How A Lynx Fixed My Car
By Joe Ordonez
I photograph bald eagles in the Chilkat Bald Eagle Preserve, but I like to get out and look for other wildlife in and around Haines. In over three decades of exploring the Alaska wilderness, I’ve seen lynx only a few times. My most recent sighting was the best- not only did I get a few good photographs, but the lynx helped fix my car!
Lynx are rarely seen in the wild for three good reasons. First, they are top predators dependent on their favorite prey, the snowshoe hare. There are always smaller numbers of top predators compared to their prey. You don’t see huge herds of lions stampeding across the Serengeti plains or thousands of wolves racing along the sedge meadows of the Arctic coastal plain. Herbivores like wildebeest (in Africa) and caribou (In the Arctic) always make up the huge migrating herds. So even when there are large numbers of snowshoe hare in an area, the number of lynx is limited.
The second reason it’s hard to find lynx is that lynx populations cycle up and down over a ten-year period. The cycle closely correlates with the population of the snowshoe hare. The likelihood of seeing a lynx peaks every ten years. This means that every ten years there is very little chance of encountering a lynx.
Regardless of their numbers, lynx are hard to see and photograph in the wild. As ambush predators, they are well-camouflaged and will often sit quietly in one spot hoping they don’t get noticed. If sighted or surprised while traveling, they take off quickly. In over thirty years of wilderness travel and photography, I’ve only seen a few lynx and never captured a crisp image of one in the wild. Because they are rare, each sighting has been memorable for me.
My first lynx sighting was in August, 1989, while guiding a raft trip on the upper reaches of the Tatshenshini River. We got to camp late in the afternoon and cooked our dinner. By the time we cleaned the camp, the sun was setting but there was still daylight left to see. Part of my job as a wilderness guide is to spot wildlife, so I’m always scanning the hillsides with my binoculars. I also look with my naked eye for a shape, color, or movement that appears out of place. Something caught my eye that evening in the short willows lining a nearby gravel bar. It was a lynx sitting quietly less than one hundred feet outside camp. We gathered and approached the lynx, which crouched sphynx-like in the brush. The only movement I could discern was the occasional blinking of an eye.
It is always important to me when guiding in the wilderness to adhere to “ethical wildlife viewing practices.” This means one should always try to view a wild animal without changing its behavior. If the animal stops what it is doing, appears agitated or wary, or in any way starts to change its behavior as you approach, you should back off. Better yet, you should not get the animal to change its behaviour in the first place. The reasoning behind this philosophy is sound: wild animals are under stress and live in challenging conditions. Every calorie expended unnecessarily could risk their survival.
This makes for a balancing act when working as a guide. I always want to give my guests the best possible chance to view and photograph a wild creature, especially something as rare and mystical as a lynx. But I do not want to hurt their chances of survival. This is where a good pair of binoculars is essential- they allow you to observe a wild animal from a distance.
We stopped our approach, got out our binoculars and watched the lynx. It didn’t move. The most exciting thing the lynx did was blink its eyes. It got darker and we headed back one by one towards the warmth and comfort of the campfire. I was the last to leave; the lynx was still crouched there silently as I turned away.
My next lynx sighting was in the winter. This was back in 1992, when the Tatshenshini River was threatened by a toxic copper mine, and a haul road was proposed to be built through the wilderness to connect the Haines Highway with the mine. A few friends and I decided to ski the proposed route of the road and get a first-hand look at what was at stake. Winter camping in the Yukon can be challenging, with 40-below temperatures, strong winds, and long distances away from “civilization.” This was before the days of satellite communication devices. We were on our own.
We traveled with our skis, pulling sleds with our camping gear behind us. We soon realized we were not alone. One great aspect of winter travel is that the tracks of the many creatures that live in an area are preserved in the snow. There were otter, weasel, wolf and moose tracks. We saw ptarmigan tracks, and even tracks of a vole (think mouse but with a short tail). Further from the road, we came upon lynx tracks, obvious from their size and the round shape of their feet. The tracks made it look as if the lynx was wearing two pairs of small, round snowshoes. From the quality of the impression, we knew these tracks were very fresh and sensed that the lynx could be just ahead of us.
