By the 1960’s the old trapper was feeling his age, but he also had a renewed sense of energy that comes with living in the woods. He’d recently sold most of his businesses, wrapped up some personal matters, and went to live full time in the wilderness. After a bit of a break from writing magazine articles, he began to resume writing as well. The trapping was different now, as old Walt couldn’t get around as much as he had in his younger years. He also seemed to develop a more sentimental side, befriending some of his wild animal neighbors as pets. But he still trapped enough to collect a little fur, pay some bills and have something to write about. He also still had the same sense of enthusiasm for trapping and being in the woods as the Walter Arnold in his twenties and thirties, making these later stories just as enjoyable to read.
Life in the Wilderness
First published in Fur-Fish-Game March and April 1964
Walter Arnold
Although I did not cover many miles of territory this season, on the whole I enjoyed very good luck with the traps and had some interesting experiences – at least they were to me. The first ice appears early in this locality, and soon after the season opens the shallow water around marshes, where there are likely to be muskrat, skims over with ice. Consequently, we do not have much time to trap ‘rats. I set some traps the opening of the season and tended them well a couple or three nights, managing to pick up twelve ‘rats. I now had some muskrat carcasses for bait. I did catch one ‘rat that did not yield me a carcass or pelt. An otter arrived ahead of me and had eaten the entire animal, just leaving the guts in a neat little pile in the water near the set. I was quite riled up about this, and promised to settle in full with Mr. Otter, and I think I did, too, before the season was over.
Thieving Otter
Earlier, I was sure there was an otter hanging around these parts and had put in three sets at old otter playgrounds. One of these sets was on the stream, down the line a mile or so from this pond. There was a big old blown down tree that nearly reached across the stream, held in place by huge boulders. I knew an otter would be quite likely to use this to reach shore and jump down from the old roots to reach an old playground that had been used for years. Near the roots, but still on the log, I found a nice depression and by enlarging this a bit, could fit a #14 trap in there. A bit of moss on this and a couple natural looking guide sticks and the set was completed. I use no scent or bait in a place like this. I was tending the line down on the stream a few days after being robbed of my muskrat and came in sight of the big log, noticing that a lot had been going on over and around it. I could see the heavy fastening wire lying over the log and of course started asking myself if it was an otter, bobcat or big raccoon, and whether it was still in the trap. I hustled right over and looked down the other side and there hung a big, prime otter. It was a beautiful pelt which I later sold for $25. I am sure it was the muskrat thief, as there were no more signs of otter after that.
The Best Fisher
Some years ago there were many fisher in here, but they killed off and ate all the porcupines, rabbits, squirrels and other small game and then left this locality. Now and then one bangs through to see what goes on in here now. I know the best runways and picked out one of the best, down near where I caught the thief otter. I found a large, dead cedar that had fallen but caught on the limb of another tree up six or seven feet from the ground. From the roots of the cedar up to where the trunk had caught on a limb was all of twenty feet. There were no branches left on the cedar. I reached up and got a trap placed on the top side of the cedar and close to the body of the standing tree the cedar was caught upon. With the full length of chain stretched out beyond, I fastened the trap ring to the cedar. I wired the bait, a muskrat carcass, to the upstanding tree right in front of the trap and then smeared scent and rubbed bloody meat on the trunk of the cedar from the roots to the trap. I knew if a fisher came along he would smell that and follow through to the trap. I tended the trap a couple of times and applied fresh scent and bait, and then one trip I came in view and there, hanging from the tree, was a beautiful fisher.
I’d caught the kind of fisher trapper dreams about – a very small and dark one with a beautiful tail, and absolutely prime. I knew fisher were not worth much this season, but had seen a price list quoting them as high as $25. I knew if there was one worth $25, this was it. I eventually mailed the pelt to my favorite dealer, who had already purchased around 500 fisher this season. In due time I heard from him, telling me this pelt was absolutely tops, and sent me a check for $25. I have seen the day, years ago, when the same pelt would have sold quickly for $150. This really was a very pleasant experience for me, to finally catch the best fisher I have ever trapped, seen or purchased during my life. This pelt had everything, color and all. No doubt the mother was with this fisher when it came through, but I saw no signs of her. Furthermore, there has been tracking snow ever since the first of December, and I have not seen a fisher track this winter. I was lucky!
