Hello Folks!
As I said in an addition to the Great Arkansas Cat Race Story, Dad and I have made it to Dad’s Camp here in Florida. It has been bad Hot and Terribly Humid the 1st week here. We have had rain every day; Scenting conditions are deplorable, trailing a Bobcat is just about impossible. If you strike a Cat HOT you will run him, if the Cat has been gone any time at all, the Hounds will not even know that a Cat has been there!
The local Old Timers say that the steamy ground is “Cooking” the tracks. They have problems running all game this time of the year including “DEER” if you can believe that!
But we have persevered and have had two races every time we have been; all have lasted 20 to 30 min. and have ended in treed or lost in a “Blue Mud Swamp”. These Swamps are where h2o usually stands but if no h20 is standing, the mud masks the pursued animals scent. The Race comes to an end, the Hounds circle trying to find where the Cat has left the swamp, but if he has not left it, the Race is over. Loading the Hounds when they come out of one of these is not a pleasant task.
Hounds baying in a Blue Mud swanp
Monday night we loaded about 8:30 and headed north to one of Dads Clubs. We rigged over 40 miles there till about 12:30. We struck three cold tracks and were not able to do any thing with them. We decided to head south to another Club about 20 miles away, we were going to take a nap but the Hounds rigged a Cat out of the truck, you all can figure out what happened to my nap! Dad said to putem down, and the Race was on.
This Cat had just fed out into the road. As we came along, he heard us coming went into a Pine Plantation and was waiting for us to pass. 10 Hounds changed his mind. The Cat quickly decided that the nearest far away place was where he needed to be! He tried every trick that he could think of, h2o, running a road, doubling back on his own track nothing was buying him any lead on the Pack. All else having failed, and not in a Mike Tyson mood, he climbed! Elapsed time from Rig to Tree, 22 min.
We watered and cooled the Hounds down and started back to rigging. Rigged about 14 miles through the Club, we hit all the good roads and some that have not been so good nothing. The time was now about 5:00 AM. We had made it back to the Canal road, our “Honey Hole” road; it very seldom lets us down. Sure enough Rivers rigged a Hot one. I put them down and Choctaw found where the Cat had left the road. He told us and the Pack with his quivering bawl that right here was where the Action was going to start. Boy it did!
This Bobcat has her Masters in Bobcatology and is well on her way to her Phd. We have been paying her tuition about twice a month every time that we are down here. She has a certain pattern that she runs every time. There is one SMZ that she really likes and knows how to use. Her only problem is, Dads young Hounds are on to her tricks. She has been lasting about 35 min every time we run her but this time she could only last 20 min before finding a Tall Cypress in the middle of the Swamp to climb, leaving the Hounds angry and frustrated again!
Dad said that we could go home as it was breaking daylight, but the Magic Genie in the Garmin Astro 220 said that the best time for Game movement was coming up in the next hour, so I said lets try for one more.
I headed us to the lower end of this Club where some three and four year old Clear-cuts are located. We were not far down the first road when Rita and Choctaw had a simultaneous explosion! They had winded the Cat itself out in the Clear-cut, not smelt where he had left a track. When I put them down they left the road heads up barking twice every time their foot hit the ground! I tailgated the rest and Race was on! This was a Big Tom as we found his track up the road where he had turned out into the Clear-cut.
He has been in front of the Clay Hounds before and knew that his beneficiaries were about to cash in his Life Insurance. He tried a big hole of water in an SMZ; this did not work for long, then he tried running up a road for over a mile. This had worked for him when there were Deer Dogs after him, but these were not Deer Dogs! Rita, Sage and Chickasaw ran him down the road like they were looking at him; they put him off the road into a Bad swamp with lots of water. The rest of the Pack had caught up by now and the ROAR commenced. In and out of the h2o, under the blow downs, through the palmettos for 20 more minutes a Cat Race just could not get any better. We just knew that this Cat was not going to climb; however much to Dad’s consternation up he went. Total time ran about 35 minutes.
Dad is very mystified about the Cat climbing so much the last few years. He says that in the first 48 years he Bobcat hunted that he caught 80 to 90% of the Cat jumped on the ground. In the last few years it seems that now 80 to 85% of the Cat jumped are climbing. Several good Houndsmen have told Dad this is because his breeding has speeded his Clay Hounds up. The Hounds are putting too much pressure on a Cat earlier in the Race before a Bobcat has become “addled”, he still has enough presence of mind to climb a tree.
Not a bad Hunt though, three Races, great Hound work, NO mess-ups, just right? No! We had not caught one, Dad was miffed! He said “we will let the Hounds rest tonight” (Tuesday night), and go Wednesday morning.
