope to track the scrambling fox, to ensure I could do the same should the cat suddenly appear at such breakneck speed. That’s when the blocky head of the cougar appeared right behind it, filling the scope. I had both eyes open and could see the lion as it busted off the hill and through a curtain of lush green.
Its thick tail turned in a smooth, perfect circle, almost in slow motion, then cleanly centered up for balance. The head and tail were instantly steady as the cat lunged, turned 90 degrees to get on the fox, and then dug in.
The cougar was 23 yards from me when it first emerged. The cat was stretched out right behind the fox in a fraction of a second. Both were running full speed directly at me. The distance closed faster than the blink of an eye, literally.
I was sitting on the ground on the left side of a trail. The fox and the cat came down the same side. There was no time to think; just react.
When the green dot of my Trijicon AccuPoint dropped below the nose of the sprinting cat, I squeezed the trigger. Undoubtedly, the cat accelerated to more than 30 miles per hour almost instantly. At 16 yards, a 175-grain Nosler AccuBond pounded the cat in the chest. Its head dropped, and the downhill momentum sent the hind end over. The long, thick, dark tail extended into the sky and fell toward me. It looked like I could reach out and grab it. The cat fell seven paces from where I sat.
It happened so fast that I didn’t get nervous. Even after the shot, I was calm and focused. I’ve hunted various man-eating predators in other parts of the world, and this encounter was on that level. Nothing else was on my mind.
Someone recently asked me, “Of all the hunts you’ve been on worldwide, what’s been the most exciting?” This one instantly came to mind. Not only for the thrill as it unfolded but also for the time and effort I had into calling a cat in a thick habitat near home.
Brush Country Calling
Most of my mountain lion calling occurs in the dense rainforests of the Pacific Northwest. I have a lot to learn about calling lions in this habitat. Often, my shooting windows are less than 20 yards, which is far different from calling in the open country east of the Cascade Range.
But I am learning that being in the right place at the right time is everything, and it won’t happen by chance. I wouldn’t have called in that big tom if it had not been for a Moultrie Mobile transmitting camera that told me where it was in a timely fashion.
I’ve tried all of the predator sounds I know of to try and fool cats over the years. I’ve called in four others, and none have come to a fawn distress sound. I know predator hunters who are way better at it than I am, and that’s the only sound they’ll use, but that’s in open country. I know hunters who’ve had consistent success with other sounds and had no luck calling in cougars with fawn distress sounds. Tyler Tiller is one such man. He lives a short distance from me, hunts in the same habitat, and has shot a number of cougars.
Tiller keeps trying what everyone suggests, deer and calf elk distress calls but has never had a cat come to those. He’s had good luck with rodent, rabbit, and squirrel distress sounds. He’s had cougars come busting in 90 seconds after using squirrel distress sounds and had them respond to kitten distress sounds with surprising consistency.
“These low-elevation cougars are different from ones living high in the Cascades,” points out Tiller. “If you want to kill a big tom up in the mountains, go when the deer and elk have young. But the cats in our area that live among people and kill their livestock, pets, rabbits, squirrels, and fawns, I call for about 20 minutes, then move. Because it’s so thick, I don’t spend much time calling in one place. If a cat’s near, it’ll usually come in quick.”
Tiller starts with subtle rodent or distressed kitten sounds.
“I approach an area very quietly, call for five minutes, then sit silently for two minutes,” Tiller continued. “Then I call a bit louder for five more minutes and am quiet for two minutes. In my final sequence, I blast the electronic call for five minutes. I might sit for two minutes or wait 30 minutes, depending on the conditions, how things feel, and if I have more ground to cover on foot. I’ll move to just beyond where I think my sounds reached and repeat the sequence. Calling here isn’t about getting sounds to carry long distances across canyons; it’s about getting the noise to penetrate the thick cover where you think a cat is.”
The Addiction
My quest for another cougar encounter never stops. Since killing that lion last spring, others have killed sheep, goats, cats, and dogs in my area. Some I was home for and got on quickly, but not soon enough, for they weren’t within earshot by the time I started calling to them. Others appeared at mid-day on the trail camera, but I was out of town. That’s a frustrating feeling, as daylight sightings and opportunities are rare.
Hunting deer and elk is a blast. Hunting big predators that can kill you is a rush. It’s also more challenging. A big part of my lion-hunting addiction lies in the fact that learning never stops. But the most thrilling reward is when it all comes together. Few feelings in the world can match that.
