Further Thoughts on Wildcat Hunting

Over the last two months I have been murdered by reader e-mails and comments over a post I released two years ago about bobcat hunting. In five years of publishing content online through various forums and websites, I've covered at least a little bit of just about every kind of hunting in this country and others, whether it was based on personal experience or commentary on an issue. Combined, the topics of these posts haven't attracted this level of vitriol. Why after two years has one little article attracted this much attention? Is it because of my ascending stardom among the Outdoor Community? 

Yes, probably. This post has hundreds of hits a day now, which is great because it generates traffic, but judging by these sentiments, not all that sure I'm hitting my demographic.

Anyway, I published a couple of the comments; deleted those that crudely diminished my manhood - in both an ethical and anatomical sense - and those so poorly written they made me weep for our education system. All of them signed, "Anonymous."

Bold.

Look, it's quite clear few of these people actually read the post. In it, I argued that while bobcat hunting is fine sport, and they require management on certain lands, it's not like I'm out to butcher every one I run across - the reasons for hunting them are separate and apart.

But there is really no value in rationalizing with these folks.

Let's go ahead, though, and run through some of the major points surrounding bobcat hunting.

1. It's legal, at least in Florida and most of the Southern states. They are not endangered or considered threatened in any way.

2. Calling in a bobcat is the outdoor equivalent of a scary movie. You know that scene in those horrible flicks when a character is washing his face in the bathroom sink and looks up into the vanity to towel off and startlingly sees the image of a child with cold, frightening eyes standing behind him in the reflection? That's about what it's like to be in the middle of a calling session and realizing the cat is right there, and you're not sure how that came to be true so suddenly and quietly.

3. Bobcat management is a somewhat debatable practice, but most folks believe that the removal of a few a year will help turkey, small game and songbird populations - when combined with other land management tools. I've seen them on properties follow flocks of turkey like blacktips shadow schools of mullet along the East Coast beaches each summer. It's not healthy to wipe them all out - and you never could, anyhow - but taking a limited number each year is wise.

4. Nobody really eats bobcat. Now, I say nobody with the full intention of realizing someone out there probably does, but it's not common practice which turns off plenty of hunters and non-hunters. I feel no need to justify my actions today; I shot a lot more when I was younger and more blood-thirsty. I have a mount I'm very proud of. I've let several walk since my last post about the matter, but I'm going predator hunting this weekend and may very well be holding up another one by Sunday evening because of the three other reasons described above.

So there it is. I realize that bobcat hunting doesn't sit well with a lot of people - especially in a world where some members of our citizenry place felines on a pedestal, though domestic and feral cats are among the gravest pestilences that have ever struck our native ecosystems.

There's some temptation to argue back with the knobs who leave these comments, but most would be over-matched and the balance wouldn't care. I'm OK if you disagree with me. Promise.

Just don't expect me to be insulted over it.

"You're the worst kind of human being. You surely will be shot and skinned in your next life. ENJOY!!! " -  Anonymous

The Almost Blew It Bobcat

I almost blew it. I know better than to leave my rifle leaning against a tree when I’m in the woods, even for the briefest of moments. That’s when they take advantage of you.

I had finished my final calling session of the evening, eager to leave the mosquitoes and hit the showers for a birthday party I had committed to Friday night. Once again, predator calling skunked me, and I was over it anyhow.

On the way to grab the flipping and flopping MOJO Critter, two previously unseen gray foxes bounded into the swamp. Didn’t really matter – can’t shoot them anyway. I proceeded to the decoy and glanced down the road. Half-crouched, eyes transfixed on the MOJO, a bobcat was keeping watch.

Frozen in the open, with no weapon - there’s no way he didn’t catch me! Why he didn’t bolt like the foxes is beyond me.

How amateurish. From both our angles.

I had set up at the end of a truck trail along the fence that divides our lease in half and cuts perpendicular through a cypress swamp that strings north to south. On the east side of the swamp is a pasture consisting of scattered pines and scrub oaks, with just enough palmettos in between that clear shots would be short. Nick fired at a coyote here in the summer, and a month ago Krunk and I dialed up a bobcat that slinked away before a decent opportunity.

Walking in that evening, I noticed a healthy set of cat tracks in the deep black muck of a pothole in the road. Also found scat and claw marks where a feline had clearly relieved him or herself and tried to hide it from the world. So bobcats were certainly in the vicinity.

I unwound the thin black cord from the base of the Johnny Stewart Digital Call and hung the megaphone in the crotch of a pine branch about seven feet off the ground to give it that Reach Out and Touch Someone effect. The MOJO was placed at such a distance relative to the call and my haunt that I would be the fulcrum point of an isosceles triangle.

The tricky part was deciphering from where intended game would emerge. The breeze was flat dead, but I still wanted to have downwind covered as coyotes tend to swing around to that side. Smart money was to focus on the road along the fence, though. That’s where the sign was and predators tend to use well-worn paths on their approach. If anything wandered down the trail, it would easily catch sight of the motorized decoy. Then they'd come bounding in, I'd raise the rifle and shoot, and friends and family would host a Hero's Welcome upon my return.

I settled against an oak, shifted my rifle to cover the decoy, and the hunt was on. I selected the Cottontail in Distress offering and played four series, waiting 5 minutes in between each sequence.

Thinking strongly of coyotes, I was discouraged. They’d be here by now, I thought. Plus, my wife was assuredly anxious for me to return home to go to this party. Time to call it – they beat me again. The Canyon of Heroes would have to wait for another day.

