Sometimes the best trapping stories are the short, simple tales of interesting catches and challenging conditions. They’re the things we talk about with other trappers when we meet up, whether at conventions, state associations, the local fur buyer, or coffee shop. Trapping tales are great, and they keep things exciting during those times when we aren’t running the line. In this article, Walter Arnold tells of some of his mini trapping adventures during a season on the ‘line.
Life on the Trapline
First Published in Fur-Fish-Game October 1948
Walter Arnold
Trapping is not only profitable, but also very interesting. To me the real spice is found in the little quirks, things out of the ordinary that we sometimes do to win our point over some elusive pelt owner, and in unexpected events of success or defeat that pop up every now and then. Not all of us have to win all the time to make it an interesting season. A defeat is what sends us back to camp, thinking and studying ways to improve our technique.
Although the ban on hunting and trapping (due to powder-dry conditions in the Maine woods) stopped our early season activities, this situation cleared up in time to allow me to enjoy my full share of the things that make our profession so entertaining.
Unexpected Catch
The first unexpected turn of events which sent me camp bound in high spirits worked out like this. Where my trail crosses a small spring brook, an old moss-covered rotten log runs from back on the bank down into and lengthwise of the brook. A strong #2 trap was placed on this log, under the moss, and a few drops of mink scent placed in the moss on the log above the trap. A stepping stick was placed in position, and that was all there was to it. With me on my return trip was my boy Andrew, his first trip over a trap line. First we picked up a fox caught in a land set made for bobcat. A little later, we had a good big ‘coon in another ‘cat set. When we came to this mink set, things were torn up in general. An old female bobcat had gone out on the log to investigate that nice odor and walked into trouble. In fighting around, she had caught the trap chain down under some heavy brush in the brook and was drowned. That was the last thing I ever expected to find in that set! As I would rather catch a bobcat than any other furbearer, I was satisfied with the day’s work. It wasn’t a valuable catch, even with the $15 bounty, but one I am always willing to make.
Foxes Aplenty When They’re not Worth a Penny
Three foxes were taken in ‘cat sets, but with many of the fur buyers showing no interest in fox at any price, I did not go after them for profit at all. I did, however, put out two sets, trying out an experiment, and after taking two gave it up. That was another quirk of fate. There were more foxes in my territory than I’d ever seen before, and they were worthless. When the price is high there will be just a few foxes. Sometimes it looks like the cards are stacked against us, but that is part of the game I guess.
An Otter Mystery
There was one incident which occurred during the fall that I have been unable to fully understand. There are two ponds on my line about 200 feet apart. A brook runs from one down to the other. About every year there will be one or more otter visit this locality and in going from one of these ponds to the other, they seldom use the rocky brook, which is strewn with large boulders. They will go overland, up over a high knoll and sliding and playing down the other side, and usually in about the same place. Today this crossing place shows up plainly, as it has been used for years. I found that an otter was using the trail last fall, and as there were beaver nearby I did not feel safe in placing any traps where either end of the trail entered the water (beaver trapping season was not open at the time). I have found that when beaver go down from one of these ponds to the other, they usually follow the side of the brook or travel in the brook. I went to the top of the knoll and put in two good trail sets a few feet apart. I put in stepping sticks and did a thorough job at both places.
Four or five inches of snow had fallen by the time I returned, and when I looked at the traps, it was obvious that a catch had been made prior to the snow. I had trapped my otter, but he was not there. As the trap was one of the best, and there were no sticks or stones caught between the jaws, I know that no otter ever pulled out of it. In ordinary country, it would have been easy to say that someone had taken it, but this is one of the few places where other people seldom go, and I cannot say that I think it was stolen, but there is of course that possibility. Another angler to consider is the fact that within a period of three or four weeks after this loss, I trapped three bobcats within a quarter mile of this place. There is the chance that a couple of these ‘cats (one was rather large) came upon this otter and quickly put him out of business. They might have had the strength to snatch hi out of the trap and then drag him back into the swamp. What actually happened, I probably will never know, but one fact is certain: a valuable pelt was lost, and I made camp that evening in what could not be called a happy frame of mind.
Big ‘Cat in a Trick Set
I got a great kick out of the big ‘cat mentioned above. First I noticed where he crossed the brook in about the same place I used. A few days later there came a snowstorm, and coming through there again I found that he had crossed in about the same place again while it was snowing: the tracks were pretty well covered but noticeable. In looking for a good place to put in a set, an idea came to me.
