Are there big cats in Scotland?
What lurks in the wilds of Scotland? Some say that exotic felines are alive and well - one writer went to find out. Alex Rome Griffin
Are there panthers at large in these wild isles?
We all have that one ‘theory’ that we sort of believe in. Some folks are inclined to profess that 9/11 was an inside job, or that vaccines cause all sorts of maladies. Ignore those idiots, and pay attention to a quirky belief of a much gentler, folkloric kind: big cats are alive and well in Scotland. I’ve come to this conclusion not through shaky footage or unsubstantiated anecdotes, but through a combination of personal experience and, subsequently, careful consideration.
The former came about during a trip along the West Coast Mainline. It was a summer evening, and still plenty light enough. The train was slowly approaching Lockerbie station, and I was staring, bored, out of the window. At first, I assumed it was a dog, albeit in a very odd location, next to the track. Then I looked closer at the pointed ears on the top of the head, the short coat, long slender tail, the distinctly feline muzzle, and the way it was licking its paw. I also noted its yellow eyes. I had seen a labrador-sized cat sat by the side of the track. But there are no big cats in Britain. So, I couldn’t, presumably, have seen one.
Not to get too ‘Big Foot lives behind my house’, but I know what I saw. This sighting led me down a bit of a rabbit hole from which I have emerged briefly to write this article. My investigation started, perhaps insalubriously, with social media. I posted a message in the Facebook group Big Cat Sightings in Scotland, and asked if anyone knew what I’d encountered.
I was messaged by the admin, who asked me a few follow-up questions and added my sighting to a map. They were able to confirm that other people had seen something similar in the Lockerbie area. Indeed, since I first drafted this piece, Chalk’s editor Will Garbett has also seen something spooky at Lockerbie. On the train home from Edinburgh he too spied a muscular, cat-like animal prowling the fields just south of the station.
Will also reported this to the group, who should be at the front of your mind if you do see (or have previously seen) anything notable north of the border. You should visit the page if you want to get more of a sense of the discourse, or of the big cat resources and information available. They also have an ongoing podcast series, ‘Big Cat Conversations’, with over 100 episodes.
I was struck by the members of this Facebook group. They were certainly not a bunch of tin-foil hat wearing conspiracy nuts. They had about them the air of thoughtful citizen scientists. However, despite their measured approach, the presence of big cats in Britain remains up for debate. This is, in part, to do with the nature of the evidence. The vast bulk of it is unreliable or can simply be better explained. Purported photos are normally pretty grainy, taken at a distance (perhaps understandably…) and could be of anything from a slightly larger-than-normal domestic moggy, to a black dog, to an especially long stoat. Only occasionally do the subjects of these images look at all like cats. The most convincing image in the UK was taken in Staffordshire and clearly shows a very large cat, but one image does not a theory prove. This uncertainty is compounded by the fact that this image lacks a lot of provenance: it was found in a file from the Royal Zoological Society dated 17 March, but information regarding the year, the photographer, and the precise location are missing.
Pictures of mangled livestock carcasses, accompanied by statements that nothing other than a large feline could have committed such slaughter, are just as unhelpful. Farmers who tend to sheep in my part of South Wales have told me that frenzied domestic dogs, foxes, weasels, stoats, and even badgers and birds of prey are, size depending, capable of ripping apart animals in truly gruesome ways. Similarly, eyewitness reports themselves are of little use. There is simply no way of telling if someone has actually seen what they think they have seen. Accounts are often replete with phrases such as ‘looked like’, or ‘it was dark/foggy/dawn/dusk’ or ‘I’m not sure what I saw, but…’. If we are truly going to believe that big cats are at large in this sceptred (and quite possibly fanged) isle, then we need better proof.
‘I had seen a labrador-sized cat sat by the side of the track. But there are no big cats in Britain. So, I couldn’t, presumably, have seen one’
However, this collection of (normally) unreliable photos and statements have a certain quality, which is, in fact, their quantity. With so many people describing and photographing the same phenomenon it is impossible to dismiss the presence of big cats out of hand. Some people with impeccable academic credentials have decided to investigate. Amongst these is Dr Andrew Hemmings, who has analysed tooth pit evidence on bones taken from livestock and big game kill sites in Gloucestershire and the Dorset heathlands. Tooth pits refer to the indentations made when teeth are forced into bone. By analysing the size of the pits, their depth, and the width between them, Hemmings is able to offer some (tentative) insights into what animal might have made them.
His analysis has shown that a small, but nevertheless significant, portion of these bones demonstrate the sort of damage consistent with predation by big cats. He has, however, stressed in interviews with the BBC and various print media, such as the Wilts and Gloucestershire Standard, that ‘this is one paragraph in what’ll be a much larger narrative, and this section of the jigsaw – this tooth pit analysis – currently, is stacking up in favour of the big cat.’
