We have a story from Jerry Miller of Portland Oregon. I had a chance to talk with Jerry about his experience and heard him retell it in his own words. It sent chills down my spine. I hope you feel it too.
-Ron
I love to fish. It is my passion. Although, these days I am a bit more careful as to where I go and I try not to go alone to those isolated spots. This happened to me this past summer and when I tell you that I have a new appreciation for life, after you have heard this tale, I think you will understand.
It was a Saturday morning. I had spent the previous day trying to find someone to come along with me, but I’d struck out. Not a big deal. I’d gone to my spot many times alone and had no fear of doing it. I packed up my truck and headed out to the wilds near Hubbard Oregon. There is a hidden stream along Old Whiskey Hill Road. The only way to get to it is to hack and whack. After a bit I got to my secret spot where the brown trout roam.
I was about an hour in and still had no bites. I could see them from time to time, but I just had not found the right lure. I had just casted out when I heard a loud snap. Then complete and utter silence. Even the birds had stopped their singing. An eerie calm came over the area. I ran my hand over my Glock G42, that was strapped to my waist, for reassurance. After a few minutes the bird’s sound returned and I returned to my thoughts of fresh trout for dinner. Whatever had been there had moved on. Figuring out that today the fish wanted the red rooster tail, I caught three and was ready to head home.
Snap! Followed by a growl!
Not a bear I knew that for sure. We were too close to town for them to be around. I stood still and just listened. Like before the forest had gone silent and I could hear and feel my heartbeat. I waited for about five minutes then started to move. I got to the main trail with no problem, but waiting for me was a cougar. Rouge male from the looks of him. He looked straight at me and I heard his thoughts plain and clear. Dinner!
Growing up in the northwest means you understand your surroundings. I have always been told that you should never run from a lion, because running may stimulate a mountain lion’s instinct to chase. Instead, stand and face the animal. I looked at the beast right back and yelled, “Git outta here and for effect I grabbed my gun and waved my arms.
He stepped back.
I yelled again, “Go-On GIT… “. I may have sworn just a bit.
He stepped back.
I pointed my gun and fired two rounds into the dirt. After all the G42 is only a .38 and he was a big fella. This did the trick. He ran west and I ran east, not stopping until I was safely in my truck. Then I let out my breath, and started to shake. On my way back home, I stopped at the Hubbard police station, and reported the incident. Later, I found out that he had been captured and relocated. – Jerry Miller
Amazing Story Jerry. I have no idea how I would have reacted. I did a little research online and the Department of Fish and Game agrees with your actions. However, I also reviewed the real statistics of cougar encounters and planned to report it. But, to be honest, I don’t think you want to know. Thank you for sharing your chilling tale.
This Week’s Podcast:
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Your Stories:
On the program this week we have a story about a stage mentalist who mysteriously acquires real supernatural powers of precognition. And, let me tell you it doesn’t lead to fame and fortune. Do you have a story that you would like to share on the podcast or the blog? Head to the main website, click on Story Submission, leave your story, give it a title, and please tell me where you’re from. I will read it on the show if I can.
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