While traveling, I would cross the brook and after going six or eight feet would come to a blown down fir tree which was about two feet above the snow. Rather than climb over or through this with snowshoes on, I would turn and go down around the top and then back up on the other side and on my way. The old ‘cat had gone under this tree both times. Getting out a good trap, I fastened a five foot clog to it and then where my trail turned after crossing the brook, I slipped off my snowshoes. Using the end of my axe handle I made what looked like ‘cat tracks in the snow and about the same size and distance between them as the big ‘cat was making. I ran these tracks over to the tree trunk and under one of them was concealed the trap. Stepping back onto my snowshoes I brushed snow over my footprints and then went along on my trail until I got back around on the other side opposite where I had started the tracks. Slipping out of the snowshoes again, I ran the tracks from that side in to where they connected up with the tracks on the other side. I brushed my own foot prints full and continued on to camp.
The next day I followed my trapline along out home. When I returned to this set a few days later there was evidence of a lot of smashing around by something. I picked up the trail of the clog, and soon came to a leaning cedar that had been clawed, and the old fellow had evidently been up into it and jumped out. The clog must have caught one of the big limbs, as that had been ripped off and lay on the snow. After about a forty rod chase, I came upon the big fellow hung up in the top of a blown over, dry, smooth cedar. He was full of noise and bluff and a real growler. I went up within about eight feet of him and he looked so large and was in such an ideal place for a picture I was considering whether there was time to go to camp for my camera and get back for a picture while there was still light enough to take it.
My hesitation evidently gave him the impression I was afraid, and he jumped toward me a little. There was a double length chain on this trap so he had considerable freedom of movement. I had decided that it was too late in the afternoon to go for the camera when he snarled and pumped again, not much, but enough now so that he was on the right side of the log. It was then that I noticed he was not really hung up at all. The chain was not wound around anything: what was holding him was the large clog which lay on my side of the log. I saw that if he got up his courage to jump over the log, he would be close to my legs and free to go as he pleased. He was roaring all the time, in fact the ugliest ‘cat I ever caught. I pulled out the trusty Luger and put an end to his actions. He was not a real heavy one, but one of those long-legged rangy fellows that look about twice as big as they really are. This catch pleased me a lot because he had previously passed up several of my best sets. A nice set of tracks to travel in, however, had fooled him.
Stuck Mink!
The taking of my last mink was not exactly what could be called routine work. At least I hope it is not to be a regular performance in my mink trapping of the future! The set was of the blind or runway type, and when the mink came along he was caught, nothing out of the ordinary about that. However, instead of taking advantage of the extension wire on the chain and getting out into the deep water of the brook where he would drown, he had worked back into the big boulders and down under a shelving rock. The trap was wedged into one place and somehow the leg was worked under another rock so that the trap and the leg were both fastened in solid. The body of the mink was in behind a long sharp rock that was down in the bottom of the hole, and there he had died. It had turned cold enough so that some of the spray from the rough water of the brook which could fly through an opening in the rocks had frozen as it came in. There probably were not over two quarts of ice all told down in there, but it was sufficient to fasten the mink in there so solid that no part of its body could be moved. By getting down into the rocks on my knees I could reach in, but there was no way to get the catch out, as it was frozen down securely.
I gave the matter some thought, and decided that to fool around trying to cut the mink out would surely mean a badly damaged pelt. I left him right there and continued along the line toward camp. I returned the next morning with a pail and a tin cup, built a good fire, and hung a pail of water over it. Watching closely so that the water did not get too hot so as to start the fur on the pelt, I would reach in under the rock with a dipper full of warm water and turn it slowly around the mink. It was no easy task getting warm water in there and then trying to get the cooled water scooped out. It was a hard place to work and skin was knocked off my hands and knees, but progress was slowly made. It was a cold morning, and every time my glasses came in contact with the steam they would fog up and need attention. Patience and perseverance finally won out and I came up with the mink, leaving scarcely a hair down in that hole. I was well rewarded for this three hours of work as the pelt was later sold for $35.
