I was heading toward Towne Peak at 7,271 feet in the Panamint Mountains in Death Valley National Park.

My goal was to get a glimpse of the Albatross.

It is an incredible wreckage site.

The Albatross was from the 580th Air Resupply Squadron.

It was on a CIA night flight mission heading from Idaho to San Diego when the port engine caught on fire on Jan. 24, 1952

The five crew members bailed and the plane slammed into the side of a peak.

What makes the wreckage unusual is much of the plane remains intact today. The rear wing still hangs over the edge of a severe drop.

My trip there was on a Monday the last week of November.

It had snowed the night before.

I was starting from Highway 198 near Towne Pass at 4,970 feet.

It would be cross country all the way.

My intent was to either try and summit Towne Peak or to get as close as I could to the wreck and still be comfortable doing so.

When I reached a wide expansive ridge after a laborious uphill hike through what seemed like an endless rock and boulder field, it was covered in about an inch of snow.

I remember standing there — with three layers of winter hiking clothes on — thinking I had never been that cold ever.

It didn’t help that there was absolutely nothing slowing down the wind for literally dozens and dozens of miles.

I was beginning to question my sanity when I caught something out of the corner of my eye.

I did a double take.

I then bent down to get a closer look.

They were mountain lion tracks. And they appeared fairly fresh.

Given they were stretched out in the same general direction I was going, I felt a chill that was deeper than the wind chill factor.

I assessed my situation.

I was standing on a ridge in the middle of nowhere by myself.

I had not seen another person all day long.

I looked up.

There was easily another 1,000 feet of elevation gain to reach the peak that was somewhat closer than the Albatross wreckage.

To my left, I  could make out the Albatross in the distance on a mountain side at  about the same elevation as I was at on the ridge where I was standing

Potential routes to both appeared doable for me.

I figured I could reach either in an hour or so but I’d be heading back down with only a hiking head lamp to see in the coming darkness.

However, I didn’t like the wild card.

The mountain lion could be anywhere. It could be on the way or it could be miles away.

Call me chicken, but I turned around.

I did so because of an experience a few years later.

I was hiking in Death Valley with a friend of my granddaughter from North Dakota.

We were in Nemo Canyon, farther south in the Panamints.

As we were hiking, I looked up at the top of the canyon just ahead of us to the left.

I did a double take.

There was what could only be a mountain lion walking near the edge.

Sawyer looked up and saw it as well.

It was 50 feet or so above us and perhaps a 150 feet ahead of us. It appeared to be moving in the same direction we were.

Sawyer asked if a mountain lion could jump down from where it was at.

I lied.

But I said It was a good idea to turn around. He agreed.

I do not believe the mountain lion saw us.

I do know it didn’t make sense to keep going as we were heading uphill and the mountain lion wasn’t.

But I do know if we had to high tail it out of there that the mountain lion would move like a Ferrari powered monster truck and we’d be more like a Yugo powered by a two-stroke engine.

That was my “semi” encounter with a mountain lion.

There was a third time where I apparently was in close proximity to where a mountain lion had recently been.

It was also in Death Valley.

This time it was hiking up Willow Canyon in the southern Funeral Mountains.

I was tackling it after going up Sidewinder Canyon where I explored three incredible narrow slot canyons that required a head lamp to navigate parts of them.

There were three dry falls on way to the top of Willow Canyon.

I clearly was going only to the base of the first canyon.

That’s because it was — for me at least — an insurmountable drop of about 35 feet straight up overshadowed by steep walls of the fairly narrow canyon.

The canyon was perhaps 10 feet wide before I reached the somewhat wider base at the foot of the dry fall.

The first thing I did was walk around and take photos.

And then I decided to pull out my preferred hiking food in Death Valley — don’t judge me — Cheez-It’s.

As I sat on a boulder munching away, I suddenly realized there was a somewhat putrid odor.

I got up and walked almost to the base of the fall where, among rocks, was a big horn sheep.

It was on its side, head intact, as was much of the body.

What wasn’t a large swath of its side that had been disemboweled, and it wasn’t surgically done.

The kill was probably a day or so old, but I was taking no chances.

Before I made my exit from the dead end area below the dry fall, I did snap a few photos.

To be honest my retreat through the narrow part of the canyon, I was a bit on edge eyeing various nooks and crannies in the canyon walls as I walked by.

It wasn’t until I got to the part of the canyon that was a good 100 feet wide that I relaxed.

I thought about my semi-encounter with a mountain lion and the two calling card incidents after the tragedy in El Dorado County.

Keeping things in perspective, there have been less than 50 people in confirmed attacks by mountain lions in California since 1890. Only six people have been killed. And that includes Robert Claude Brooks, 21, who was killed Saturday.

This column is the opinion of editor, Dennis Wyatt, and does not necessarily represent the opinions of The Bulletin or 209 Multimedia. He can be reached at dwyatt@mantecabulletin.com