I was working on the cabin yesterday. Finishing touches. And so I was going to write about that. But I got a call midday from my buddy Devlin letting me know that, if I hurried, I could participate in a mountain lion collaring. I dropped the work, hastily packed up the truck, and drove six hours. So, now that’s the topic.
On the drive down I had a lot of time to think of questions I had for the researchers I’d be meeting about their work with The California Mountain Lion Project. In theory we’d be up all night together, and possibly even waiting a second night. Lot’s of time to pick their brains.
However, just as Devlin and I had rolled into town he got the call that the trap had just been sprung. Record time, apparently. So, he and I bombed up the mountain, arriving just as the cat had been tranquilized. The clock was ticking, so most of my questions had to wait for another time. Still… I gleaned a bunch and figured I’d share.
Trapping starts with baiting a known area and waiting for a mountain lion to come across the bait.
In this case, roadkill deer was used. A risk in this method is that bears sometimes get onto the bait first and lay claim. This happens basically 100% of the time in spring and summer, so cat collaring tends to happen in the colder seasons when bears aren’t active. Houndsmen and their hounds can be used to locate and tree cats, but at least in California that’s reserved for problem cats that are being hunted down. When it comes to cat research, being chased by dogs moves the cats into new territory and less natural patterns, so traps are favored, even if it means working only seasonally.
Devlin’s property sees a lot of cat activity so he’s been working with the researchers and this week they came in to bait and wait.
After baiting was done, the researchers set up a camera and monitored the bait remotely. Within a couple of days a lion had found the food and was visibly caching it under leaves and dirt. Under the assumption that the cat would return the following night to feed, the team returned the next day with two traps. Refrigerator sized cages with trap doors. Two are used because sometimes a mountain lion will jump on the cage and trigger one, or narrowly escape the trap door. The deer meat was bound with wire into the rear of the traps, and the researchers retreated to a staging area down the hill.
Typically, they catch cats at night. But in this case, the lion was likely hovering around the food, briefly moved away when researchers returned to set the traps, and returned not long after they left. Within two hours there was a cat in the box.
Once the trap was sprung the team hustled over from the staging area to the trapping site to tranquilize the cat. They don’t like to leave it in the cage for too long.
I asked one of the folks, Nancy, how the tranquilizing goes down, as I wasn’t there to catch it. She said she approaches the cage at a specific speed—fast enough not to prolong the experience, but not so hasty as to truly freak out the cat—and then she throws a blanket over trap. This helps keeps the cat calm. Then she lures it into a pattern of moving about the cage by checking on it and keeping it distracted until the time feels right and a teammate tranquilizes it. About 10 minutes later the cat is ready to be worked on.
Devlin and I were VERY fortunate with our timing. We showed up about 5 minutes in, just before the cat came out of the cage.
There’s a phone timer ticking alongside as they work. 45 minutes is the firm window to collect all their data and fit the cat with a collar. And there is a LOT of data.
The cat is weighed. They measure all its features and collect whiskers and blood for genetic and heavy metal analysis. They log wounds, claw quality, fur discoloration, tooth health, gum recession, etc. Everything is photographed. Vitals are charted every eight minutes as part of the anesthesia. The pulse oximeter on its tongue is especially cute. The rectal thermometer less so, but efficient.
The cat was tagged and a GPS collar affixed. Two sizes were brought, and this being a 90th percentile-sized large male at 140 pounds, the larger size was used. Fluids were administered, and while I was squeezing the IV bag, I tried to suss out if it was just saline or if any medications were mixed in there. I couldn’t be sure and never did ask. Maybe it got a B12 shot and some Athletic Greens.
The crew moved rapidly and efficiently as they wrung over a hundred data points from the fairly short window. Quiet and calm, too. The beeping from the monitors punctuated far louder than any chatter. It felt like they’d done this a hundred times, so I was surprised when I found they collar relatively few cats. Their current study needs about 30 individual cats, which they hope to collar over several years. A decent season means collaring just five lions. This season has been particularly abundant, with this cat numbering eleven.
As the clock approached 45 minutes Devlin and I had a couple minutes to poke and prod. The fur was different than I expected. More coarse and springy and covering a less surprising—but still very impressive—layer of dense muscle. Most interesting were the massive paws, and the splay of the toes and retraction of its claws. Just how dynamic and intricate that body part was.
At minute 45 the cat was hoisted in a litter, brought out to a clearing on the nose of the ridge line, and given a shot of wake-up juice. Monster Energy, I assume. We backed up about 30 feet and waited. Masks finally came off—a precaution because mountain lions are particularly susceptible to Covid. The crew took Covid tests ahead of time as well. No word yet on whether this new avian flu that’s made the jump to mammals is a threat to the cats.
The wait for the lion to wake was about 10 minutes. The sun had set and temps dropped, so one of the researchers, Fernando, draped his jacket over the cat. After about five minutes there was an ear twitch and a leg shiver. Fernando went over and tickled the cat’s foot to gauge its response. Or, maybe just for fun. And around minute 10 the lion raised up, groggily turned on its elbows, and looked at us. Resentful, probably. It took another minute or so to get its legs under it and stand—barely—and then scooted around a bush to hide. We’d wait a bit while it recovered in private.
The pause in the action gave me a chance to ask about the region’s lion population and whether it faced any of the genetic isolation issues I’ve heard about in California (and Florida) lions.
Apparently, this area is not as threatened by genetic bottlenecks as some. But, the more coastal mountain ranges are highly compartmentalized by roadways, and the issues with inbreeding in those areas will eventually kill off the lion populations. I was told that relocation has been tried before, but is seen as a temporary fix, and one that’s prohibitively difficult to organize between California’s multiple regional authorities.
Bridging those population groups via wildlife corridors, like the one recently added to 101, is the long-term solution that researchers view as essential to keeping the species around in as wide a range as currently enjoyed in California.
Ten minutes later Nancy checked around the backside of the bush to confirm suspicions and, sure enough, the mountain lion had found the energy to wander off for good.
Traps were broken down. A bit of deer meat was left behind to aid in recovery. But not so much as to keep the cat in one place for too long. We packed up, chatted for a bit, then parted ways. A quick, and very very cool experience and I’m extremely grateful to Devlin and the crew at the California Mountain Lion Project for the invite.
Check out the California Mountain Lion Project. You can find the director on a few radio shows and podcasts.
And that cat had a story it could tell to other cats for the rest of its life.