Hunting the Hunter

Say, for instance, you're hunting in India. Suddenly, fifty yards separates you and the Bengal Tiger you've come for. Even at this distance her warm breath prickles the fur on your back; somehow you smell she's hungry. This beast, this creature of the wild that eats ninety pounds of flesh in one sitting locks eyes with you. Strange, she doesn't look quite as you remember. The picture, that one from National Geographic a year and a half ago? You know, the one that got you excited enough to book this adventure across the globe to a mysterious land to hunt a large and oft starved cat? Yeah, well, news to you, there is a certain visceral quality missing from that photograph that isn't apparent until now. Until the Bengal Tiger is actually in front of you, so close that the glean off her damp coat shimmers hypnotically. Your knees knock at the thought of those sabers (much larger and sharper in real life) digging into your sculpted torso. Mauling the body you've worked so hard on these last six months while preparing for this - The Hunt.

You thought you'd be tough. You thought you'd take steady aim, fire before the Tiger even noticed your existence. You pictured yourself laying in front of a crackling fire on your tiger skin rug admiring the head of your spoils stuffed and mounted above the mantle. The hunted on the wall of the hunter.

But now, again, back in this rugged and foreign land, with your rifle aimed square at this imposing beast as she charges towards you - the delight of fatty American flesh on her mind you're sure - you question your role in this scenario. Out of the corner of your eye you swear two more tigers emerge from the brush. Maybe it's coincidence. Maybe they're just out for a stroll. Or maybe, the horn's been sounded and they're here for the hunt; here to hunt the hunter. And then those two tigers you think you saw, well, you did. And they're charging at you too. It all comes together in one split second of fear-inspired enlightenment. This is the land of the Saber Toothed Tiger. You don't belong here unless you're ready. Unless you're skilled. Unless you're wise to their aggressive ways. In this land, their land, you are always the hunted. Never the hunter. Period.

Michelle and I have never hunted Bengal Tigers in India, but over a rainy weekend in June we did hunt for wedding locations in Lake Tahoe. While I can't say for certain which is more dangerous, I can tell you with a great amount of assurance that the hunt of the illusive wedding location is a precarious activity. We marched in with the confidence of General Zarroff, but quickly realized in this version of The Most Dangerous Game, even poor old Sanger Rainsford had us in spades.

Our grand plan was to rent out a house on the lake for week and just throw the wedding there. Sounds simple, right? About as simple as hunting a Bengal tiger sounds to someone that doesn't hunt. Just point your gun and shoot. What's the big deal? It's an over-sized cat.

Before our trip we perused online to get a lay of the land. We didn't look too hard though, so when we arrived we had some serious pavement to pound. Many real estate offices line the main drag in Tahoe City. With the exception of one, the lair of the Saber-Toothed Assassin which I will get to later, none stood out above the others. So, we just started popping in at random. Luckily, our first stop was an easy cat to handle.

THE ZOO TIGER

We walked into the first Real Estate Agent's office. It was a low-key place - seemed to deal with properties on the low to middle end of the spectrum. The Agent noticed us immediately, eyed us up and down, then gave a docile smile. Oh, the smell of fresh meat.

She was smoker and a little overweight. She wheezed up every set of stairs we climbed. It wasn't hard to tell she led a sedentary life. She'd been a real estate agent in North Lake for over twenty years - at this point, the rental business practically ran itself. The same people rent the same place for the same week every summer. She just does the paperwork. She may once have roamed free with other killer cats, but through one twist of fate or another, she ended up in the zoo. Yes, she was a caged and domesticated tiger. Fed on routine by the zookeeper, and in no real danger of extinction.

She didn't have much to offer. But, in her defense, she gave it her best shot. We were like two monkeys that somehow escaped the rain forest exhibit and accidentally fell into her world. Sure, if she could catch us we'd be a nice meal, but she'd be fed either way, so there was no reason to tire herself in a prolonged hunt. So...

She went straight for the kill.