Mapping cats
So far, so confusing. The case for big cats in Britain is certainly mounting, but their existence is far from proven. I felt I needed input from someone with a lot more experience in this area than myself. With this in mind I contacted Paul McDonald, the man in charge of Big Cat Sightings in Scotland. Kindly, Paul agreed to an interview. Paul and his team are not the only people looking into this phenomenon, and other notable people include Danny Nineham, who has been instrumental in raising awareness of the big cat debate and has also been involved in tracking large felines across Wales and the West Country.
In post-Covid fashion, we arranged to meet virtually. Paul is a quiet, earnest man – he also makes swords, and thus wins the prize for the best Zoom background. We chatted about the presence of big cats in Scotland for over half an hour.
I started with perhaps the most obvious questions: what first got Paul interested in big cats, and had he ever seen one himself? Perhaps not surprisingly, he had. When he was travelling to school on the West Highland Line, he spotted one, unmistakably, from the train window near Glenfinnan. His friend saw it too, and their experience resonates with mine, a mix of profound disbelief and then wary acceptance. This sighting has been since compounded by several other chance encounters, but, he said, the first one was definitely the most vivid.
Regarding the evidence for the presence of these creatures in Scotland, Paul comments that the quantity of reported sightings adds up to something significant. Since 2019 he has mapped around 1,600 incidences reported by members of the public in Scotland. Notably, many of these sightings come from game keepers, police officers, farmers, forestry workers, and naturalists – people who are familiar with their environs, or at least in tune with the natural world, and thus well placed to recognise when something does not fit the mould.
The scale and the pan-Scottish distribution of the evidence surprised him, as did the seasonal patterns of these reports, which are far from consistent year-round. Generally, a lot of sightings are reported in spring, when vegetation growth provides cover for cats who might be looking for new hunting grounds or new ways of moving through established territory. This increased activity leads to a greater likelihood of them being seen. A similar increase in reports happens at harvest time, when the crops that the cats use to conceal themselves are cut down. Furthermore, the compiled sightings form distinct clusters. This suggests that cats create and then stick to their own territories, meaning that the same animal has been reported multiple times as it ranges through surrounding populated areas. When I ask Paul where these clusters are he smiles wryly and simply says ‘Scotland’.
In terms of gaining a greater understanding of the makeup of the big cat population, the quality of the reports is crucial. Paul and his team are selective as to which they choose to map, only adding those that provide enough detail to be useful. Information such as a well-estimated location, size of cat, and general description of physical features is good, but Paul looks for something more. He suggests that things such as tail length and shape can provide insight into whether the animal was a large feline and, if so, what type. Movement characteristics are also useful; stride length, vertical jump height, and gait can all be useful in determining what animal witnesses have seen. It is notable that the same characteristics have been consistently reported. From this, Paul suggests, we can discern the presence of three distinct species: puma, lynx, and melanistic leopard – the panther.
Beyond mapping sightings, Paul and his team carry out follow-up work in instances where sightings have proven especially diagnostic or frequent, aiming to get on the ground as soon as possible after something is reported. What follows is some good old fashioned detective work to find and cast paw prints. This is easier said than done, however, as prints can only form on bare soil, mud, clay, or sand, and conditions need to be fairly specific for clear ones to form. Furthermore, wind and rain can quickly render clear prints indiscernible. The team also assess for associated kill evidence, looking to recover signs of impact and predation in instances where the animal is reported to have been displaying hunting behaviour. In ideal circumstances a prey carcass would be recovered and, with it, possibly, DNA evidence and bone marks. It is a hit and miss game however, and the success rate for this follow up work is fairly low. Tantalisingly though, recovered prints have been shown to leopard trackers from South Africa, who have confirmed them as matching the profiles of various large felines.
Evidence has been similarly corroborated in other parts of the UK. In 2003, armed police were sent to the Welsh mountains to track down a large black cat that was witnessed by a local farmer killing and eating a dog. Expert animal trackers were part of that operation and, based on the evidence recovered, suggested that up to seven large cats may have been active in the vicinity.
These challenges mean that the question of how many of these creatures are actually at large is probably ultimately indeterminable. That being said, other organisations who also study and track these animals have estimated that 80 to 400 individuals are currently active in Scotland. Paul’s own estimation for Scottish numbers is necessarily conservative, but he suspects that the big cat population is in triple figures, and he suggests that these cats really are everywhere, with some of the hardest to reach parts of Scotland – such as the Hebrides – surprisingly well represented.
