Copyright 2010

Once while vacationing in Rocky Mountain National Park with my young family I was awoken from a sound sleep by a blood curdling scream behind our cabin. “Heeelp me!” “Heeelp me!” I heard distinctly in a woman’s voice somewhere behind our cabin. I shot out of bed and went to the window only to see darkness. The cries stopped, and unsettled, I gradually went back to bed. The next morning at breakfast, many described the same thing , only to be told that there was a mountain lion in the area, and the cries we heard were the cries of the elusive big cat. It was my first experience with the creature and my hope was to one day see one in the wild.

The next day I went trout fishing on a beautiful mountain stream south of the park. I was able to sneak off alone and worked my way downstream, further and further into solitude. My senses were alive with the beauty of the mountains around me and the sounds of the clear water bubbling below me as I waded my way from hole to hole. I came up on shore and worked my way further south, alone but on a mud path that followed the river.

Eventually I found myself in a narrow canyon, with a granite cliff to my right and the river to my left. I stopped for a moment to simply take in the sounds and smells when I looked down in the mud and saw my first physical evidence of the American Mountain Lion: a fresh track stamped firmly into the mud below me. My initial thrill turned to apprehension as I looked up above, scanning the granite cliffs for the track’s owner. I knew I would never see him, but he could be there, following me, stalking me - perhaps out of curiosity more than anything, as there were far more tasty offerings available than I. But by now my imagination was operating in full gear. I realized I had no escape from my position, and so turned north and made my way back, spooked but just a little bit exhilarated.

This painting is a depiction of that dream. A vision of America’s big cat silently stalking from the granite cliffs above, following it’s quarry, waiting for it’s chance to pounce. Stealth on the move. The turkey feather dropped from the passing prey is both my hint of the scene and a subtle reference to the “turkey” who found himself trapped in that canyon on that bright Colorado morning.

I traveled to one of my favorite places in southern Missouri to take reference photographs along the granite rocks of Castor River Shut-ins. Once again I could feel the cat’s presence, but this time only through nostalgia of a time gone by. The locals in the deep Ozarks tell me they know the big cats are still there. As the cougar population grows and moves ever eastward, I am certain they will be breeding, roaming and hunting in Missouri someday again, somewhere along the granite cliffs, following the stream.

Rob Dreyer