My first experience trapping lynx could have gone better. I was 14 years old when I got my first crack at one, and it walked through my snare set like a ghost. It didn’t look like the big cat even broke stride. I couldn’t believe an animal with feet the size of saucers could get past a blind snare set in the middle of the trail without disturbing anything. Although I didn’t know it then, I was destined to miss a lot more lynx before I learned what I was doing wrong.
I grew up on a remote cattle ranch in northern British Columbia during the fur boom when a lynx pelt would sell for $1,000 or more. A trapper willing to work in those days could make serious money, and a few family friends earned the bulk of their income during the winter trapping season.
Growing up in that environment with a natural love for the outdoors set the course of my life. I started trapping when