That’s when I stood and leaned the Savage against the tree and advanced towards the MOJO.

The foxes.

The leering bobcat.

If only I could slip back...

I slowly sidled out of the cat’s view, quickening my pace to a trot when obscured by the swamp. I snatched my rifle, tossed it to the shoulder and crab-walked like a Navy Seal point man about to pop around a wall and blast a terrorist. In this case, a Turkey Terrorist.

Miraculously, the bobcat was still there. I guess it's true about the curiosity and the cats. Or maybe that MOJO works better than I surmised. More miraculously, what with all the hurry and anxiety, I connected on the 30 yard shot.

Gorgeous animal - the first I had ever called in and shot. The party would have to wait a while as I hiked to the truck, drove back, and set up the camera and tripod for the Grinning Idiot Hero pictures.

Hunting Bobcats, By the Way

As a game animal, the bobcat is worthy quarry. Smart, sneaky, and sly, wildcats are challenging hunts. If you’re into that sort of thing.

My general disdain for cats notwithstanding, I tend to leave bobcats alone. When I happen across them, I’m earnestly chasing deer or hogs. Sometimes turkey. Not about to spoil a hunt like this on a random passerby. I’ve heard they’re good to eat, but...eh. I won’t be selling fur any time soon, and as far as I know, no banks – in my part of the world, at least – accept cat pelts as legal tender.

This is not to say I’ve not whacked a few – I just need a different set of reasons to pursue them than other mentioned game and have let far more go about their business than I would a coyote or other such vermin.

This includes predator hunting. I called one in while hunting South Carolina about a decade ago. I was after song dogs, but this old cat snuck up an irrigation ditch right beside my stand without as much a rustle of a leaf. I just happened to look down and saw those striking eyes staring up at me. I shifted the rifle for a shot. Just didn’t hit me right. After about 10 minutes, he ambled off.

A month ago, Krunk and I were suffering through the the final series of that God-awful dying rabbit squeal on the Johnny Stewart. From the corner of my eye, just the tiniest flick of white in the tall grass. I whispered to Krunk to hold still.

The cat sat peering in the broom sedge, not moving a muscle. My MOJO predator decoy kicked its batteries the previous setup and hung limp in the field. Surveying the situation, the bobcat finally grew bored and slinked away. I would have whacked him first clear chance.

What’s the difference? Who knows?

In Florida, the legal season for bobcat starts December 1st and ends March 1st. This time of the year, toms are on the prowl sorting through receptive females. The weather is nice, deer season is about over, and small game seasons are in effect on a lot of public land. It's primetime for a cat hunt.

Calling bobcats is but one strategy. On average, they come to call at a slower pace than coyotes or fox. That’s their wrinkle. While the canines possess superior smell that makes them difficult to hunt, the bobcat has the ultimate patience. Though some will barge on in like a stumbling college drunk, typically budget 30-40 minutes per set-up.

Wounded rabbit calls work. So do wounded birds. I have the Johnny Stewart Electronic call with interchangeable digital cards. Amongst these is the frightened chicken and distressed woodpecker. Most of the time, though, a mouse squeak or rabbit squealer will do.

Pick your calling locations around easy thoroughfares next to cover. Firebreaks, cowtrails, bike paths, paved roads – it doesn’t really matter. Edges of fields are always money. Any place you find prey animals such as agriculture areas or corn feeders. Stay absolutely still and let loose a series of calls once every 7-10 minutes or so. A decoy can help take those staring eyes off you. Trust me - calling in a bobcat is startlingly good fun, even if you don’t shoot.

Speaking of feeders, there’s another way you can come across a wildcat – sheer luck. Yesterday afternoon, I was holding sentry by a feeder awaiting a pig for the cooler. I knew the cat was coming by the squirrels. They make a huge ruckus when a predator walks by, much more so than they do with deer or anything else. This may be why the cats are largely nocturnal – the chorus of raucous tree rats has to make their diurnal stealth work nigh impossible.

Sure enough, the cat bolted out of the palmettos towards a feeding squirrel that jumped about 6 feet up the side of an oak. The cat threw his paws on the bark resembling my husky when she chases squirrels. Foiled, he moped around for a moment as I contemplated things.

On this ranch, bobcats are a serious enemy to the landowners' turkey efforts. It’s a shoot-on-sight policy that’s common on private lands that host spring gobbler. But I really wanted a hog and didn’t want to stir things up by cracking my .300.

The cat regained his composure and trotted off into the world accompanied by his squirrel soundtrack. He was only 15 pounds or so. I probably should have popped him, but besides the hog hunting, I had another reason for not lowering the hammer.

On the way to the ground blind earlier that evening, out in a clearing between a swamp and the scrub oaks, a big tom was posted up. This was a trophy cat. I’ve long wanted one for my trophy room. Of the peculiar quirks I use to justify shooting a bobcat, a mount is one of those. I’ve looked up and down many, many felines, and here was The One.

As I closed the 75 yard strike, I knew I had bagged my mission. The cat was 25-30 pounds with a gorgeous coat. At the shot, another bobcat scrambled off, probably a hot female. His paws were as big around as a 100-watt light bulb, with those sharp retractable turkey-killing claws. He’ll be on his way to the taxidermist next paycheck.

Again, bobcat hunting may not be for everyone; after this hunt, it probably won’t be for me for a while. Still, when the mood swells and opportunity arises, it’s as exciting as chasing any other wily animal in the woods.