Back to Bobcats
I did not get to do any trapping a year ago, being too lame to run a trap line. Consequently I did not get to catch a bobcat. Bobcats never were very plentiful in and around this section, and for the past few years there have been even less. They do, however, appear to be taking more than usual down in the more settled sections. I knew there was an old, wise ‘cat in here that would not go to my bait sets but I also knew of a certain place he had visited now and then for the past three years. When season opened I went and checked up on this place and sure enough there was a dropping three or four weeks old. He was still in the county, and somehow I felt that if I took a ‘cat this season I would have to outwit this fellow.
There was an opening beside a stream where there once had been a beaver flowage. There was one particular spot the old fellow would visit when he happened to come through on a trip. There was a big old stump, and past the roots was a place where beaver had tunneled probably under the ice, right past the stump and then a high knoll, a perfect runway or place to travel through and I knew that two or three times a year Old Tom used this. Working carefully, I dug out a good trap bed and placed in a 31-X and laid some of the dead grass or weeds over it. Then, picking up a couple old sticks the right size, I put in guide sticks. I used no scent or bait. Some distance from this set I put in a good bait set for ‘cats. He could have his choice. I just prayed he would come through that way again before snow or heavy crust came to block my set. I tended this set several times and then one day I covered this line and came to a mink set and found a mink had gotten in that very night, pulled out of the trap and was gone. I was sure there was sufficient water there to drown a mink in a trap but evidently there was not and my mink was gone and my heart sank.
It was about half a mile over to the blind set for Mr. ‘Cat. I proceeded to work over that way very downhearted and discouraged. I stumbled out through the small firs onto the spot where the set was, and then stumbled right back into the firs again. You see it was like this – I had stumbled almost on top of a big ‘cat that was coming to its feet and starting to snarl at me. Old wise guy, he had no doubt walked past my bait set and winked at that and then came right over and snuck into the blind set. He was hopping mad about it all. Now I didn’t feel so bad about losing the mink. I had a $15 bounty coming to me and later the pelt brought $3. He was a big fellow but I managed to get him tied over a shoulder, across the top of my pack and around under the other arm. I tied his hind feet and head together and struggled to camp with a heavy but very pleasant load. I am hoping that before another fall some more bobcats will work into this section. The first fall I really lived in here, 1959, there was a mother ‘cat with two nearly full grown kits. That was nice. I soon had the mother and one of the kits, the other kit left and I never saw a sign of it afterwards. There was also another big Tom which I picked up in a blind set.
Fox Again
I knew there was some value to fox pelts, so decided to put in a couple sets and pick up a pelt or two just for the sake of trapping fox again. I put in one of my leaning tree sets and a water set. Down through the years I have always been very interested in trapping our Maine bobcat, and knowing that an old trap shy bobcat is as sly and sharp as any fox ever was, I try to make my sets carefully. In fact I make them so good that down through the years I have always taken foxes in my ‘cat sets. This fall I took two in the few ‘cat sets I had out. I did not take a fox in my water set, though I took one in a baited ‘cat set not 300 feet away. My leaning tree set is out here about half a mile from camp. This set is a big maple that leans sharply toward the south. The trap is set up close to the roots, not easy for rain or snow to get in and put the trap out of order. Years ago when fox were worth real money I used this type of set quite a bit and would be taking fox when they were really prime, all through December. Most other fox sets during December would either be broken up or buried under snow or crust. The traps I used in this type of set were colored dark by boiling in bark and were absolutely clean and free from odors associated with man. Traps were usually stored in summer right out in the woods. When set, I did not completely cover a trap, just camouflaged it a bit with leaf mulch, etc. There was not much that could freeze up. A small dead stick was pushed down through trap ring or link of chain so if trap was moved the stick would be down, in this setup it was not necessary for me to go up to the set. I could tell from 20 feet away if trap was still setting.
