Just One Cat

The coppery taste of fear filled my mouth and sweat poured down my neck as I checked for the hundredth time to make sure my rifle was loaded. I anxiously eyed the tiny opening into which the massive tom leopard had disappeared while tugging the zipper of my fleece vest up around my neck. In retrospect, it wouldn't have made much of a difference if Ol' Spots came flying out of that cave with murder on his mind, but it gave me some small measure of comfort. I mustered a bit more courage, switched on my flashlight and crawled through the tiny crack that felt more like the entrance to a coffin than a cave. Inside, one very grumpy tom leopard lay in wait.

A Chance Meeting

I'd hunted leopards unsuccessfully several times before my Namibian hunt this past spring. It wasn't for a lack of opportunity. In fact, I've had several cats in my sights over the years, but I chose to pass on them because I wanted to take just one leopard, and I wanted it to be a big one. Though I'd never thought of Namibia as a big-cat destination, Norman Crooks swore his area was teeming with cattle and the big, blocky cats that specialize in killing them. Ordinarily, I'd question any outfitter's claims of near-100 percent success on big cats. However, Crooks has guided my clients to a lot of big cats over the years, and I've come to regard him as the best leopard man in Africa. So when he just about guaranteed an end to my streak of lousy leopard luck, I jumped at the chance.

Fortune Favors the Cat

My hunt started out as all leopard hunts do--with a lot of work. Shooting cull gemsbok for leopard bait was fun, but hanging the quarters and dragging stinky guts all over the place in hopes of catching the attention of a curious cat wasn't. Nevertheless, we hung baits near every waterhole on the ranch because that's what you have to do to kill a cat.

I had barely washed the stench off my hands from the first day when we rolled out at 5:00 the next morning to check baits. Because the days were very warm, we had to get on the tracks early so the scent wouldn't get carried away by the searing heat. So, off we drove into the dark, chilly morning. I was still half asleep when Dumas, Norman's tracker, started jabbering away in Ndebele. I didn't understand it all, but I understood enough: A big leopard had fed on the ripe gemsbok ham we'd tied to a tree along the dry river bed.

In a flash, Norman and Peter Dreyer, the dog handler, unloaded the hounds and started chattering back and forth in Afrikaans. Peter walked the dogs to the leopard tracks, and Little Captain, a stout little Walker, gave a sharp bark and started pulling. The other dogs followed suit, and soon their muffled cries soared, then faded away as they rounded a bend in the river, pulling along their hapless handlers in pursuit of the tom.

Dogs and cats move easily through the brush. They don't worry about little things like tearing their clothes or poking out their eyes, and those four legs can really eat up ground. Chasing them up and down the mountains was tough. Thick, thorny brush and slippery, marble-size rocks made it tougher. But as hard as it was, I was loving every miserable minute of it until, four hours into the chase, a long, harsh string of Afrikaans came blaring out of Norman's radio.

"Let's go back to the truck, Greg. The cat went onto the only bloody farm in the area we can't hunt," Norman said.

That night, we rehashed the events of the day while nursing ice-cold beverages and tweezing thorns out of our respective bodies. We agreed that all had gone well, but fortune had favored the cat. Norman thought we might benefit from an earlier start, however, because he felt the cats were feeding early in the evening. If he was right, that leopard was several hours ahead of us when we kicked the dogs loose on its trail that morning.

Not surprisingly, sleep came early and easily, but baying hounds and stocky, spotted cats filled my dreams. I was already up when Dumas knocked on my door at 3:45. I was raring to go, though I thought the odds of getting on a cat big enough to blow Norman's skirt up, two days in a row, were pretty slim. That shows you what I know, because it was still dark when Peter and Dumas loosed the hounds on another big track.

It was too dark for us to pursue the hounds safely (Dumas and Peter apparently have no regard for their eyes or fear of the puff adders whose serpentine tracks we crossed time and time again in the sandy riverbed), so we paralleled them as we waited for better light and, perhaps, a better fix on where the leopard was headed. Unfortunately, the cat's tracks led right up into the steepest, rockiest mountains on the concession.

