Cat Dog Chronicles Book Preview 1: Post-Cat Season Depression
In the next 7 articles, I'm sharing snippets from my new book Cat Dog Chronicles to give you a taste of what's inside.
I’m still a couple of weeks away from publishing the book—I can’t believe how many little details there are in the publishing process. But in the meantime, I wanted to give you all a preview of the book by sharing some snippets from it.
So, spread out over the next 7 articles, I’m posting sections pulled from the 12th chapter of the book.
Why the 12th chapter you might ask?
When I wrote the book, I wanted there to be some sort of story arc from start to finish and I feel I achieved that well. But once I reached the climax of the story at the end of chapter 11 entitled “My Good Luck Charm,” I felt compelled to synthesize everything I had learned during the season. Thus, chapter 12 entitled “Post-Cat Season Depression,” was born.
It might seem backwards to share such a conclusive chapter with everyone before anyone reads the actual book. But hear me out—I wrote each subsection of chapter 12 as a standalone piece, and I feel they fit right in here on Hound on the Run. Trust me, it makes sense.
Enjoy.
A Time of Reflection
After we caught our first cat, everything was different.
Before, every time I would load the dogs and drive to the mountains, I was living in a state of uncertainty wondering if my goal of treeing a bobcat with my own dogs was even attainable. But after we caught number one, I had proven to myself that it was in fact possible, and my dogs—at least Coulee anyway—did in fact have what it takes.
It’s amazing how far a little bit of confidence will take a guy.
With only a month left in the season, I doubled down on my efforts to build momentum and tree more cats. Sure enough, a few days before the season was over, we caught number two. I’ll save the story of that race for another time.
Then March came and unfortunately the season was over. It was time to park the Mule (my truck), lay up the dogs, and get back to doing normal life stuff—housework, chores, working all five days of the work week, sleeping in on Saturdays, etc.
As I fell abruptly back into the routine of normal life, I began reflecting on everything that happened and the lessons I learned in my historical first season as a bobcat hunter.
As a conclusion to this short, rambling book I’ve written, I want to go over some of the more interesting and important lessons and observations I accumulated over this past hunting season. These are the sort of things that continue to keep me up at night and are influencing my game plan for the next season which can’t get here soon enough.
Cat Hunting is Competitive
I didn’t want it to be true, but it is. Although the number of hound hunters out during bobcat season is vastly fewer than elk hunters out during elk season, I was shocked to discover how many other hound hunters were out doing the same thing I was.
I can thankfully say that the majority of encounters I had with other houndsman were pleasant and friendly, or at the very least, neutral.
Some were happy to see someone like me out there and wanted to stop and chat about all things the lifestyle entails.
Others, those who fell more on the neutral side, seemed not upset but more curious about what I was doing out there—especially if it was a good spot.
Those who could tell right away that I was a novice and had no idea what I was doing I could tell found me amusing.
But there were a handful of guys I ran into that made it pretty obvious they were not happy to see someone else with dogs hunting the same area they were.
Ultimately, I think it comes down to the individual person, their personality and worldview, about how one houndsman reacts to coming across another houndsman while out hunting, but it became apparent rather quickly that I was engaged in a highly competitive sport.
One day early in the season, Whiskey had struck and was running a track with Coulee, and it was sounding good. I was driving roads to try to cut them off in hopes of seeing the animal cross the road, and as I was hustling around, I came upon another hound hunter driving slowly in my direction. The road was narrow enough that we couldn’t pass each other without one of us backing up to find a wide spot in the road.
This was one of the first hound hunters I had come across in the season, and being the smiling, ignorant, happy-go-lucky idiot I am, I was excited to see another of my kind. So, I jumped out of my truck and ran up to his driver-side window to have a chat. Luckily, he was one of the friendly ones.
I told him that my dogs were working a track and it was sounding good. He told me that his dogs were also working a track, and after exchanging some details about how each of our races had started and were progressing, we reasoned that we were likely trailing the same cat but possibly coming at it from different directions. He told me he didn’t think his dogs were going to catch it and was heading out. We continued going our separate ways. The interaction seemed harmless enough.
At home that night, however, when I was talking on the phone with my mentor and told him I had run into another hunter, oh boy did I get a good earful.
“How do you know you were on the same track as that guy?” he asked.
“Because we talked about it and compared notes and it made sense,” I replied.
“You talked about what?” he said, clearly baffled. “Compared notes about what?”
“You know, compared notes about what happened … where I started the track, where he started the track, where the dogs had run, that sort of thing.”
“Why on earth would you do that?” he said. “Never compare notes with another hound hunter like that unless you’re actually hunting with them and you’re buddies. Everyone is out to cockblock each other, it’s extremely competitive.”
“So, what should I have done? Just keep driving and say nothing?” I asked. “I think I’d have a hard time with that, I’m too friendly and I kind of like meeting other houndsman.” I laughed.
“Heh,” he laughed. “That might bite you in the ass, my friend. I mean, you can chat and be friendly, but I never ever tell another hound hunter what I’m doing,” he said. “Don’t be surprised if you run into that guy again in the same spot.”
To be honest, I wasn’t too worried about it. But funny enough, my mentor was right, and I did run into him many more times.
In fact, not only did I run into him, but I foolishly let him dump his dogs in on a red hot race I had going where I thought Whiskey and Coulee were about to tree. I don’t know if it truly was the addition of his four or five dogs that made it all fall apart, but it all fell apart and we stood around looking at our boots with all the dogs hovering around our trucks, both feeling dumb in our own special ways.
Needless to say, I did learn that it’s helpful to have a little discretion when chit-chatting with other houndsman and when in doubt, to keep my mouth shut.
Another time, I was hunting a really good area I had stumbled into where I’d get a lot of strikes from Whiskey every time I went. There was fresh snow on this particular day, and I had taken the day off of work to hunt and woke up extremely early to capitalize on the opportunity.
Unfortunately, I didn’t get there early enough because as I stopped to take a piss, another hound hunter was driving down the road head-on. As soon as he saw me, he flipped a u-turn practically burning out as he sped back up the hill. It was obvious he was not happy to see another dog box.
He probably also wasn’t happy that I was blocking the road … whoops.
I, too, was not happy to see someone else hunting this sweet little honey hole but wasn’t too worried because it was a big area. I continued driving up the road, and there were enough other tire tracks in the snow I couldn’t figure out exactly which way he went, so I continued to the spot where Whiskey had struck many times before.
Sure enough, as soon as I came around the corner, there he was putting dogs on the ground in that exact spot and it looked like he was starting a track.
Oh well, such are the joys of hunting on public land.
At the end of the day, there’s not much one can do about running into other hunters on public land. Thankfully, the bobcat woods are not nearly as stuffy as the elk woods and you don’t feel like you’re going to get snuffed by a stray bullet.
I still have a lot to learn in regards to proper etiquette when encountering other hunters, but I have found that overall, it’s better to err on the side of my mentor’s approach—be friendly but keep your mouth shut.
Next, I’ll be sharing a story about the coldest night of my life where I scared the crap out of not only myself, but my sweet, caring wife. Stay tuned, and if you aren’t yet subscribed, why not?
Cheers,
Niklas