Last year I saw a big cat…

I was staying with family in sunny Dorset; except it wasn’t sunny because it was February. Nevertheless, it didn’t stop us from having a good time, but we all know that good times come to an end. And that ending was my train journey back to Plymouth. 

Before I get into this, I feel it’s important to mention that three weeks prior to visiting Bournemouth I changed the time of my return ticket. I was initially going to leave at 13:30, but I instead opted for a 14:45 return ticket. 

Why? I was changing trains at Southampton and checked Southampton’s football fixtures for that Saturday—out of curiosity, more than anything. 

Oh right, it’s a 15:00 home fixture against Millwall.

Call me a pussy cat, but I thought better of arriving in Southampton at the same time as Millwall fans were cascaded out of their trains. Hooliganism isn’t what it used to be: but if there was ever a day, a time, a place, and a team, then yeah. 

Little did I know though, by avoiding these Lions it would mean I’d get to clap eyes on a totally different feline.

Choo Choo

From what I can remember, the train from Bournemouth to Southampton seemed a little outdated compared to the others. Maybe it was just that carriage but it appeared to be smaller, older and it had a mustiness about it. Still, I got a window seat and was facing forwards, so that was nice. 

Despite previously visiting Bournemouth multiple times and studying in Southampton years ago, I didn’t actually know too much about the surrounding area. What I could see from the train window seemed pleasant though. Lots of trees, then a khaki clearing, then more trees, then another grassy clearing. I remember thinking this countryside looked like a prim and proper version of Dartmoor. It was flatter and less rugged.

The train stopped at a place called Brockenhurst. Before now, I’d never heard of it. I noticed a few thatched roofs. It appeared quaint and stinking rich, spoilt by its nestling-up to nature. In and around the town’s station, I remember seeing signs proudly declaring that we were now entering ‘The gateway to the New Forest’, or something to that effect. 

As we travelled away from Brockenhurst, I recall the train going from its normal speed to a slower, more gradual push across the tracks. It was as if the driver wanted the passengers to get a good look—a part of the journey to fully immerse yourself in the countryside. 

With the train going from a fast clunk, clunk, clunk to a slower clunk……clunk…….clunk, it became easier to process the great outdoors beside us. It looked beautiful, to be fair. Almost as if it was cared for by gardeners. The thing is, nobody was around. I hadn’t seen anyone since Brockenhurst station.

That’s a strange dog…

We approached a section of heathland and in the distance on my right hand side I could see a dog. Given we’re travelling through beautiful but barren land, and I hadn’t seen a single human for at least five minutes, the sighting of this dog piqued my interest. I scanned the immediate area, but I couldn’t see anyone near it. Perhaps the owner was around somewhere? I’m certain to see them in a moment.

The dog was motionless. It wasn’t standing on all fours either, but kind of sat on its bum with its front legs tucked and its neck and head held high. It was like it was waiting for something. The train was clunking closer. That’s such a weird coat for a dog, I thought. It looked shiny. The colour seemed off too: it was tanned and sandy all over. As the train got to the point where I was level, it suddenly dawned on me… is that even a dog?

I wish I could’ve stopped time, or better still, alerted the driver to stop the train. All I could do was turn my neck and keep my eyes locked on as we carried on going. Its frame and stature was defined and muscular. It was the most athletic looking animal I’ve ever seen in the British countryside. And rather than waiting for someone, it was seemingly surveying the land in front of it. That’s a f*cking big cat.

Oh my, oh my. That’s a big cat. I’ve just seen a big cat, haven’t I? And as soon as I wanted to do something about it - like get my phone out to take a photo or make other passengers aware - the train was past it. I half stood up and looked back down the carriage in the hope that someone else saw, but the carriage was sparse and nobody batted an eyelid. Too busy on their phones. Should I say something? It seems way too late now, “You saw a big cat? Where?!” Back there —>.

I had to tell someone though, so I grabbed my phone and started messaging a few people ‘I JUST SAW A BIG CAT’. I didn’t care how they’d respond, I didn’t really care if they believed me, I just needed to get it out of my system. Those stories of big cats roaming the British countryside, they’re bloody true! 

Now, slightly calmer, I turned investigator. ‘Big cat Brockenhurst’ I typed into Google. I was met with a few search results but an article by the Daily Echo titled The Hampshire Big Cat Files really caught my eye. It was a long list of reported big cat sightings spanning back to 1991. I started to scroll down, hoping to find a slither of information that could validate what I saw.

Scrolling down I see the New Forest mentioned a lot. But I didn’t care, because next to most of them was ‘Black panther type big cat’. This wasn’t a black cat though. It was desert boot style. Then I got to the final entry on the page, 2008 - ‘Brockenhurst side of New Forest - Lion colour’.

So, let’s have it right. I’ve never been to Brockenhurst, never knew it existed. I’m travelling on a train that's going slow (for a train). I’m looking out of the window with nothing to distract me, and I see this powerful sandy animal sitting alone, gazing out to the moorland in front of it. I then search online and find out someone else has reported seeing a sandy big cat in and around Brockenhurst. Correlation doesn’t mean causation, but c’mon, give’it me.

IT LEFT ME FELINE WEIRD

A couple hours later, I eventually returned home to Plymouth. Although I hadn’t seen my wife and kids for a week - and I already texted my wife about it - the big cat sighting dominated my thoughts and it was honestly the only conversation I was willing to have. However, wife or not, there’s only so many times you can bang on about something that somebody hasn’t seen or experienced themselves, so I needed to find my tribe.

I posted my experience to community Facebook groups and a couple of websites associated with big cat sightings in the UK. I had to get this shit off my chest. I described what I saw and where, and a couple of big cat experts (whether self-proclaimed or not) were inclined to think I may have seen a Puma.

As much as I revelled in feeling important, I wasn’t prepared for someone to ask me for the coordinates of my sighting, so they can visit the site to investigate. Which, to be fair, I honoured, and spent at least one hour on Google Maps scrolling across fields near Brockenhurst. I had entered a new stage of commitment.

After sending my rough estimation of where I think I saw it, I heard nothing back. I presume the big cat enthusiast went out looking for footprints, scrapes, tree scratches and scat, like he said he would. How successful he was, I’m not sure. 

In the days after I told a couple more friends about my experience. One or two cared to listen, a few raised an eyebrow. And that was that, really. 

Weird though, isn’t it, how I made the conscious decision to swerve Millwall fans (the Lions) but ended up seeing a big cat anyway. I’m also starting to wonder whether the train driver knew about the big cat, and that’s why the train travels slower during that section?