I set the Alarm clock for 2:00 AM, got up when it went off and found it raining outside. I lay back down for an hour and at 3:00 AM the rain had stopped. We loaded up and headed south. Put the Hounds down to empty out about 4:00AM, had them on top rigging by 4:10 and had Choctaw strike at 4:15. We put down the rig dogs and they went back down the road about 75 yards, turned out into a Clear-cut, then Choctaw, Rivers and Penny opened. I tailgated the rest of the pack…… then we waited and waited for another Hound to bark.
Five minutes went by with 10 Hounds looking every which way to try and find the elusive scent to tell them where the Bobcat had gone. Dad said that where the first Hounds barked was where the Cat had gotten up from his nap, to come out to the road. Dad said that the Cat leaves lots of Scent where he lays up and they can smell him good there but no where else!
Well about now Eight of the Ten Hounds are standing around the back of the truck looking like “why did you put me down”. Dad said to load them up and we would go try to find another Cat. I did and came up short Brandy and Meg, both 18 months old, well started Pups (Meg being my treedog prospect, the only non Clay Hound we own). I asked Dad if I should blow the horn to call them in, he said yes……then said wait, I think Brandy barked. She barked again with Meg joining in. Brandy has a high pitched screaming chop mouth that gets real fast when she is running a Cat. This is the way she was barking with Meg’s little fast Curdog chop right with her. Dad said “UH OH” they may have found a Sissoring! (With Pups most States abound with Sissorings) I turned Choc, Rivers, and Rip to them and we waited with our hearts in our mouths for one of these three to join in.
We waited it seemed like Forever, but in reality it was only moments before Rivers SANG out with his load clear Baritone, “This is a BOBCAT”, Rip and Choc were right behind. This time when I tailgated them, the Pack had a place to go. The two Pups had done what the old Pros failed to do; they just kept looking, they were too green to know if you can’t smell him you can’t run him. They just kept nosing one covert after another till the ole Short tailed varmint became nervous and exposed her self!
Folks it was now time to take your seat for the “Southern Hound Dog Opry”! All the featured performers were there with their voices tuned to FULL volume. We had the Red Cloud family quartet, Rivers, Choctaw, Chickasaw, Cherokee; also performing were the Old 21 family singers, we had Son Rip, Daughter Penny, Granddaughters Sage, Brandy and Sandy; and special guest little Meg! 10 Hounds that were enjoying what God made them for.
This Cat chose to run up and down an SMZ right next to the road for 30 minutes, in and out of the h2o, this caused some short looses like with most Cat Races, but nothing over a minute or so, it was just like the Maestro was changing the sheet music for a new song, then the Orchestra moved into the next number with even more enthusiasm and intensity.
Suddenly we had a short intermission as the Cat pulled a real good trick, causing a 2 minute or so loose. This allowed the Cat to pull out for parts unknown. Rip however had other ideas; he was swinging like we need on these Good Cats in Bad country, and found her as she was boarding the taxi to leave the theater. He sang out loudly in his clear Tenor voice her intensions. The Pack was quick to hark to him; the next half hour was played out up and down another SMZ & the Barr ditch on the next road over. We saw what was happening on the Garmin as well as heard Rip singing his joy at locating the escaping Cat and drove around to be right on top of the Action. The water was just as bad on this side of the SMZ; soon Ms. Smarty pulled another trick but this time Rivers was there to sing a Baritone Solo until the chorus joined in.
Now for the last 45 minutes the Race played out like fine Italian Opera. All the characters had their parts down, the Bobcat tried to turn the Race into a Comedy, the Pack was determined to make it a Tragedy. The Tenors, Baritones, with Choctaw’s Base made music that any Hound Man would love. Dad was filling every pocket available; we had not had a Race last this long with Dads Hounds in a couple of months.
Penny trying to get to the Cat
Finally the curtain came down, the Pack earned their reward. The Tragedy played out about 127 yards from the road. I had to crawl into the Jungle, in water ankle deep about 75 yards, off of a fire lane that ran around the SMZ for the retrieve. The accompanying photos give some idea just how thick it was, but it is not the same as being there. You can’t share in the Smell, Wetness, Thorns, Insects, or the fear of Snakes and Alligators!
It was Bad, Bad, Bad in the SMZ
When I got out with the Cat and remaining Hounds, I don’t know who was more relieved, me or Dad! An hour and forty five minutes of as fine Hound Dog Concert as you could ever want.
Dad with the 12 lb Sow Cat
Wish you all could have been there to share it with us!
C. John Clay
Dads Dogboy
