This is a short story of a wonderful encounter I had recently with a Bobcat in a quiet corner of Eaton Canyon.

I spend a good deal of time traipsing around natural areas observing and photographing plants and wildlife, armed with a long telephoto lens for capturing images of birds, butterflies, and mammals. I have taken to carrying a second camera body set up for taking super close-up shots (aka “macro-photography”) of small things such as insects, spiders, flowers, and fungi. Living close by, many of my photo adventures are in Eaton Canyon. When on the prowl, I generally move very slowly, observing my surroundings very closely. It’s incredible what you see when you stop and look. At times, I will simply sit quietly somewhere off the beaten path, trying to blend in and have the birds and other animals forget about my intrusion into their realm.

Earlier this month (January 17, 2023, to be exact), I was back in Coyote Canyon, photographing insects and spiders. The area is a fairly open grassy area with a smattering of Coast Live Oaks (Quercus agrifolia). Due to the recent rains, the grass was tall and lush (likely an introduced species). There were a number of dead/down Oak trees and large branches forming snags that were poking up here and there from the grass.

I’d set my rather cumbersome bird/wildlife camera setup on a log while I looked for insects and spiders in and around a couple of dead oak snags. I’d found and was photographing a Common Desert Centipede (Scolopendra polymorpha) and a very tiny Ribbon Jumping Spider (Metacyrba taeniola) when I suddenly heard an odd sound, kind of a low howl(ish) groaning sound. Looking in that direction, I saw what appeared to be a Bobcat (Lynx rufus) sitting up in the grass about 30 yards away from me. Without my binoculars or birding lens, I couldn’t be sure it wasn’t just another stump or piece of branch. Looking up, I saw that I’d wandered about 20′ from my camera with the long lens!

I moved slowly toward my camera, purposefully not looking in the direction of the suspected Bobcat (I’ve learned that birds and animals are more at ease if you don’t look directly at them). Sure enough, I once I reached my camera with my 600mm lens I confirmed that it was indeed a Bobcat. I began taking photos, fully expecting the cat to move off once he learned I’d discovered him. To my surprise, he didn’t!

Now, I’ve seen Bobcats before, and a few times in Eaton Canyon, but never have I had one be so calm and accepting of my presence. In hindsight, I realized that he certainly saw me well before I saw him, and as I was moving slowly and not paying the slightest attention to him at first, he likely determined that I was not a threat – perhaps he considered me a fellow forager in his world.

As I photographed him (nearly 300 shots in total), I observed him stalking some sort of rodents in the grass – very likely the ubiquitous Botta’s pocket gopher (Thomomys bottae). He crouched low to the ground, eyes focused forward on something or some movement invisible to me, moving imperceptibly forward, he suddenly pounced! But without luck. After this, he sat upright, alternately looking at me and away, into the tall grass, as he continued to hunt for breakfast.

This went on for quite a while. At one point, I moved closer to him in a sideways fashion, again averting my eyes as I moved. He in turn moved closer to me, once again stalking some unseen-by-me prey in the grass. At one point, he moved within ten yards of me, but after another failed stalk, turned and walked slowly away, taking time here and there to sit, undoubtedly still on the lookout for signs of rodents.

After about 20 minutes, this wonderful encounter ended much as it began as he calmly went his way and I went mine. I watched this beautiful animal stroll down into and across Coyote Canyon, and ultimately out of sight into the chaparral.

Photography © Tom Mills 2023

To us, flash floods are a frightening product of powerful North Pacific rainstorms. To Eaton Canyon, flash floods are a way of life. For over six million years, these floods have been carving Eaton Canyon out of the San Gabriel Mountains. They push boulders around, take tree logs for a one-way journey downstream, and remind plants not to grow at the canyon’s lowest point. Most floods are just a spectacle, others can be momentous. But every now and again, these floods can be sovereign.

Within the last 100 years, at least five sovereign floods have decimated Eaton Canyon:

• March 1938
• January 1943
• January 1969
• February 1980
• January 2005
  

All of them reshaped the wash and removed 95 percent of trees growing beside the creek.

During the biggest floods of the century, as much as 20 inches of precipitation fell on lower Eaton Canyon and up to 40 inches of precipitation fell on the mountains above in just 10 days. On January 22, 1943, Hogee’s Camp on the other side of Mount Wilson reported 25.83 inches of rainfall in a single 24-hour period, a western U.S. record.

Another catastrophic flood will hit someday soon. It is only a matter of time.

Ever notice very large pine tree logs scattered around Eaton Canyon’s wash? Those are big-cone Douglas Fir trees that grew miles upstream at the top of Mount Wilson. Only the largest floods of the century are able to deposit these logs within Eaton Wash. They serve as great proxy data about how large the floods can be in this canyon. There are over 100 logs in the wash, the largest of which has a circumference of 179 inches.

This video shows flash flooding in slow motion following the January 9-10, 2023 storm that dropped 5½-12 inches of rain in Eaton Canyon.

Videography and Editing: © Edgar McGregor
Music: “Soaring” by Kevin MacLeod
License (CC BY 4.0): https://filmmusic.io/standard-license