Musical Bobcat
Then there was the music minded bobcat. At least that is how I figured him. It was snowing the first part of one evening and then around nine o’clock it let up. Half an hour later I turned off the radio and went to bed. Starting out over the trail the next morning I came upon a place in the trail where a bobcat had come in while it was snowing and had remained there until some time after it was through storming. This was not over eight rods from, and in plain view of the camp. He had been there for half an hour or more, and I think the music from the radio was what held him. I already knew about this ‘cat, as he was hanging out in a big swamp and thicket not far from camp. There were two baited sets for him, but if he had ever come across them he had not gone in. I finally found a place in my trail where he had crossed twice in the same place and figured he would probably use this as a regular crossing place.
I put in a blind set under one of this bobcat’s tracks. There was a root that made a natural stepping stick. When he came back a day or so later he stepped down over and so close to the root that he missed the pan, so I moved the trap in as close as possible. When he came back a few days later, from the opposite direction, he stepped where the pan had been in the first place. I saw that it made a difference at that particular place which direction he was going as to where he would place his foot when stepping over the root. I figured that when he crossed back again it would probably be from the direction that would cause him to step close to the root so I left the trap right where it was. The next morning when I went out the trail the tracks went to where he had been listening to the radio again, right in the same place as before. I never did learn what his favorite programs were. I was tempted to put in a blind set right there, but after thinking the matter over, decided that he was working about right to spend a day or so down near the pond and then in a day or so work back, and probably cross at his favorite place where the trap was concealed. I headed home, tending traps along the way.
A few days later found me on my way back in and a couple weasels was all I had to show for the day’s work when I arrived within forty rods of this crossing place set. There I commenced to see fox tracks in the trail. The nearer I got to the set the more traveling the fox had done. “Heck,” I thought to myself, “there has been a cussed fox get into that set and has probably torn things up so the ‘cat will never cross there again.” I thought probably this fox that was doing so much chasing back and forth was watching another fox in the trap. About twenty-five feet from the set the tracks ended. I thought that was odd, and crouched down so as to get a good look under the fir boughs, and there peeking back at me was Mr. Bobcat. The curious fox had also been chasing back and forth in the trail the other side of the set too, coming up to about twenty-five feet of the ‘cat.
Weasels and Squirrels
During December I set up just a few weasel traps and would pick up pelts every trip. When I got around to selling them I was surprised to receive a litter better than a two dollar average. Had my line been well plugged with weasel sets there would have been at least twenty-five more of these pelts at very little extra work. This year I will put them in everywhere and the pelts will probably average less than a dollar each. I probably would have put out more of these sets last season but the woods were teeming with squirrels and every day I was removing them from my weasel traps. While I was removing one from a trap there would be half a dozen around in trees chattering at me and waiting their turn to come down and get in. now and then a weasel would beat a squirrel to the trap. if squirrel pelts had been worth a dime each I would be independently rich today.
Deer Hunting
Usually sometime during the hunting season I will run into a deer on the trapline under the right circumstances and bag him. No such luck this past season. It became evident that if I were to get mine, an effort had to be made in that direction. There was a heavy crust and it was very noisy hunting around Thanksgiving time. We had our turkey on that day, and then around half past two I took the old .30 and started out. Realizing that a deer could hear me for a mile out in the woods, I took to an old logging road that had been traveled a lot and where I could hunt along quietly.
I knew the places where deer might cross, and hung around what I considered the best place, and just listened. I had been there about an hour when I heard what sounded like a man walking out toward me from a swamp. Just about the time I thought I would see him he stopped. It seemed like I waited there forever before there was another sound, and then he stepped out and stopped again, this time in full view – a big eight point buck. That was about as far as he ever went under his own power. We canned quite a bit of the meat, and have been having a good feed of venison every now and then for several months. With meat selling anywhere from fifty cents to a dollar a pound it was a very good day’s work.
A Visitor in Beaver Camp
The season on beaver opened up January 1st and included my trapping territory. I planned my trips so that I went through to camp the last day of December. About a mile from camp I came upon strange snowshoe tracks, made by someone dragging a big, wide-runner hand sled, or what we call a ‘moose sled’ around here. Someone was cruising around and as I drew near to camp it was apparent that this person was using my camp. Frankly, I did not think much of this idea and made up my mind that whoever it might be, they were going to hear plenty from me. That is one thing no stranger is going to pull on me – to come into my trapping grounds and move into my camp.