For six hours we pursued the cat in some of the roughest country I've ever hunted. If the rocks and steep slopes weren't bad enough, high grass concealed every slippery rock and treacherous hole as effectively as a jungle-tiger trap. My body and rifle had taken a beating by the time the cat made the most of its home-court advantage and disappeared into a canyon that was completely inaccessible.

I struggled a little that day, but I didn't realize the full effect of two days and ten hours of running and stumbling up and down the mountains in 85-degree heat until we started walking back. I was so thirsty, I considered drinking from every stagnant pool we passed, but I held off until we stumbled upon the Cruiser. Although my stock was badly in need of some touch-up paint and my body needed a day off, a little cool water in the tank was all it took to put a smile back on my face. After all, I'd come to hunt leopards, and I was getting all the cat hunting I could handle.

Rewriting History

That night, we learned that the staff had found the tracks of a big leopard while checking water lines. Though I doubt anyone believed it would come back, Norman and the cat in question had a history and Crooks was anxious to rewrite it.

Norman knew the tom; he'd chased it five times before. He could draw its track from memory and knew the rocky riverbed the cat called home like the back of his hand. Every time he and Peter cut its tracks over the previous two seasons, the cat escaped by running into an inaccessible cave or crossing the concession boundary. Norman doesn't like to lose, and I could tell by his hard, far-away stare that if the cat struck again, he would sooner die than let it get away once more.

Norman roared out of camp the next morning, headed for the leopard's backyard. He didn't stop to check any other baits, and he didn't slow down for bumps or dips--no matter the size. It was still pitch dark when he parked right next to the track of the leopard, looked at it in the beam of his flashlight and muttered something unintelligible but clearly obscene. Without a word, Peter, Dumas and the hounds dismounted and hit the ground running. We roared ahead. Norman knew where that cat was headed. He was right, but when the cat hit the intersection in the riverbed where Norman expected it to zig, the tom zagged into the mountains.

Once again we chased the cat up and down the mountains, but this time we were closer. At one point, the dogs bayed it in the river, but the clever kitty didn't stick around long. As soon as the dogs surrounded its rocky perch, it jumped down and mowed through them in a flash of claws and teeth.

It didn't take long for our motley crew to regroup and get back on the cat's trail. We ran hard, but it felt like a wasted effort when the cat led us full circle and disappeared into a cave just above where the dogs had bayed it. There was no sign of the cat. The dogs remained at the mouth of the cave, barking their little heads off until eventually their voices faltered.

The Dumbest Thing I've Ever Done

The dogs nestled into the mouth of the cave and promptly fell fast asleep. We waited anxiously for a while, then took a cue from the hounds and relaxed. We snacked, rested and even slept while taking turns watching the cave. Later, Norman woke up, dusted himself off and walked over.

"Have you got a torch, Greg?"

I didn't like where this was going, but I nodded my head and pulled out my trusty SureFire. "Will this do?"

Norman nodded and said, "Let's go. I think the leopard got away, but we need to look. We can't just sit here all day," he added over his shoulder as he led the way to the cave mouth, which is where this story began.

Getting into the cave required us to assume a very vulnerable position as we slithered through the entrance on our bellies, one by one, and dropped onto the floor of the cave four feet below. Inside, it was just wide enough for two average-size men to stand shoulder to shoulder. The roof quickly soared from seven to fifteen feet. Seven yards in, the passage ended, but a large, flat rock served as a ramp into another level that we could only assume opened right above our heads. If the leopard was in there, we thought, it has to run through us or jump on top of us.

We weren't sure if the cat was still there, but Little Captain was sitting on the flat rock peering up at the shelf above. He wasn't barking, but that didn't mean anything. I found out later, he doesn't bark if the cat is close because he doesn't want to provoke it--smart dog.

I focused on the flat rock while my friend, John Wood, covered the opening above. Peter eased up the rock to peer into the shelf above, but he slipped just as he raised his head. When he fell, we thought we heard a low growl. Peter's wide eyes told me he was sure, but Norman stormed forward and grabbed the light. "That bloody cat isn't in there," he said.

