Hello Folks!
Sorry to not have Posted this Story sooner but Dad has been keeping me busy hunting, seems like night and day.
We arrived in Florida early Saturday morning the 16th of January, right in the middle of the 3rd Bad Rain event of the year down here. Dad says that the woods have more water than he has ever seen. This makes the roads a real hazard to travel. Most have rock bottoms in the holes, but you never know when a Deer Hunter has gotten stuck in one or a Log Truck has wallowed one out all the way through the rock bottom.
The woods themselves are from ankle to shoulder deep in water with a few Hammocks and Tussocks for the game to run on. Some of the Plantations have been hipped into rows to keep the baby Pines dry. This allows the Game and Hounds some not so wet places to run. However Bobcats being Bobcats, as soon as they are jumped, to the WATER they go!
After sitting out Saturday and Sunday with Rain we went on Monday evening the 18th. We headed up north to a Club Dad is in which we thought would be the driest. Bad mistake!
We fought the water all night. The rig dogs would strike a cold Cat then not be able to trail it across the water. Finally we hit a Cat way up on a road bordered by some drainage canals. This Cat was not Hot but a trail able track which went out into a fairly dry Plantation. Corky, Choc, Rivers and Penny got under him and I put the rest of the Pack out to join in the fun. It was tough for them to make it to the Race, as it had progressed through some bad water. A bad loose happened, this was to be expected in this much water, then Rip picked the Cat up slipping out onto the road.
For the next thirty minutes we had a hard time keeping up with the Race. The Cat went down the Canal Rd then hit another. If you did not know your Hounds you would swear that they were after a Yote. The road Race lasted till the Heat got to be too much for the Cat, then out into the water the it would go to try to buy some time. When the Hounds would make a loose, back to the road he would come. Ole Rip and Penny like this kind of a Race, but it is hell to hear when you are driving 30MPH trying to keep up.
The Heat reached the combustion point and the Cat turned off the road for the last time. Out into a muddy freshly bedded field he went and into a Dozier Pile. Little Meg the TW bitch crawled in to make the Cats life difficult but could get NO help from the other Hounds or Me. The Water was just too bad!
Tuesday night was a repeat of Monday night. We went in our Home Club and had a hard time finding a track that we could do anything with. We just had Penny, Corky and the 5 Pups along with the two Tree dogs (Mr. Harold has let us use Megs litter mate for the rest of the winter). We were headed home when Corky struck hard off the top of the box.
I put him and Penny down and out into a 7 yr old Plantation they went barking occasionally but moving the track. They were getting about 350 yds away by the Garmin when Dad said to send the Pups or they will be too far. The water was bad all the way to Penny and Corky but petty soon the Garmin showed that they had all made it to the Race.
The track began to get better, and then Cimarron SCREAMED out that she had found the Cat and the Race was on. Even though she is only now 12 months old she has run enough Cat that she has figured out how to swing out and find where the Shorttail is skulking and lurking. After announcing her find to the world she was able to hold the track till Corky and the rest of the Pack could get to her.
When the help arrived the Pack pushed the Cat out of an SMZ into one of this Clubs main road. We were following the Race keeping pace by watching the Garmin trying not to turn the Cat back hoping that it would cross the road and go into a dryer block. NOT! The Cat hit the road and turned left and went 1.2 miles down it with the Pack in hot pursuit! It then turned into an SMZ and headed toward a Highway.
This Highway is only lightly traveled but as any Houndsman knows “Ain’t NO Highway a good Highway” when the Hounds are down.
Dad and I left where we could really hear the Race and headed to the Highway to keep a disaster from happening. But ole Corky, Cimarron, Penny, Rose, Princess and Texas (the Irish Pup) were able to take care of business and put the Cat up a Tree before he made it to the Highway. The two Tree dogs let us know what was going on but they were on a Hammock across lots of water that had all sorts of down trees in it 460 yds from the closest point that we could get to. Thank God that Meg and Sambo will respond to the truck horn, it took a while but we were able to blow them in.
Two nights and two 45 minute Races…but we heard very little of either. This on top of all of Dads bitches starting to come in heat was not making taking care of Dad all that pleasant.
Wednesday we headed south early (this was the last week of Deer Season so we do not like to put down Hounds till after dark to avoid us interfering with the Deer Hunters and vise versa) but we figured to dodge the Deer Hounds as best we could so we started at 11 AM. We hunted till 4 PM and had struck 5 different Cat. We found their tracks and several true bobcat scratches, Dad says this time of the year with the Cat Rut about to kick off you will see more of these scratches than usual and they will look more like a Lions.
Picture of a fresh “Cat Kick” this is what the natives here in Florida call a pile of Scat with the kick marks well displayed around it. Toms usually add some of the mucus from their anal glands.
We never got a any of these Cat off the road. East wind and the fact that the Cat had all walked around daylight were our excuses for sorry Hounds. We went to town and filled up with gas, got some greasy fried chicken to go with our Heart Healthy Diet and headed back out.