Catching Red
Well, two years ago I had this leaning tree set in working order. Ever since I have been living in here there has been a big fox that hangs around and comes close to camp. I have seen him many times. I call him Red. Red and my pet cat that is almost as large as a fox and looks like one are very good friends. Red will come in close to top of bank here and start yapping and Berg goes up, they are fast friends. Now this first year, Red finally became too curious along the last of December and investigated and got his foot pinched. There was some crust there and he pulled free before the trap jaws really got set. I reasoned that now there would be no danger of catching him. Of course I did not see it but I was very sure it was Red. There are very few foxes back here in the woods anyhow. If we kill a deer or bear handy in camp we drag it in and dress it right off. It is hung up in the game tree and then the innards are taken out ten or fifteen rods into the woods. It may not be until March, but sooner or later Red will dig down and clean it all up. I throw out chunks of beaver meat and he takes them. Right now I have him along with a mate he has picked up, feeding on beaver meat down at the narrows.
Getting back to the tree set, I set it up this fall and crowded a chunk of bait tightly under the roots and put down a generous amount of scent. I figured Red was wise to that scent. No other fox came through, or if they did they were not interested. That trap must have been set there all of six weeks when one day in December I went out through there and looking up ahead where the set was, saw a fox hopping around. I started up and got a good look at his face – yes, you guessed it. I had Red. He is a big fellow, and was absolutely prime, with a beautiful pelt and tail. I saw that his foot was not frozen or injured. I turned him loose and he has been around near camp quite often since then. The pelt was probably worth $4, but he is worth more than that to me and Berg, out there free. Old Red is quite a character. I am sure now that never again will he go near a place where that same scent is used, and naturally I will always use it where I think Red will find it. The two average fox pelts I had sold for $2.50 each.
Finding Mink
Back here in my part of the wilderness we’ve never had many mink. To catch a lot of mink one usually is forced to cover a great many miles of trapline. When I moved in here for keeps, three years ago, there was scarcely a mink in the whole valley. They were at their low cycle. They had not been trapped, but nature in her way had them at their low ebb. I set up some traps this fall, tended them faithfully and only took two mink. I did not get up into the small mountain spring brooks and think there were a few mink in those places during November. Since the season closed a few mink are showing up around here, especially after December 15th. Hopefully in another year there will be a supply that will allow me to take half a dozen. I took one mink and then lost the one I have already mentioned, and right at the close of the season I picked up another mink. What do you know? It was the same one I had lost earlier, so I snagged that mink after all.
Business in Town
It was necessary to make application for bounty on my bobcat and get my fisher pelt tagged, and I was finally forced to go to Greenville and attended to this business. Had the wardens dropped in here at the right time I could have probably taken care of everything without going to town, but the job had to be done so out I went. When I stepped out of the plane at Greenville I saw an automobile. Believe it or not, that was the first automobile I had seen in 19 months! I heard a phone ring too while out there. As I have stated in previous articles, there are no roads or phones in here. A man might get run over by a scared, speeding moose, but never by a car or truck.
Beaver Trapping
On January 1st the beaver trapping season opened up – on paper, that is. On that date I was still doing my best to get my head above the three foot snowfall we had just been blessed with, and that had come down on top of more than a foot that had fallen a few days earlier. We had hurricane winds and I for one was not straying too far from camp. On the 3rd or 4th I started to break trails out of here to a beaver colony or two I knew about. I did not have many accessible places, as I am not able to travel a great many miles on webs every day like I used to. I reached a colony at the edge of a marsh on a small shallow pond and soon found that they had no dam and there was scarcely any water under the ice, but I put in three sets. I realized the mud was very soft and it was possible for beaver to get out to the sets. I knew there would be deeper water around the base of the house but the law says we must stay 25 feet away from houses with our sets. I honestly did not expect to take anything there.
