Lake Superior Journal: Clicking on the Lynx

by

Art/Photography

You might say I’m a wildlife paparazzo. I spend many happy hours, even days, lurking along northwoods trails or shoreside beaches, trying to spot and shoot – with a camera only – the rock stars of our region.

Deer, bear, fox, eagles, otters and even moose seem highly cooperative with celebrity-seeking photographers like me. Wolves and coyotes are a bit more reclusive, but by far the true Greta Garbo of the woods, the four-footed star with a real “I vant to be alone” attitude, is the Canada lynx.

Lynx are loners by their very nature. The animals usually travel solo across their expansive home ranges of 12 to 80 square miles. They prefer to hunt at night. Lynx do come together briefly during mating season, in March and early April. About 65 days later, a female will give birth to one to five kittens, with two or three being the norm. A female will stay with her kittens for the first year; the male does not stick around at all.

With all my years in the woods with my cameras, I had yet to see any lynx, though on some snowy days I had spotted their familiar tracks. Then, on a recent adventure to northern Minnesota and within a few miles of Canada, I caught a glimpse of the elusive cat, crossing the road just before dark. The lynx set a steady pace and did not stop or seem to notice me at all. I reached for my camera, but realized low light made it difficult to get a good picture. The lynx faded into the woods but, for me now, the game was on.

That night, sitting by the fireplace, I made up my mind to spend the rest of the winter searching for a lynx. I’d start the next day and use a method that has served me well for other wildlife spotting, especially moose and wolves. I’d travel the backroads and trails, looking for fresh tracks in the snow. Fresh snow gives plenty of clues about where to find wildlife. Once you see the tracks, it’s a matter of hanging out in the area. Sometimes I’ll follow tracks on my snowshoes or I may snuggle against a tree overlooking a promising location. And then I wait.

In dawn’s light the morning after seeing the lynx cross the road, I jumped in my Jeep with cameras, hot coffee and sleepy eyes. I’d only traveled a couple miles when I started seeing tracks. Lynx tracks are quite distinctive. The large, round prints have no claw marks, and tracks show how the cat’s hind paws land in or near its front track. And while most animals sink or flounder in deep snow, lynx tracks show how it stays right on top of the white fluff, its large paws acting as snowshoes.

Before I could pull over to get out and prepare for the photo hunt, the lynx appeared. It padded along the berm left by the snowplow. Only the second time I’d ever seen a lynx and for the second time it was right beside the road.

I marveled at how big and impressive it was. Its long, thick fur made it appear heavier than the guidebook description of 20 to 40 pounds.

The lynx was on the move, and I had to act quickly. I decided it was best to snap a picture right from the Jeep before the cat veered out of sight. I grabbed my camera, setting up the shot in my mind’s eye and pulling the viewfinder toward me. The camera was yanked from my hands. Startled and near panic, I quickly deduced that I’d put my seatbelt through my camera strap. Gosh darn! I thought (or something very similar).

By the time I got untangled, the lynx was headed deeper into the woods; I swear it had a smirk on its very ruffled face. I got out of the vehicle and walked down the road, hoping to get a clear shot of my rapidly disappearing target. No chance.

The only option was to head into the woods behind it, right now and without taking time to don my snowshoes.

I slogged into the knee-deep snow, working toward an opening where I thought the lynx might cross. This plan, I realized, suited my needs more than it necessarily suited the lynx.

Suddenly my furry celeb appeared silently nearby, its golden eyes and tufted ears honed in on me. Again it plodded along, not in a hurry. Noting the abundant snowshoe hare tracks along its path, I understood that it didn’t have far to go for its favorite meal.

I followed as best I could, keeping my distance so as not to stress the lynx. After about half an hour and 100 yards, the lynx just sat down. I could almost hear a Greta Garbo sigh. It turned to look directly at me as if to say, “Make it snappy. I’m busy!”

Thanking it out loud, I steadied myself and clicked on the lynx. Soon the cat vanished, and I carried my wide Cheshire grin all the way back to the road. I felt indebted to the animal for giving me such a wonderful experience.

Good wildlife photography is probably equal parts preparation, perseverance, patience and luck. This encounter weighed heavily on luck, but it almost seemed as though the lynx, knowing its own celebrity attraction, cooperated with a lowly northwoods paparazzo who only wanted an unobtrusive brush with a star and a candid photo op.

Mike Mikulich is a nature and wildlife photographer living in Superior with his wife, Mary. He has owned and operated Harbor Dental Lab for the past 22 years in Superior. Mike has been a serious photographer for the past 20 years and started sharing his images and stories about 10 years ago. After family and work, most of his time is spent in pursuit of the diverse local wildlife. Mike, a frequent contributor to Lake Superior Magazine and to the Lake Superior Calendar, admits, without shame, that his favorite season is winter.