Guerilla rewilders
So, how does this population remain viable? The seed of any modern big cat population very likely came from the release of large felines after the implementation of the Dangerous Wild Animals Act in 1976, which banned people from keeping various difficult-to-manage creatures as pets. Britain is a nation of farms and countryside, and so livestock, deer, and other animals sustained these creatures after release.
One of the most famous of these former pets is Felicity, a puma who was released into the wild only to be recaptured near Inverness. She was old and arthritic when she was found in October 1980. She was subsequently kept in captivity at the Highland Wildlife Park, where she became rather popular. If you want to visit Felicity today, she was stuffed after her death and is now on display at the Inverness Museum and Gallery.
Over the years this breeding population, Paul suggests, has been bolstered by further releases. People in Britain still wanted exotic pets and thus an illicit trade took form. The owners of these black-market moggies either then, presumably, found their new charges too difficult to handle or feared the long arm of the law, and booted them out into the wild. Paul suggests that this trade and the subsequent release of animals is still going strong, and he has received reports that some of the big cats currently on his team’s radar have come into the wild in this way. Escapees from licensed private menageries have similarly swelled this population. It is interesting to note that when stories of illegal and accidental releases eventually come to light they often map onto historic spikes in sightings in the areas where these actions occurred.
It seems that not all species are released equally, with lynx making their way into the ecosystem in greater numbers. This is due in part to the concerted efforts of guerilla rewilders. Lynx were native to Britain until well into the Middle Ages. As is often the way, we humans hunted them for sport, fur, and to protect livestock, and the population went extinct.
‘Armed police were sent to theWelsh mountains to track down a large black cat that was witnessed killing and eating a dog’
Guerilla rewilders are, perhaps unsurprisingly, rather shy of the spotlight and their motivations for releasing these animals are hard to pin down. However, there are some compelling arguments for putting apex predators back into the wild. Organisations such as Scotland: The Big Picture and the Mammal Society Scotland point out that the UK is fast losing biodiversity and part of this is due to the overgrazing of certain species. In Scotland especially, deer are causing problems. The sustainable number of deer per square kilometre is, at maximum, ten. Some parts of Scotland have as many of 64 animals per square kilometre. This population is devastating ground covering foliage, which increases topsoil runoff, making plant regeneration difficult. Deer also eat young saplings, which affects forest rejuvenation. Harvesting venison can only go so far, especially when you consider that demand for deer meat is simply too small to encourage viable game management. Big cats might offer a solution. On the other hand, large predators might also pose a threat to livestock and people, and come with a host of unforeseen repercussions for the environment at large.
We also don’t really know whether big cats are guaranteed to survive in the wild if they are released. There are essentially two options for managed big cat rewilding: starting a captive breeding program with a view to eventual release, or trapping animals in Europe (where there are various healthy populations) and setting them free in Scotland. In both instances, there is no way of knowing if they would adapt quickly enough to establish a breeding population before they succumbed to their new surroundings. Illustrative of this is the recent illegal release of four lynx (in two staggered pairs) into the highlands near Kingussie. The animals were sighted by members of the public (and reported on the Big Cat Sightings in Scotland page) during extremely cold and snowy conditions in early January. The Royal Zoological Society of Scotland (RZSS) quickly set up traps and captured one pair, which were taken to Edinburgh Zoo for quarantine and medical treatment. Swiftly though, another pair was spotted, and these too were trapped and transported. Reports from the RZSS suggest that these animals were nearing starvation and one cat died shortly after capture.
A further option would be to be bolster existing native cat populations. Whilst there are no truly native large feline species, Scotland has a small (but stable) population of wildcats. The charity Rewilding Britain has suggested that increasing their numbers might go some way to keeping the deer population in check, but as Scottish wildcats are not much larger than a decent-sized domestic moggy their efficacy in taking down large game is unclear. This approach is currently under trial, and since 2023 about 30 captive bred wildcats have been released in secret locations around the Cairngorms. It is still early days, but reports suggest the population is thriving.
Rewilding Britain has also suggested that an increased large cat population might create new tourism opportunities. Scotland is beloved for its wildlife and tourists flock here en masse to spot red deer, eagles, dolphins, and whales. Adding an elusive feline to that list may prove quite the draw. However, considering the issues such as litter and path erosion that accompany any tourism increase, the benefits and costs must be carefully weighed.
Of course, any attempts to increase big cat numbers in Scotland would need to be careful. According to the RZSS, bolstering the wildcat population was very popular with the public. It seems that there is general support for attempts to reintroduce species or ensure that struggling species are protected. Whether this support would translate to larger, more predatory species of big cat is presently unclear. Paul, during our interview, suggested that public engagement at outreach events has generally been positive. He reported that people are usually open to the idea of big cats being part of our countryside, and that very few have suggested that any existing population should be eradicated. Those that would like to see extant big cats removed often have livelihoods connected to game or livestock, who see apex predators as a threat to the animals upon which their financial security depends. Rewilding charities have stressed that any species reintroduction would need to be carried out in full consultation with countryside stakeholders such as farmers and crofters. Indeed, National Farmers’ Union Scotland have voiced concerns about the impact big cats could have on livestock management in the wake of the illegal lynx releases.