I checked to make sure my safety was off one more time as Norman eased his long, lean frame onto the rock and craned his neck up and over the shelf. As he did, a tremendous roar filled the cave and sent Norman charging wide-eyed past me and John. I shouted "Down, down, down!" but Norman didn't hear me. Consequently, all I saw was an amber flash as the cat slipped out an impossibly small opening above the flat rock with Little Captain in tow.

Peter, Dumas and I scrambled up and over at full speed while Norman and John went to untie the dogs. Little Captain sounded strong, so we pressed on, literally running across the mountains at breakneck speed. Two hours later, I saw the dog walking slowly from left to right. I scanned ahead and saw the long, heavy cat walk across a small opening just ahead of it. Little Captain was right on its heels when Norman arrived with fresh dogs.

The pack caught up with Little Captain in a flash and quickly bayed the cat in a stand of long, leopard-colored grass. We approached cautiously, but the tom heard us and charged, sending dogs flying in its wake. I shouldered my rifle and shot the cat in the chest. Though not instantly fatal, the shot turned it and sent it straight up a nearby tree. One more shot through the shoulders dropped the massive cat into a pile of vengeful hounds.

I'll Be Back

Sitting under the tree with my hands on the leopard was a highlight in my hunting career. I'd earned the huge cat with blood, sweat and tears. I was thrilled to have, at long last, taken the cat of my dreams. However, as happy as I was, I must admit I was pretty sad, too--my leopard hunt had come to an end. As satisfying as taking the leopard was, it cannot compare to the thrill of hunting him.

I expected to love hunting leopards with hounds. Heck, I love any kind of hunt that involves dogs. It was far more exciting and fulfilling than I ever expected. There's just something about the physical challenge of the hunt, the scenic beauty of the mountains and the sound of hounds at full cry echoing through the mountains that gets in your blood. I went to Namibia for just one cat, but I'll be back.

Hunting with Hounds

Is hound hunting less ethical than other leopard hunts?

Hunting leopards with hounds is very controversial. The most often-cited complaint about hunting with hounds is that it isn't fair. Well, after chasing a total of nine cats in eleven days and only getting two of them (my hunting partner, John Wood, took his cat on day ten), I can assure you it's more than fair. After all, you're on the cat's home turf and it knows where to go to elude the hounds, and no matter how fit you are, rest assured the cat is much fitter. You have to be in great shape and work your tail off to even have a chance at success.

Proponents of baited hunts believe hound hunting is unethical. I find that odd because those same people would quickly denounce hunting whitetails over a corn feeder. However, they'll gladly sit in a blind with their rifle strapped to a bench rest while waiting for a cat to hop into a tree and eat a rotting carcass. They might even use a spotlight to illuminate it. I don't think there's anything wrong with baited hunts, but I cannot fathom how anyone can say it is more ethical than hound hunting.

In my opinion, the main argument in favor of hound hunting is that it is so selective. Houndsmen only put their dogs on the trail of big, mature males. In the unlikely event the dogs get off track and tree a female, as happened once on our safari, the PH can pull the dogs off the trail and the cat is no worse for wear. When hunting over bait at night, it's hard to be that selective; young males and females are sometimes taken by mistake.

This article is certain to draw a few letters from readers who are completely at odds with any form of leopard hunting. Perhaps they'll begin with "I'm a hunter, but I don't see how you can shoot those pretty cats. I mean, they're endangered, for goodness sake." Well, the truth of the matter is leopard populations have never been better. In fact, they've made a tremendous comeback since they were persecuted for their pelts after Jackie Kennedy made leopard coats as popular as go-go boots and free love.

Today, leopards are thriving thanks to their economic value as hunting trophies. A leopard trophy fee is far greater than the value of a few calves or sheep, so ranchers are more inclined to let them get away with killing a few. If leopard hunting was stopped, ranchers would poison and trap them indiscriminately. The small number of male cats taken each year has no real effect on the leopard population, but the dollars they bring create jobs, feed hungry people and ensure the health and longevity of the African leopard. That is the essence of conservation through sustainable use.