I love under ice beaver trapping. It’s true that it’s the most labor intensive type of trapping there is, and beaver pelts are close to worthless in today’s markets. Still, there are a number of things I like about chasing beaver under the ice. There’s no competition these days, the season is long, the rules are relaxed in my area, and did I mention there’s nobody else out trapping beaver through the ice? I have a blast doing it, but there’s no denying that it’s pure work. Back in Walter Arnold’s time, beaver trapping through the ice was even more work than it is today, what with the lack of snowmobiles, lightweight chainsaws and power augers. But the guys weren’t out there for fun. Beaver pelts were like gold, and trappers worked their tail off competing for beavers in every flowage they knew about and could legally trap. Here’s an old story from a young Walt, back when he and Bill Gourley were trapping partners in the early 1930’s.
Winter Beaver Trapping
First Published in Hunter-Trader-Trapper November 1934
Walter Arnold
“Well, it looks like we have shot our bolt for this season,” remarked my partner, Bill, as we were enjoying the comforts of our third Buttermilk camp one evening late in December. “Yes,” I replied, “snow is piling down and everything is frozen up. Most of our sets must be dug out and taken up for good, it’s winter trapping now, and not much left to catch but weasels.”
“Too bad to catch any more fox or mink,” said Bill, “we need all that’s left for breeders if we intend to trap another year.” That was the way we sized up matters at that time. We had taken a lot of fur during the first six weeks of trapping and we both realized that the fox and mink now left should be allowed to remain for breeders.
The following afternoon I arrived home over my line a little ahead of Bill, my catch for the day being two weasels. Bill came in with a nice mink. That evening when the mail arrived, though, among other letters there was one that meant a great deal to us.
A New Opportunity
Early in the fall I had taken pictures of the beaver cuttings, flowage, etc. on the township where our home township is located. Some of these I sent along with a letter to the land owners, hoping that it would be possible to interest them to the extent of getting in touch with the state fish and game department and demanding that an open season be declared on the beaver in that township. As I had never received any reply, I believed my letter had found its way into the waste basket and had dropped the matter from my mind. The letter I mentioned above was the delayed reply, stating they had taken the matter up with the fish and game department and had finally been successful in getting the township opened up to beaver trapping, open season to take effect on a certain date.
Getting Ready
We now had four days left to make preparations and get back to our home camp. We spent one day at home, then returned to Third Buttermilk, taking up all traps on the way. Hereafter we would travel direct through the notch of the mountains between our home camp and home, making the trip one way in a day. The next morning at daybreak I had trouble in pushing the camp door open. I soon saw the cause was about thirteen inches of snow that had dropped down out of the heavens that night. We were running separate lines so could not aid each other in breaking trail. We were off on an early start, taking up traps as we went. Night found Bill at Roaring Brook Pond about five miles from our home camp. He went into a camp there for the night. I managed to get through as far as the Houston Valley and went up to the old Notch Camp for the night. I was also about five miles from home camp. I didn’t know how tired Bill was that night, but I thought to myself as I crawled into bed, “If he is half as tired as I am, he is darned tired.” The day we met at the home camp, most of our mink and fox traps were now taken up. We did leave out quite a bunch of weasel sets and picked up 30 or more of these little blood-thirsty devils during the balance of the season.
Setting Up
The opening day of beaver trapping found us on the job at the old Sampson Farm. We considered this to be the largest colony, and it proved so. Although this was new work to us, we experienced no difficulty in locating runways under the ice. We were very lucky in this respect and cut the few holes for the winter that we did not use. The law in this state requires that the trapper keeps his traps at least twenty-five feet away from beaver houses, so at times there is more or less guess work in locating runways. We made three different kinds of sets at the Sampson Farm. As they are all good sets, I will describe them. First we located the dam, which was completely covered with snow. By listening we soon located where the water was running through. We dug down and removed a few small sticks from the top of the dam, making scarcely a break at all, possibly nine inches wide and an inch deep. We figured that this shallow running water would remain open most of the winter. We placed a trap back under the ice and about a foot under water. This proved to be an excellent set, as it did not lower the water in the pond, yet beaver would come down to investigate. We caught three in this set. The dam set is a very good one in winter in cases where the house is within 75 or 100 yards of the dam.
The second set we made up the brook above the flowage of the dam. We located a narrow place in the brook and cut a hole through the ice, placing the trap on the bottom with a small popple pole driven down beside it. We had very good luck with this type of set. Beaver like to go up the brook every thaw and get out and find themselves some fresh wood as their old supply gets slimy and sour after remaining under water for several months.
