Bobcats of California

“Bobcats are highly adaptable, opportunistic predators, preying on various animals depending on their habitat.”

“Both cats leaped into the air, claws out, and momentarily seemed to hang in a ball of fury.”

“With a swift bite to the back of its neck, the gopher was already motionless, and I was rewarded with a few images of it dangling from the cat’s jaw.”

It was a chilly November morning in Point Reyes as I squinted at an apparently empty field. The low sun—diffused through an overcast sky—threw a bleak, sandy smudge across the damp grass. As a landscape photographer, I couldn’t see a composition. The view was barren and listless, the light was weak, and nothing encouraged me to take a photograph. But my friend and guide, Daniel Dietrich, began leading my eye through the scene.

“You see the bush just beyond the fence? Look to the left and up towards those rocks. See it?”

At first, there was nothing, but then a slight motion—the twitching of a six-inch ‘bobbed’ tail—focused my vision. Finally, something took shape against the hillside: a bobcat, with almost perfect camouflage, revealed itself, patiently listening for prey. At that moment, a landscape that offered no immediate inspiration became enthralling.

Daniel whispered that we could try to get closer, but the animal’s interests were the most important thing. Capturing a great image shouldn’t come at the expense of the bobcat catching a meal. So we crept a little closer, cautiously using fence posts as cover until it passed over the crest of a hill.

Bobcats (Lynx rufus) are highly adaptable, opportunistic predators, praying on various animals depending on their habitat. In Wyoming, you might find them hunting waterfowl along snow-covered riverbanks, and they’ve been known to bring down small deer in some places. Still, we typically see them pouncing on pocket gophers in Northern California. As we tried to catch up, crouching low, Daniel cautioned me to be ready because if the bobcat had snatched a gopher, it could be sitting just beyond the peak with its catch.

By the time we reached the top of the hill, the cat was already far below. With their incredible vision and hearing, they typically see us before we see them, so we opted to sit still, but visible, to let it know we were there without making any alarming movements. The signal was received, and it carried on hunting. At this point, I noticed some of the bobcat’s characteristics. Their back legs are longer than the front ones—perfect for pouncing—while the pattern behind their ears appears like quintessential ‘eyes on the back of their heads.’

I found it hard to get a true sense of the bobcat’s size from a distance. They’re typically about twice the size of a house cat, usually weighing between 11 and 30 pounds. Still, this bobcat’s silhouette reminded me so much of a tiger that it inflated in my mind.

We watched from a distance until it passed behind some bushes. We closed the gap during these moments and steadily followed across the fields. Eventually, as it lay down to rest, we found ourselves close enough to take a photo without disturbing the hunt.

That day, I captured my first image of a bobcat, slightly more blurry and distant than I’d have liked, but two things changed: I had found a new source of inspiration, and I fundamentally saw the landscape differently. It wasn’t just a group of objects to be arranged in pleasing compositions; it was alive.

Over the years that followed that first encounter, I’ve been fortunate to watch and photograph multiple bobcats, learning more about them and even recognizing some by their facial markings. But, honestly, this is usually only possible when I’m studying the photos later. Bobcats are typically solitary animals, with territories between one and five square miles. Still, males and females may establish overlapping boundaries, and there’s always the chance that prey distribution or territorial disputes lead to malleable borders. One of those disputes led to an exciting encounter.

In the preceding weeks, I’d seen one bobcat hunting in a specific field during the hour before sunset. They enjoy hunting in grasslands close to woodlands where they can den, and being crepuscular, there was nothing unusual in that behavior. The pattern had been the same on each occasion: it cautiously came out from the scrub brush and surveyed the area from the long grass. Then, when it decided there were no obvious signs of danger, it came out to hunt in the open field.

It was only during these periods of exposed movement I’d been able to spot it and watch what happened. I’d been patient, hanging back, and hoping to see something worth pressing the shutter for, not just because it’s a helpful technique to observe behavior but because it’s ethical. This evening was no different. I saw the bobcat appear and begin its usual behavior. I stayed low to the ground, watching from the limit of my 500mm lens and demonstrating all the patience I could muster.

When he moved out of sight, I came round the side of the hill for a new angle and suddenly saw a second cat lying in the grass a few feet from the first. The two bobcats looked in different directions, but their agitation suggested an awareness of each other. This surprised me because I’d never even seen two bobcats in one frame before. After a minute, they turned nose-to-nose. My guess was that I’d stumbled on a mating encounter. Maybe influenced by that reading of the situation, I thought their movements and interaction seemed tender and affectionate.

I knew I was too far away for any genuinely great images, but I didn’t dare get closer in case I scared them away. After a few minutes, they both started walking away but stayed on parallel lines. I thought the whole situation was ending when they erupted into violence out of nowhere.

Both cats leaped into the air, claws out, and momentarily seemed to hang in a ball of fury. Hitting the ground, one fell back, and the other pounced on it. Again they fought, and again it was intense, but it was over almost as soon as it began. Another almost intimate moment followed before they both retreated to the bushes in different directions. Finally, I breathed again.

At that point, I still believed the situation was a mating encounter that either overheated or was unwanted by the female. However, it was only looking at the images much later that I could see signs the bobcats were both males, so it was possibly a territorial dispute, or given that we were in the middle of their mating season, one of them may have been on the move in search of a female.

For all the bobcat encounters I had been lucky to see, I had still never witnessed a successful hunt, but I didn’t have to wait too long. A few weeks later, I spotted a cat from a distance and sat in my car, watching through the window. It knew I was there—a silver SUV isn’t as conspicuous as I’d like—but as it hunted, it came closer and closer. By the time it was close enough to photograph, it was slightly hidden behind a bush.

I quietly got out of the car, walked into the long grass, and found a safe vantage point. I had accidentally spooked cats this way before, so I tried to present the correct body language while maintaining a reasonable distance. The bobcat looked directly at me and then went about its business. I breathed a sigh of relief and held still. Soon, it became laser-focused on something and crouched, ready to pounce. I froze, scared to lose focus, and just waited.

In The Tiger by John Vaillant, the author says, “The impact of an attacking tiger can be compared to that of a piano falling on you from a second-story window. But unlike the piano, the tiger is designed to do this, and the impact is only the beginning.” The gopher might disagree, but this attack was quite different. Apart from the difference in size, consider their tails. A tiger might stalk prey and run in pursuit when close enough, so their tail—about half its body length—provides essential balance. In contrast, bobcats often wait for their prey to move into place and then pounce. They don’t rely on their short tail for balance.

The pounce that followed was low to the ground and impossible to photograph, but when it raised its head, the bobcat had a plump gopher in its mouth. With a swift bite to the back of its neck, the gopher was already motionless and I was rewarded with a few images of it dangling from the cat’s jaw.

The bobcat turned around to find a place to eat. I thought about following, but it would have been worried that I was trying to steal its prey. I got some photos, so I decided to let it eat in peace. I think we both left feeling happy with our prizes.

There are many more bobcat behaviors I’d like to witness and images I’d like to make. However, with a statewide population that’s thought to be under 100,000 bobcats in California, and especially with the challenges they face due to habitat loss, I feel incredibly grateful for every opportunity I have to photograph them.

With bobcat conservation in mind, I’d like to wrap up these field notes with a request: please refrain from using rodenticides. Rodenticide is obviously toxic, but it doesn’t just poison rodents; it harms the animals that prey on them too. For bobcats to continue to play an essential role in our state ecosystem’s healthy biodiversity, we must drastically reduce their exposure to these poisons. Thank you.

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