Paul also comments that the government would have to set up compensation schemes for livestock farmers to manage profit loss from big cat predation. This may be one reason that the governments at Holyrood and Westminster are presently unwilling to recognise big cats as already at large in the countryside. Either recognising the presence of big cats or creating a reintroduction programme would come with reams of red tape and would, in all likelihood, be extremely slow moving. This lack of government action is something which guerilla rewilders (at least those that have agreed to have their views recorded in terse press interviews) have suggested as motivation for taking matters into their own hands.
‘Un-exorcised’ wilderness
I do wonder why people want to see these animals in the wild. Towards the end of our interview, I asked Paul what it was about these animals that so interests us. He suggested that their position as awe inspiring apex predators taps into a broader interest in carnivorous animals, be they birds of prey or land hunters. Their inherent beauty, with their powerful forms and graceful movements, makes them subjects of deep fascination. Paul also posited that there might be a metaphysical element to our interest, owing to deep folkloric ties between felines and the supernatural. Anyone tramping about the Highlands would do well to be wary of the Cat-Sìth, a fairy creature from Scottish mythology that takes the form of large black cat with white spots on its chest. Their roles in myths and legends deep in time may well still echo today.
‘Monbiot suggests that there is an innate and primal fascination with wilderness and the creatures which dwell within it’
Paul and I are not the only people to have considered this philosophical point: researchers at the University of Gloucestershire have asked similar questions. An unpublished paper by Matt Reed, Rhiannon Naylor, and Nick Lewis, who all examine social aspects of the countryside and its communities, explored public perceptions of big cats in the wake of a spate of suspected big game killings in the local area. They draw on a range of participant interviews, poetry, writing about the countryside, journal articles, and scientific publications.
Drawing on poet Ted Hughes’ idea that the landscapes of Western Devon remain ‘un-exorcised’, they suggest that people are tantalised by the idea that ‘contemporary rural England might yet harbour some things untamed’ and that the notion of big cats ‘injects that wildness into the neat taxonomy of its [the English countryside’s] flora and fauna’. Not every publication they consider in their paper necessarily supports the idea of big cats: the environmentalist George Monbiot is sceptical (and perhaps a bit mocking) about both the idea that big cats remain in the countryside and the people who investigate them. Monbiot does suggest, however, that big cats
might awaken old genetic memories of conflict and survival, memories which must incorporate encounters – possibly the most challenging our ancestors faced – with large predatory cats. They hint at an unexpressed wish for wilder and fiercer lives than those we now lead. Our desires stare back at us, yellow-eyed and snarling, from the thickets of the mind.
Reed, Naylor, and Lewis point out that there is little evidence to suggest that our interest in big cats (and cryptozoology) more widely is encoded in our brains, but I do think Monbiot is onto something when he suggests that there is an innate and primal fascination with wilderness and the creatures which dwell within it.
I’ve spent a great deal of time trotting around some of Britain’s more untamed parts, from hiking the mountains of Eyri and Bannau Brycheiniog to exploring Shetland, the Hebrides, and the peaks of Assynt in the north of the Scottish mainland. These modest feats are driven by a desire to ‘get out there’ and experience the rawness of Britain’s few remaining wild places. These are places where I feel utter awe and, sometimes, even a little fear. I will never forget my friend and hiking partner slamming on the brakes of his aging Ford Fiesta during a very late-night drive through the Highlands because looming in the headlights was a gargantuan red stag. Or, later on that drive, stopping by the side of the road because the northern lights were visible through the lifting clouds. I will equally never forget summiting Quinag in the snow and observing the far reaches of Scotland as it dissolved into the sea. I may, however, make a concerted effort to forget a 14-hour ferry crossing from Aberdeen to Shetland’s main port town of Lerwick, even if sleeping in the on-board cinema under my big coat made me feel like a proper (if well-fed and watered) explorer.
I didn’t see a big cat on any of these occasions and, indeed, my own experience with these elusive creatures was more prosaic and, ironically, took place in the midst of man-made infrastructure. But I do feel that if a panther had crossed my path whilst bashing along some overgrown trail in the middle of nowhere, that I wouldn’t have been too surprised to see it. So wild were these landscapes to me that an apex predator would simply have seemed yet another expression of the raw power of untamed places.
Alex Rome Griffin is a writer, archaeologist, and frequent rail passenger. His various escapades by train have left him with many entertaining tales about life around the UK - some more believable than others.