Trapping Alaska Lynx

Two sets of lynx tracks were working their way down the riverbank, bobbing in and out of the willow and alder thickets along the bank. My snowmachine slid along the river ice, paralleling the tracks. I knew there were two lynx sets ahead along the bank, and that these two cats must have passed very close to them.

- Lucas Byker

I tapped the brakes lightly as I approached the first set, a lynx cubby set guarded by a foothold and two snares, one on each side. The two cat tracks proceeded straight past the cubby without breaking stride. Frustrated by this familiar sight, I continued upriver with at least a glimmer of hope that I had connected. As I rounded across the tip of a peninsula, movement caught my eye on the right. A lynx was pulling at the end of a chain, it’s paw firmly secured in a foothold.

I hopped off my machine, glad to have at last connected on the river portion of my trapline. Then I noticed an area of disturbance where a snare had been set on a pinch point near the cubby. Two black tufted ears and a stiff paw jutting from the snow told the story; the second cat from the pair hunting along the river had been snared, alongside its companion in the foothold.

During the last three seasons, I’ve taken advantage of the decade-long high cycle of the lynx population in my area of Alaska and focused primarily on trapping them. Lynx populations fluctuate cyclically following snowshoe hare population cycles, according to Alaska’s Fish and Game Department. Hares are a primary lynx prey. Every decade or so, hare populations boom, then crash, with lynx populations paralleling this cycle a year or two behind.

The benefits of trapping lynx are clear – they can be caught with cheap equipment, their fur is valuable, the meat makes excellent table fare, and they are just an all-around cool animal to see up close. As a bonus, the gear is easy to set and the sets are self-explanatory, making them an excellent quarry for kids to help on the trapline.