Our route entered a canyon with a swift, cobalt-blue stream running down the middle of it. We dropped our voices to a whisper and looked expectantly as we pulled our sleds around each bend. The rock walls of the canyon encroached in on us as we entered. If the canyon got much narrower and the stream ran up along the side of the rock wall, we would be unable to continue. We didn’t have drysuits and the stream was too wide to jump across- there was no way to cross without getting soaked. If we got wet, we would have to stop immediately, build a fire and dry out ourselves and our gear.
We came around a corner and surprised the lynx. The lynx turned and looked at me; the bright sun reflected off its mottled fur. For that brief moment, time stood still. My world narrowed to the lynx, the blue stream and the blinding white snow. The lynx quickly assessed its options, then jumped up to cross the creek. With the elegance of a ballet dancer, it lifted straight up, and floated effortlessly over to the other side. It landed quietly, and evaporated into the gray trunks of the balsam poplars.
My most recent lynx sighting was a few weeks ago on a dismal, rainy November day. Photographers from all over the world come to Haines to capture images of bald eagles, and they were lined up in their rain gear along the Chilkat River. The weather is often different on the other side of the mountains; it is drier and colder due to the “rain shadow” effect. A few friends and I decided to head up beyond the Chilkat Summit to get out of the rain. We hoped to photograph some wildlife species other than bald eagles. Up on the pass, I’ve had good luck viewing creatures less commonly seen down in the coastal Chilkat River valley. I’ve photographed ptarmigan, red fox and coyotes. Over the years, I’ve seen gyrfalcons and hawk owls. Recently, I came upon a wolverine sitting alongside the road as the sun came up. But I’d never seen a lynx on that stretch of road.
We crossed into Canada and started to climb in the rain. The rain turned to snow and the wet road turned to ice. We crossed the summit and the weather began to clear. We stopped to take a few photos of the sun breaking through the clouds. As we started down the road I heard a strange grating sound. We sped up, and the noise got louder and faster. We slowed down, and the noise slowed down. My best guess was that I had a bad wheel bearing.
“Sorry, guys,” I said, “we’ll have to turn back to Haines. I hope we can make it back without having to call a tow truck. “ (Tow trucks in remote Alaska and Canada are notoriously expensive- last year I broke down on the Alcan Highway and was shocked by the $3,000 towing bill!)
We turned around and started back down the hill, and there it was- a lynx!
I hit the brakes hard; we slid a bit and then stopped. The lynx stayed where it was, squatting in the snow. We quickly but quietly slipped out of the vehicle, carefully grabbing our cameras. The lynx did not stir. Five minutes later, the lynx stretched out its body and began to move in slow motion. It was dragging its rear right foot as it crept into the brushy willows and disappeared. The lynx was injured. I wondered if it would heal or perish.
We were sad about the injured lynx but felt a warm bond with each other. We knew that even if we didn’t see any other wild creatures that day, we had shared something very special. All of us were happy with the images of the lynx we had captured. When we got back in the car and started down the road, I noticed that the sound was completely gone. The noise didn’t come back, so we turned around and continued our journey into the wilds of the Yukon.
We drove another ninety miles to gas up at the only “nearby” town- Haines Junction, Yukon, population 613. There’s two Chinese restaurants in Haines Junction, and I was tempted by the memory of the tasty Almond Chicken dish I’d enjoyed my last time through. At this latitude, there are less than seven hours of daylight in November. I wanted to minimize the amount of time I spent driving in the dark. So we grabbed some pre-made sandwiches at the gas station and turned back for the 150-mile drive back to Haines, Alaska.
An hour later, we came upon a rusty red Ford F-150 with dual vertical exhaust pipes. The truck was disabled on the side of the road and the driver, dressed in full winter gear, waved at us frantically. I stopped, pulled over and recognized my neighbor, Rocky.
Rocky’s weathered face lit up and he blurted out, “Thank the Lord you’re here! Its freezing cold and I haven’t seen anyone since I broke down two hours ago. I’ve been praying that someone would show up before the border closes for the night.”
He hauled himself into the front seat and sat there quietly. I turned the heater on full blast. Rocky owns an aging logging truck and works as a maintenance man at a nearby wildlife center. He’s experienced with auto mechanics, so I told him about my car’s mysterious grating sound and my theory that I had a bad wheel bearing.
“If your problem had been a bad bearing,” Rocky explained, “the noise would have continued. You had ice up inside your brakes. When you slammed the brakes to view the lynx, the heat must have melted the ice. That lynx helped fix your car!”
01/16/2020