The next day I came through again and on to the next pond and colony. This house too was on the side of a marsh with no dam in the pond and had possibly less water than at the first colony. I gave up and did not make a set. I knew that under the marsh would be a tunnel some place, cutting across to the inlet of the pond. I went up to where the swift water came into the pond and would probably remain open in that particular spot, and put in an open water set, using a 415-X trap. This was a long way from the house, but I was in hopes the big beaver would make a trip up through.
I spent a whole day breaking out to another colony way off in a different direction. I figured a pair of beaver in that small house. Again, it was a place with no dam and very shallow water under the ice. I knew the beaver had their feed pile packed in under the marsh beside the house. I could picture myself punishing my legs and breaking out trail to this place trip after trip and probably catching nothing. I said to myself, “it isn’t worth it.” I shoved a pole down through a hole and into the mud so it looked as though the place was set up, in case a plane prospected over the place, and I came on back to camp. Since then there have been several snow storms and I thank God that I was awakened in time and put in no sets and do not have to break out that trail this hard winter a couple times a week.
Elmer the Beaver
There is one beaver not far away that I would not trap on a bet – that is Elmer Gnawwood. Nearly everyone spells that name Norwood, but Elmer prefers his way of doing it. Elmer has been around here for several years, an old, lazy hermit beaver. He pays little or no attention to me when I am on land or out in the canoe. He will swim right past me looking straight ahead as though he never saw me but I know he did. This last spring he decided there should be a landscaping job done around my camp yard and went to work at it. The bushes and small trees along the bank and down to the water are now all gone – he was right, it does look much better. He was working here about every afternoon and evening all summer. I would trim off the stumps and clean up the litter every few days, as he does make a mess where he eats. In fact, I sometimes call him the Little Bug. Eventually he had all my bushes and shade tress down, so I got busy and about every two days would cut a four inch white birch from a grove I am cleaning out. I would use the trunk for firewood and place the nice top down at the water’s edge. He was there every afternoon for his supper. Where I would place these tops is a distance of about ten feet from the corner of my camp. I would be going in and out of the camp and Elmer would be down there eating and paying no attention to me – he loved that service. There was no doubt that he liked the radio and appeared to be most contented and tame when that was going full blast. Sometimes he would act suspicious when everything was absolutely quiet around here.
If I happened to be around when Elmer arrived, usually mid-afternoon, I would see him swimming down the pond near shore, right past the camp and on down around a small point. In just a few minutes he would come back and go in and pick up with his work where he left off the day before. I think he did this to check up and make sure there were no predators around. Beaver have to look out for themselves – they have enemies. One afternoon he went past and this time pulled in at my little canoe beach, brought up some sticks and water-soaked leaves and deposited them onto the sand, and then got onto them, left his scent and continued on down past the point. I realized he would be back in about three minutes so I hustled and got some ground beaver castor that had muscaro mixed with it, a sweet smelling substance. I smeared some of this onto his freshly made scent mound and then got back into camp and watched. I was scarcely back into camp before back he came and right up past the scent mound and when about ten feet away he suddenly stopped, then turned, went back and looked and smelled it all over, started away and then went back to look it and smell it over again. I sure had him wondering. I haven’t figured out yet just what he thought. He knew he had just made that mound himself only a few moments before. Did he think perhaps there might be some strange smelling invisible beaver around here or did he think he himself had contracted some awful, incurable disease and that was the way he was now smelling? Anyhow, I do know it was a great mystery to him. He finally gave up and came up and went to work within eight or ten feet of the camp.
I must relate another incident relative to Elmer that amused me very much. He started to cut down one of my little tress, probably 2 ½ inches at the base. He was right here on the bank, propping his tail against the camp. I was standing on the inside above him and looking out and down upon him. He got the tree cut off and it fell into the pond with the butt still clinging to the stump. Elmer cut it off but it still remained resting up there. He gave it a couple light shoves with his nose but it was still there. He then put his nose against it and laid on the strength and really gave it a shove. His nose must have slipped off the side and he lost his balance and away he went, heels over head, splashing into the water four feet below and got his fanny wet. He came up and I could see fire in his eyes – he was mad. He reared up and grabbed that tree and brother, I’m telling you that tree was snatched into the water.