There was no one in camp, but the place was still warm from a morning’s fire. There was quite a bit of equipment in there and I noticed a diary on the side table, which had something familiar about it. I picked it up and looked inside the cover and there was a name, which I think I shouted right out loud. The last person in the world that I would expect to drop in on my at that time – my old trapping partner Bill Gourley. What a sudden change of ideas I had right then and there. Bill had bunches of traps hid around over the township, which had been there for several years. Now I was afraid that he had come in only to pick them up. The makings of one of his favorite dishes was in camp and that evening as dusk settled into darkness and I heard once more that familiar hoot of the owl out on the trail, which always announces Bill’s arrival, a hot supper was all ready for the table. What a grand meeting that was.
We talked far into the night and it was past midnight before I said something that received no answer. Yes, he would like to set up some traps in there if there was room, and it goes without saying that there was. As his legs are at least ten years younger than mine he took over some of the hard places to get at and in two days had put in a number of good sets. There was also some open territory near his summer camps some 30 or 40 miles away. He worked these two places, using bus and train in between, and made a very good catch. In fact, he took several more than I did.
Winter Beaver Trapping
At the start of the season I said that ten beaver would satisfy me. Well, I took just that number, but cannot say that I was satisfied. The fact is that I came upon a good colony from which I took four, another little house with two in it which I got, and then an old hermit at another place which was easily taken. These three places was something extra which I had not planned on.
There were two big colonies where I had expected to clean up, which gave up absolutely nothing. I never met up with such a setup before, but now after talking with other trappers I have found some who have had the same experience, and especially this past season. At both of the places the houses were well back on a marsh, fifteen or twenty rods from the main ponds. Owing to the drought during the past summer the water at both places was nearly two feet below normal. At one of these places there were beaver two years ago and with water two feet higher there were plenty of places to make sets and get results.
This winter the nearest open water in the marsh, or rather where there was open water before freezeup, where good sets were made two years ago, the ice was frozen right down to the bottom and the mud under the ice was frozen hard. At different times I went around over the marsh poking small holes down through, trying to locate water or a runway. If I made one I did 50, and always with the same results, nothing but mud under the marsh, and pretty thick at that. The law prevents us from getting any nearer than twenty-five feet from the house, so any suitable water close to the house could not be used. Sets and tempting test baits put down in the main pond remained there unmolested all winter.
It does not seem possible that those beaver would live in just a small water hole all winter, but if there was any runway leading out I failed to find it, and if they did come out they failed to even nibble on any of the different kinds of baits and test baits out there. Personally I believe that the lowering of the water and the snowdrifts had settled the marsh down so solid that it filled in any runways they had, and that with a good food pile beside the house they made no attempt to tunnel out.
The other place was quite near camp, and I was traveling past it once or twice a day so I put in more time on that than on the first place. I poked that marsh full of small holes trying to find a runway or suitable place to make a set. If there was such a place it was too elusive for me. I had the edge of the pond filled with sets and test baits. I think it was during the first week that a beaver squeezed out through and took one small test stick. I don’t think a muskrat could have taken one that size. He never came back, and I drew a blank at that place. Like any other beaver trapper I have left beaver before that have gotten scared and after a while would not take bait, but not until I had taken some of them or had experienced plenty of action around the colony.
I tell you that it makes a fellow feel very insignificant to fool around a month and seven days at two nice big colonies, never getting one offer for the season. I suppose, though, that it is things like that which keep us down to earth with our feet on the ground like other humans.
Outside of my failure at these two places I did experience very good luck elsewhere. I did scare one big beaver trying out a new fangled set, got his toenail and scared him so that he would have nothing to do with any of the nice things I put down for him. I think we all have our little experiences like that. If we never try out new ideas we never increase our trapping knowledge. On the other hand, I tried out a set which I had figured out and it turned out to be a dandy. As soon as I saw it was really working I changed other sets over to it, and took most of my beaver that way. I never had any stolen baits, and not a miss for the winter. Best of all, it is light and quick to make. So I guess my experimenting paid off very well even if I did lose one.
It was a cold winter, a steady cold all the time. I faced a strong wind many days with the mercury down anywhere from ten to twenty-five below. The coldest day was 32 below, and this had to be my day for coming out home and facing a gale force wind across four lakes and ponds. My eye lashes were frozen together on more than one occasion that day.
My collection was just about an average one for sizes. I had blankets, large, medium and small ones. These were sold for an average of $43. The first eight that Bill took were blankets or better, he would do something like that. After that they ran about average. His average price was right around $50. Lucky Bill!
Enjoy articles like this one? I’m working on a book compilation of Walter Arnold’s old trapping stories. Email me at [email protected] to reserve a copy!
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