REAL ESTATE AGENT: I've got the perfect lake front house for you guys. They're renovating it right now, but lets just swing by so you can get a feel for it.

We followed her downstairs. Through her passenger window I could see fast food wrappers and empty Winston cartons littering the inside of her car.

REAL ESTATE AGENT: Why don't ...(weaze)...you two...(weaze)...follow me.

Good idea. Five minutes later we arrived at a mansion wedged between other mansions on the lake. F-150's, table-saws, lumber and extension cords littered the slate driveway.

The agent got out of her car. She looked peppy again, or as peppy as she could muster. Probably hacked down a cigarette on the drive over for a little nicotine burst. She needed help.

REAL ESTATE AGENT: So, what's the occasion?

Michelle and I had been warned about this question. For good reason, and I'll get to that in Part Two, we lied.

MICHELLE OR ME: Family reunion.

REAL ESTATE AGENT: Oh, perfect. How fun! You know, I don't know how many people you'll be having...

Her eyes probed our faces for a tell. We gave nothing.

REAL ESTATE AGENT: ... but I've got this place across the street, too. In case you need more space. Let's take a look?

And without a response she trudged across the street and up the driveway of a ramshackle, 70's retro, semi A-frame kind of thing. You could see the inch-long shag carpet through the window from fifty yards out. In its defense, it had a big deck and a few separate apartments which apparently, "are good...(cough)...for the relatives...(weaze)...with kids".

The place was a dump-hole and she knew it. But this dump-hole was also an added bonus, and she knew that too. What she was really saying when she was wheezing about a good place to put relatives with kids was,"this is a perfect place to house all the idiot drunk friends you guys are inviting to the wedding you're not telling me about." Every seasoned Saber Tooth has a method of hunt, and hers, while fairly simple in nature, was effective nonetheless. This was step one: Sweeten the meat.

Michelle winked at me behind the Zoo tiger's back --

MICHELLE: Yeah, this would be a great place to..."put the relatives with kids."

ME: There's a lot of 'em*. And they're really loud and obnoxious. This is...perfect.

Zoo Tiger could hardly keep the saliva in her mouth as she loped down the driveway to the big kahuna lake front mansion. With the meat sweetened, she was giddy to lay it out for bait.

REAL ESTATE AGENT: Careful...(hack)...of all the...(weaze)...extension cords.

We watched our step and entered.

REAL ESTATE AGENT: Stunning, isn't it?

It was only half-remodeled, but enough was done to imagine a QVC millionaire relaxing on a leopard print couch, sipping an apple martini and basking in every ostentatious last detail of his dream house. I turned the corner into the bathroom half-expecting a tub supported by four gold paws and 18 carat rendition of Aslan for a faucet. No such luck. The tub was still in Italy.

Unfamiliar with the tone of young and wild animals, I'm fairly certain that the Zoo Tiger misinterpreted the meaning of the "Wows" that kept slipping from our mouths like little scoff daggers. Tipped by what she perceived as our excitement, she chose this moment for the final step in the hunt - The Big Kill. And when I say big...

REAL ESTATE AGENT: I have to talk to the owner, but I can probably do (insert the price of a Prius) for a week. And, of course, that comes with use of the slip out front.

MICHELLE AND ANDREW: WOW!

The Zoo Tiger's keen ears easily picked up on the change of tone. The "holy shit that's astonishing" WOW! when spoken in close proximity to the scoffish, "I can't believe people call this taste" WOW! really highlights the differing intentions of the same word.

She had obviously hoped that either Michelle or I would fall head over heals for the place. So much so that any rational thoughts about our financial future would seem inconsequential in the face of the perfect wedding location. But we didn't bite the bait.

Zoo Tiger's dinner: Fresh meat out. Zoo scrum in.

REAL ESTATE AGENT: I've got to get back to the office. Think it over. If you want me to call the owner, here's my card.

We left the encounter unscathed. But this was only the Zoo Tiger.

Coming Soon: Part II: The Tiger Cub and the Saber-Toothed Assassin.

*Idiot drunk friends. Not annoying relatives.