The first year I lived in here a colony of beaver had a house out in my spring. My spring is a mountain spring brook near the camp, and it is the only drinking water I get out there. The spring, as I call it, is a long pool probably 100 feet long. I dip out my water at the head, under the falls. Midway of the pool it is about ten feet in width and three or four feet deep. The old house out there has not been used for three years. This fall Elmer moved in and decided to winter right there in my spring. As I say, he is a lazy old hermit and he does no work on the old house. I guess there was a hole large enough so the sun was shining through and into his eyes so he could not sleep daytimes and he did put about one pint of mud over that. I was traveling every day or so out over that trail so I watched his work and could see he was not getting ahead very fast in getting himself a winter’s feed pile. One day I saw a long bodied moosewood he had cut but it was lodged. I managed to drag this down and over to the pool. I was out there a couple days later and Elmer had been out and cut that into chunks and had it packed away in his meager food pile. I always carried a white birch top or a small moosewood to the pool every time I went through. One day I found a beech about four inches on the stump and pointed toward the pool. Not a branch had been cut off, and there wasn’t a tooth mark on the body of the tree. I could take a hint, and I dragged that in. A couple days later I found another one in the same condition, so dragged that in. By this time ice was forming and it soon froze over, but I think between us we have put together a food pile that will see him through the winter. I hope so, as I am looking forward to having him around here again next summer. My cat Berg and Elmer have plenty of respect for each other so get along okay. Berg does not get much closer than six feet and Elmer does not want him any closer. To make a long story short (or did I?), I am not trapping Elmer Gnawwood.
Finishing up
Getting back to my traps. I made a trip or two down to look at my four sets and had nothing. Although the mud was thin and soft I doubted if a beaver would attempt to squeeze out under the ice to those sets. Then one day I again broke trail down through and to my surprise I had a big beaver at the first pond and another large one, a blanket, at the inlet set at the second colony. Several days later I went down and had another fair sized flat-tail at the first pond. I then allowed the traps to set a full week, allowing everything to really quiet down around the place. I arrived at the first pond and noticed at once there did not seem to be any steam hole from the house. I had three sets there, and upon finding two beaver, I decided I had probably cleaned the colony out. I went down to the next pond and found a big beaver from the lower house. That made three beavers from four traps in one day. Although I’d now taken the two old beaver from that colony, I decided to leave my traps and returned a week later. The first house was evidently dead, and there were no signs of activity around my sets, neither was there anything down the line at the inlet set. I took up my four traps and went out of business. I know I have probably left some yearlings or kits at the lower pond, but at present prices on beaver pelts that is okay with me. There will be some left for next year.
It is now the 18th of March and I am about to seal this article and get it ready to mail to good old F.F.G. I sure am glad I pulled my few traps when I did, as all it has done since is snow, snow, snow. I have learned that many other northern Maine trappers pulled their traps about the same time I did. The Maine beaver catch, so I understand, is the lowest in many years, on account of snow and dangerous ice conditions. One of the last trips I made down this pond, over a month ago, I went via the Narrows and when I returned about four hours later, there in the Narrows was one of my showshoe tracks that had dropped in open water. I don’t like that kind of business one little bit and am staying off ponds, beaver flowages, deadwaters, etc. until ice is out. I want to be around and watch the ice go out – not go out with it.
I wrote one of my friends a few days ago and said “If you come up and land out in the usual place, look in toward where the camp should be and pick out the tunnel nearest to the high bank, follow this and it brings you right into my camp door.” Well, it is not quite as bad as that but I have shoveled snow down onto the pond and have now built it up way above my head. I can’t throw it much higher. If snow continues to come down I will simply give up and den for the balance of the winter. If I do decide to den it will be the easiest thing I ever did – all I have to do is quit shoveling.
Someone should write a song and entitle it “Me and My Shovel”. It would sell big in Maine this winter.