PWAC Victoria: Frances Backhouse, Writing Sample

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Hair of the Cat

by Frances Backhouse ©

Curiosity and a sprinkling of catnip help a biologist catch up with one of North America's most elusive felines, the Canada lynx. Published in Canadian Wildlife, Summer 2003.

My nose twitches as I climb into the cab of John Weaver's truck outside the Cinnamon Bear Café in Coleman, Alberta, where we have made an early-morning rendezvous. A strange scent emanates from the back seat. Something pungent and feral, yet--I surreptitiously sniff again--no, not unpleasant.

I suspect that the mysterious odour is related to Weaver's field work. But in case the source is something more personal--his lunch or his laundry perhaps--I politely refrain from inquiring about it. After all, we've only just met. Instead, I settle back and watch the Rocky Mountain scenery unfold as we travel west along Highway 3 through the Crowsnest Pass, which straddles the Alberta-BC border.

Weaver drives at a sedate pace, ignoring the steady stream of vehicles that zip past. He's scanning the land on either side of the highway, sizing up its potential as approach and escape cover for animals wanting to cross this busy stretch of road and the railway tracks that run alongside it. What he sees is worrisome. Increasing traffic volumes, resource extraction activities, and development in the Crowsnest Pass threaten to cut off the traditional north-south flow of wildlife. Most affected will be species like wolves, bears, wolverines, and wild cats, which regularly trek hundreds, even thousands, of kilometres in search of food, mates, or vacant territory.

These are the animals that have brought Weaver, a Wildlife Conservation Society biologist, to this area. He and two independent colleagues, Clayton Apps and Paul Paquet, are conducting a three-year study of wide-ranging carnivores in the southern Canadian Rockies. This month their focus is on the Canada lynx, which has nearly disappeared from the contiguous United States and is officially listed as threatened there, but is still legally trapped north of the 49th parallel. Freedom of movement through the Crowsnest Pass may affect the future of lynx on both sides of the border.

The problem with trying to learn about lynx, explains Weaver as we turn north off the highway onto an old logging road and start climbing into the High Rock Range, is that even a glimpse of one is rare. Despite three decades of working in wilderness areas, Weaver can count on one hand the number of times he's seen lynx in the wild. So, in 1992, he adopted a captive-born, three-week-old lynx kitten, which he named Chirp for her bird-like vocalizations.

"With a cat, whose behaviour is in many respects instinctive, I thought I could learn a lot by following her, seeing what kills she made, and how she travelled the landscape," says Weaver. Once Chirp was old enough, he started taking her into the woods near his Montana home to observe her activities. For these outings she wore a radio collar, so she could roam at will.

One day, late in the winter of 1996, Weaver was padding along behind Chirp on snowshoes, wrestling yet again with how to study elusive animals like lynx, when he had what he calls his "eureka moment." Chirp had stopped to rub her face against a tree trunk, an action familiar to anyone who knows house cats. Though nothing new to Weaver, it suddenly inspired a novel idea: "What if wild lynx could be enticed to rub their furry cheeks on some kind of hair-collecting pad?" With recent advances in DNA fingerprinting, he suspected a geneticist could analyze the hairs and uncover some of the secrets of the subjects they came from. His head spinning with possibilities and plans, Weaver hurried home.

Over the next few months, Chirp was Weaver's official tester as he experimented with a succession of devices for snagging fur. Curry combs, cat brushes, sticky fly paper, and industrial-strength Velcro were all eventually rejected in favour of a simple square of carpet studded with a circle of outward-pointing roofing nails. Weaver also solicited Chirp's opinion on various scent lures. The winning formula remains a well-guarded secret to keep it out of the hands of trappers.

By mid-morning we are well back into the High Rock Range, having parked the truck when the unmaintained road became too rough and continued on by mountain bike. Weaver takes his time finding an ideal site for the first rubbing station. You have to read the landscape like a lynx, he says, to judge what route it's likely to travel.

Once Weaver has selected a suitable tree, he pulls a nail-studded piece of carpet out of his pack and tacks it to the trunk at knee height. Then he extracts his magic potion and smears it onto the broadloom. Up close, the brown paste smells like a blend of musk, wet fur, freshly mown grass, and sweat. Weaver tops it off with a generous sprinkling of catnip, the only ingredient he's willing to name.

He finishes the job by dragging away forest debris to clear a path to the tree, and suspending an aluminum pie plate from a nearby, low-hanging branch. It's a trappers' trick, he explains. Lynx are highly inquisitive and can rarely resist investigating unfamiliar objects. Even a strip of cloth or dangling feathers will attract their attention. The key is to draw the cat close enough so it will catch a whiff of the redolent lure.

Biologists are not certain what purpose cheek-rubbing serves, Weaver says, "but it's logical to presume lynx are scent-marking for territorial advertising, because they're rubbing an area of the face below which there is a scent gland." Both males and females cheek-rub and both are enthusiastic about the formula Chirp endorsed, which is equally popular with other cat species. Hair from cougars and bobcats (and bears) regularly turns up on rubbing pads during lynx surveys, and Weaver and assistants have used the technique to document the occurrence of the rare and seldom seen ocelot in southern Texas. He has also successfully tested his system on snow leopards and jaguars in zoos, and hopes to try it with wild jaguars soon.

Weaver sends the hairs he collects during his surveys to Wildlife Genetics International in Nelson, BC. By examining mitochondrial DNA, the lab can identify which species a hair came from, while nuclear DNA is used to determine the animal's individual identity, gender, and genetic relatedness to other individuals. That's far more information than biologists had access to in the past, when they relied mainly on trapping statistics and winter track counts, supplemented by occasional radio-telemetry studies if funds were available.

When I call Weaver six months after my time in the Crowsnest Pass, he reports that the 144 rubbing stations his team set up over a 900-square-kilometre area yielded 19 lynx hair samples--a slightly higher hit rate than expected. The lab identified six different males (including one three-time visitor) and one female. Compared to what they would have obtained from visual sightings alone, this is a wealth of data, which will allow them to refine their lynx habitat models for this region and make recommendations for conservation efforts.

Thanks to an innovative biologist and his feline research assistant, important questions about the Canada lynx at the southern end of its Rocky Mountain range are being answered in a way that is effective, economical, and--best of all for these shy cats--non-intrusive.

Frances Backhouse
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Last updated: July 12, 2005 http://www.islandnet.com/pwacvic/backho08.html