It was 1996, and while traveling through the Lost Coast in far northern California, my boyfriend and I were camping without a tent on the beach. We’d been to Yosemite and some other places, but we’d just gotten there.

We took this road that goes up and through the Lost Coast area. We finally get to Shelter Cove, and the black sand is just awesome. The redwoods come straight down to the water.

We saw the signs warning about cougars, but, for some reason thought that because we were near the ocean and other houses in the small village, it was safer.

Originally, I’m from Pennsylvania, south central around the Harrisburg area. Pennsylvania has tons of cougars too. I had woods behind my house. I had them in my backyard. Everything traipsed through my backyard.

I came to California in 1988, and I’ve lived most my adult life in California. I generally didn’t see wildlife except for marmots (which are annoying) and I tend to go to trails where I don’t see people because I try to get away from people. You’re rarely going to have an encounter with a cat. That’s really rare.

I went, “What? It’s the beach.”

We put our bags on the sand some distance from the road, hiking up the beach and at the base of some cliffs. We often did that. Just went anywhere. We thought, ‘Oh, we’ll just camp out here for the night.’

I woke up in the middle of the night — in that middle part between sleep and awake — to what sounded like a cat coughing up a hairball. I turned a flashlight on the top of the cliff above us where the redwood forest started.

There was a mountain lion stalking us, doing that back and forth walk, with its head and eyes staying fixed on us below like literal pigs in a blanket. My blood ran cold.

I woke up Steve, my partner, and panicking, said, “There’s a cat! We are so dead!”

I knew we couldn’t run. That would worsen the whole situation. We had no weapon, and I thought, ‘Wow, I guess this is how it ends, I’m only 31. S—. Wonder how long it’ll take.’

Meanwhile, my worthless partner just mumbled that I should “Forget it, go back to sleep, it’s fine.” It was so not fine.

There are moments along relationships where you see these kinds of things, where you go, “Really?” It tells you about somebody. We’re still good friends, 30 years later, but we’d only known each other less than a year. He’s really smart. He’s an engineer kind of guy, but doesn’t think practically sometimes, and at that time especially, flew by the seat of his pants.

I’m the daughter of a Holocaust survivor, and I think like, “OK, what are you going to do?” You’ve got to have a plan A, B and C.

I had all this time to think because I’m just keeping the lion blinded. He can’t see me, as long as I keep the flashlight on him.

I wondered, if I threw a giant ball of yarn, would it chase it like a smaller kitty cat? What if I scratched it under the chin like I used to with my cat while it’s suffocating me? Would it let me go?

I’m like, “Well, at least they suffocate their victims. At least it’s not going to rip me apart like a wolf does — because that’s awful. Well, at least that.”

How long will I last? 20 seconds? I don’t know. This is the way I’m going to go — really?

I was trying to amuse myself during that terrible wait. It seemed so long that he or she kept doing that back-and-forth.

After an eternity with me keeping it blinded with the flashlight, it got tired of trying to see through that and gave up, stalking off into the woods. Needless to say, I did not go back to sleep, but got my bag and headed for the car. It felt like forever, but in reality it was probably 15 or 20 minutes.

I am still sure I dodged a bullet that night. Since, I’ve read stories of the heaps of mountain lions everywhere there.

I have spent over 30 years of my adult life backpacking in the High Sierras and other wilderness areas in California and, with relation to big cats, have only had that one encounter ever.

However, I am solo 90% of the time and have had the sense — it’s an instinct we all possess — that I’m being watched from time to time, and that is going to be a big cat.

You will almost never see them. When I get that feeling on the back of my neck, I just slow down, and do my best to look big — having an enormous pack helps.

I must have succeeded that night because I did not end up as prey.

Tania Davidson is a psychologist who spends her free time backpacking, sailing and otherwise adventuring. Her retelling is edited for length and clarity.

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