DEVIL’S RACEGROUND, Ruby — It begins with what sounds like an echoing gurgle as twilight’s pink turns toward purple.

As purple creeps toward black, the gurgle is more a high-pitched moan.

With darkness, the moan becomes a shriek, something one can imagine coming from a guest of Dr. Lector.

It raises goosebumps and stands neck hairs on end.

It is haunting enough to cause well-armed men to throw another log on the fire and huddle a little closer to it, but not too close to each other. People might talk.

Old-timers say the wail is that of a panther, or cougar, preparing for its nightly prowl. Many of the huge oaks and cypress hereabouts were saplings with only ambitions of reaching the forest crown the last time there was a confirmed big cat sighting in this swamp.

Supposedly there are no cougars in these parts. Those who hunt this tract will tell you the wildlife experts don’t know what they are talking about.

They’ll tell you of big, strong hounds occasionally disappearing during a nocturnal race with something bigger and faster than the raccoons they normally pursue.

And they’ll tell you about every once in a while just plain losing a dog — no chase, no jump calls — just a lost dog.

And these aren’t beagles or terriers. These are Catahoula curs and black-and-tans – heavy-duty dogs, canine Humvees capable of the most-demanding sporting chases.

The shriek might be a nightly occurrence year-round, but it is most often heard by humans as people trapped in cities for their livelihood gather for the autumnal rite known as hunting season.

Going to camp is a common denominator between Southerners of otherwise unshared interests and backgrounds.

Across the state this week, bankers and borrowers, preachers and plumbers, teachers and tile layers are preparing to go as Saturday’s opening day of the largest portion of gun season for whitetail deer approaches.

They’ve been watching weather forecasts, checking and rechecking lists, packing and repacking, and sleeping fitfully. Many will be unaccounted for by Thursday.

Some will end up in palatial facilities, others in cold, leaky tents. Some will eat beef filet Friday night;  others will dine on bologna sandwiches.

Most of them will sleep restlessly and awaken in the wee hours Saturday, heading to tree stands long before daylight, bringing an end to the nocturnal stirrings of any cougars or other creatures about.

When a feline, or whatever it is, squalls for the last time before advancing sunlight, those men and women and boys and girls will be convinced anew that the old-timers, not the experts, know what they’re talking about, and will squeeze that .06 more tightly.

Jim Butler, a Bolton High School alumnus, was an acclaimed writer and editor at the Alexandria Town Talk for 36 years, the last 23 (1977-2003) as editor-in-chief. He led Pulitzer Prize-winning coverage of Hurricane Katrina for the Gulfport (Miss.) Sun-Herald in 2005. Butler returned home to Cenla a few years ago, and shares his talents and insight with Rapides Parish Journal readers.