From 5:30 PM till 10 PM our luck had not changed! Dad was past being gripe and was just tired. I told him that I wanted to hunt one last road (one we call Mr. Jims road as that is where we caught a big Tom last year when Mr. Jim Moore was here with us). We were 2/3s of the way around it when the Top BLEW UP! Choc, Rivers and Corky all were turning flips trying to get off the box and get after this Cat.
This is the 25 # Tom we struck at exactly the same place as this Cat
I put them down and up the road they went barking every breath, Corky’s horse bellow, Choc’s loud yodel, and Rivers baritone bawl…wow what a way to start up one of the best “Cat Hound Opry” concerts that Dad can remember. I did not have to be told to drop the tailgate, when I opened the doors to the Box I was almost run over by the Hounds trying to get to the Race. We had the 5 Pups, Rip, Chic, Penny and Cherokee to go with the others.
The first Hounds were doubling the ole Cat back to where we were and they picked up the rest of the Pack right on Q. All you could here was a ROAR. No Hound was distinguishable over the noise of the Pack. For thirty minutes up and down the ditches beside the road the Race went. Dad commented that the Cat could not take much of this. But he could and did…dishing out his own brand of punishment along the way.
The Cat squatted beside the road and when the Pack poured past him… out into the road he popped. Down it he went thinking “Ah Ha” I have escaped!
Well with the Deer Dogs that he had evaded in the past that might have been the case but this time it was different. Corky found where he had hit the road and ole Rip told the Pack to come on. The Cat went ½ mile down the road then into a mature Plantation that has lots of Palmettos, Galberry and Tydy bushes in it with water ankle to knee deep. The Race had moved to over 500 yds away and the Garmin showed me how to get closer. We move around and then for the next 90 minutes Dad leaned against the hood of the Truck and listened to the “Opry” play. The Race was never further than 350 yds from us, up and down a Cypress Pond in the Plantation.
As the Race settled down we were able to listen to individual Hounds do their jobs. And what a Job they did. All the Pups were holding their own, Cimarron and Texas we getting pickups ahead of the Old Dogs. Rose another of the Pups found the Cat one time and sang out loudly with her Soprano bawl then chopped away as the Pack tried to get to her.
As we passed the hour and a half time mark Dad commented that he bet it was a little Sow Cat who would not weight 12 lbs. The Race would sound like the Pack was about to catch the Cat…then silence as the Cat had squatted again. Something would find the Cat and back up or down the Pond the Roar would go. To tell the truth, to me it had done gotten down right boring…though Dad was eating up every Bark.
We passed the two hour mark with the circles getting smaller and smaller on the Garmin. Suddenly Chic Screamed that the Cat had stopped, Rivers and Cimarron along with Corky and Cherokee were baying with every breath. The Garmin showed the bayup to be 387 yds away but I told Dad that I think the Haul road that we were on would get us closer…thank god it did. I drove to within 87 yds, but what a 87 yds it was, water past my waste and Palmettos thick as hair on a Dogs back. Dad was surprised that the Hounds could not kill the Cat as it surely was a Sow.
When I was able to part the last Palmetto and see the bayup you can imagine my surprise to find not a little Sow backed in a hole fighting one Hound at a time trying to get to her. But a Big Tom standing on a Tussock taking on all comers from all sides….this was one BAD CAT!
He had pulled a Mike Tyson and was out to prove how bad he was. When I threw the light on him Texas reached and grabbed the Cat but when no other Hound joined him, he found it as hard to turn the Cat loose as to grab him. Had it been a Sow I would have caught and called the Hounds away…but this big Tom I had to show Dad, so a firm whack with my Hickory Stick and out to the road we started.
The kind of Jungle that the Race took place in.
Dad had been hollering for me to catch the Hounds, to leave the Sow (he still thought that was what it was) and come on out. When I waded out to the road he wanted to know why I had harvested the Cat. I answered that I wanted to see if she really weighed 12lbs. I was up the road a peace and Dad still could not see the Cat so I asked him to make a guess as to her weight when I tried to lift the Cat and could barely clear the ground with it, Dad said “Damn just shows you what I know about a Bobcat”.
Dad with 35 ½ # Tom CAt
We got out our scales and though they weigh up to 30 lbs we could not weigh this Cat. Dad said lets take him home as a friend wanted one to mount and we might get it weighed as it was as big a Tom as he had ever caught…little did we know.
Three nights later, after having been in the deep freeze for these three days the Cat weighed 35 ½ lbs on certified scales…the largest that Dad has ever caught. His teeth showed the Tom to be in his prime of life maybe 6 to 8 years old and its stomach was empty. One Hell of a Cat!
We hope his Genetics are spread about this Club.
Well I have rambled on too much…will try to finish this update tomorrow with details from Monday’s hunt (when we caught 2 and Treed 1) as it is supposed to Rain. Just what we need more water!
I hope you all enjoyed this and Good Running to All!
C. John Clay
Dads Dogboy
later, Andy