My First Cat + Artistic Ramblings and Intentions
Three days ago, my dogs had their first exposure to a real live bobcat. To be honest and fair, my pack did not do it all on their own — I had the help of my mentor, a seasoned bobcat hunter of 25 years, and his pack of cat-crazy cat dogs. I couldn’t have done it without him and his hounds and I’m forever grateful.
While I’m still seeking a cat I can truly call my own, what a huge accomplishment it was to walk into that tree to find a mature tom bobcat perched 20 feet up a big fir on a creek I will not name. The hill was so steep that I was able to tie my dogs back so that they were about eye-level with the cat. They were looking right at it and the cool breeze flowing up from the creek sent that luscious scent straight into their nostrils.
Roux seemed to know exactly what he was looking at and I watched in astonishment as the fire within him was ignited. The generations of cat dog flowing through his veins produced an eruption of pure desire that gives me chills as I type this.
It’s Been a Long Journey
When I got my first dog, Finn, I had no intentions of hunting cats. It wasn’t until I got my second dog, Coulee, and saw what she was capable of — her natural ability to run a track; to seek and find the object of her desire — that I decided to dive fully into hound hunting. At 6 months old, she treed her first raccoon on her own and from then on, our lives have revolved around the pursuit.
Our first two years were focused on the masked bandit, the raccoon. We’ve caught many raccoons since, but even in those early days, my mind has always drifted to the lofty goal of catching bobcats — that was the first game I ever saw in a tree over hounds — and that foggy vision has haunted and propelled me ever since.
Last year, I caught the cat bug bad. While I still spent most of my time coon hunting in the darkness, I made many feeble attempts to catch cats up in the mountains. Knowing what I know now, I was nowhere close and most of the races I thought were in pursuit of short tails were no doubt everything but — coyote, deer, elk … who knows what else.
Pure humility.
This past summer I spent every spare moment building up a capable hunting truck, a 1994 Nissan Hardbody, in preparation of cat season. I love my truck and it’s everything I hoped it would be — a creepy crawly little 4-banger that fits down the tightest roads most full-sized trucks would cringe at. It’s a beast in the snow and gets surprisingly good gas mileage, even running 4-low all day. If only it had a little more space for gear …
I also acquired a vital tool that has actually made catching cats a reality. Her name is Whiskey, a 10-year old bobcat dog given to me by my mentor. She is what’s known as a truck-to-tree dog, capable of striking, trailing, jumping, and treeing a bobcat all on her own. She has slowed down in her later years, yes, but she’s as straight as an arrow and without her I’d be completely lost.
God bless the old hounds. Hallelujah. Amen.
In Oregon, our pursuit season starts September 1st and from that day forward I’ve gone out every weekend cat hunting. There have been many challenges along the way including a long, dry fire season keeping the best ground locked up plus all the big game seasons that make running hounds less than ideal.
But once December 1st came around and harvest season kicked it, it’s been game on. I’ve hunted harder this year than I ever have in my life and learned more about the woods, my dogs, our quarry, and cat habitat than I ever thought possible.
On Sunday, bloody Sunday, all the pieces — or most of them anyway — came together.
Now, like I said, my dogs didn’t do it all on their own. In fact, my mentor and his dogs did all the work, and I was simply there with my dogs to take advantage of the opportunity. And I’m so incredibly grateful.
More on the Way
I’ll leave the story hanging there for now and will pick it back up in my next post.
If you’ve been following the Hound on the Run newsletter, you’ve probably noticed that I haven’t posted very much lately or consistently. I wish things were different, and with that wish, I’ve set some new goals for myself to publish more writing about the journey I’m on with my dogs. I want to get back to my original intentions for this newsletter and my writing. I’ll admit that I’ve let some distractions get in the way but that needs to change.
For some reason, I’ve tied together writing this newsletter with posting on Instagram and promoting the newsletter on all the social media platforms, but the thing is … that’s not really what I’m about. I have no ambitions to be an “influencer” and I really have no urge to build an audience. All I want to do is hunt with my dogs, learn as much as I can, and write about the journey. It’s true that I could just write all this in a journal and tuck it away where no one would ever see it, but there’s something special about writing in a public format where other’s can read it — it puts me in a different mindset and I feel my writing comes out better and more interesting when I know I’ll be sharing it with others.
So here we are. Don’t expect much from me but my goal is to write and send much more frequently. If you care to follow along, I hope to make it worth your while. I haven’t shared this much in the newsletter or with any of my hunting friends, but my background is in the performing arts — the first 18 years of my life were heavily focused around playing jazz music (guitar) and in my 20’s that transformed into a writing practice.
It may seem like a stretch to many, but I consider hound hunting an artform — its own special, very visceral form of performing art. Man and beast united in a common pursuit, interacting with the greatest creation of all — the natural world created by the hand of God, the ultimate artist.
God bless the hounds and the men and women who follow them.
God bless the critters we chase.
I’ll be back soon, writing more about that big ol’ bobcat we treed.
In the meantime, happy hunting and much love.
Sincerely,
Niklas.