The third set, sometimes called the pole set, was made just twenty-five feet from the house. We cut a hole through the ice about a foot and a half by three feet. We found about three feet of water here under the ice and saw at once that we had picked out a good location, as there were several fresh droppings on the bottom. We now cut a fresh chunk of popple about five inches in diameter and several feet long, sharpened one end and drove it into the bottom. We placed one trap on the bottom about a foot and a half away. It is better to place two or three traps around a set like this if one has them to spare. We caught the largest beaver of the season in this set. We used this set with marked success at other places, but usually with a smaller stick for bait. We also found that a fine bait at most any set is a nice big bunch of fresh twigs and limbs lashed onto a pole and the pole driven into the mud.
In making our sets through the ice we attempted to leave them so they would not freeze over too solid. We would cut four chunks of dead wood, of any kind, six or eight inches in diameter, and lay them around the hole and bank up with snow. We would then lay a couple of small strong sticks across the top of the enclosure and cover with a big bunch of evergreen boughs. We then covered this all over with snow and it was seldom that we were forced to use an axe to cut open these holes despite experiencing what I believe was the coldest winter ever recorded in the state of Maine. For days, yes for weeks, the temperature was down below zero, with plenty of days at 25-35 below, the coldest in my home town being around 50 below.
Checking Sets
On the second day, we put in two good pole sets at the Boot Pond colony. Then our curiosity got the better of us and we put in the balance of the day going up to the Sampson Farm to look at those sets. Nothing doing.
The following day we started out looking at the weasel traps and late in the afternoon swung around to the Sampson Farm. I was busy attending to the set at the dam when I heard Bill exclaim, “Times Sake!” I looked over and there he was, stretched out on his stomach looking down into the hole at the pole set. “What’s up?” I inquired. Then I heard him, “What a foot – it’s bigger than my own!”
“What’s all the excitement?” I asked, as I started wallowing over without my snowshoes. When I got there Bill was pulling on the wire and soon a huge tail popped into view, and then a big body. We pulled out on the snow what proved to be our first and largest beaver for the winter. We were as tickled as two kids. We soon had him fastened into my pack and started merrily on our way to camp. We did not go far, however, before we were aware that Mr. Beaver weighed something.
We changed packs several times before we reached camp and our shoulders felt a bit lame the next day. As we were skinning out the beaver that evening it started to snow, and the next morning we were blessed with about 14 inches more of the light, fluffy stuff. We spent the day digging out traps and breaking trail. We broke out to the Sampson Farm and when we returned to camp we found that the Fish and Game warden had arrived just ahead of us. He had spent the night at the Notch camp and that day had broken trail all the way to our camp. He missed the Sampson Farm by about 100 yards, missing a good, easy trail all the way to camp. As it was, he had traveled in 30 inches or more of unbroken snow. He sure did cuss his luck.
Out in the Cold
The warden spent a couple days with us. The last day, we all climbed up the side of Chairback Mountain on our way to West Chairback Pond. It was necessary to break trail all the way, and it was tough going, nearly straight up and down in places. We were persistent, and finally found ourselves on the pond. The temperature was below zero and the wind was blowing hard, driving the cold through our clothes and numbing our bodies. We were soon convinced that it was no place to dally around. We located one small beaver house, made two good sets near it and hit the trail back to camp.
The temperature kept dropping that night, and the next morning at daybreak I was greeted with clouds of steam rushing into the camp as I opened the door. Every nail head, as well as the windows inside the camp, was covered with white frost. The wind was blowing and Jack Frost was snapping the wood of the trees. Every now and then the woods would ring with a report as sharp as that of a rifle when the wood of some tree would give way to the frost.
We had planned to come all the way out home that day. No one said “quits”, so we proceeded to make ready for the trip. Our vegetables and canned goods we put into a bag and sunk into the bottom of the spring where they would not freeze up. We wound towels and scarves around our faces, put on all the clothes we had, and started out. As we crossed Boot Pond, we were forced to face a strong wind for about a third of a mile. I believe it was the coldest spot I ever encountered. The wind stabbed through our clothing and would have frozen our bodies in a very short time. It probably is not necessary for me to state that we wasted no time in crossing the pond. Once across and in the shelter of the woods, we halted to make sure that none of us had frozen any part of his body. The steam from our breath had formed ice to our eye lashes and froze them together. I have heard of this, but never had it happen to me before.
We were soon on our way, and in due time reached the Sampson Farm. Here we found a cub beaver at the dam set, hustled him into a pack, reset the trap and made tracks for the Notch camp. The old wash boiler stove was soon loaded and a hot fire started. We made tea, ate lunch and skinned out the beaver. There were now ten miles of unbroken trail ahead of us, the last five never having any track made in any of the 30 inches of soft, fluffy snow. The warden would help us break five miles to the railroad, then we had the last five to ourselves. To make a long story short, we staggered rather than walked into our homes after dark that night, and were soon informed that the readings of the thermometer had been from 45 to 51 below zero that day.
A Sly Old Beaver
After a couple of days rest at home, we returned to camp. We broke out a trail to the Roaring Brook Pond and put in three good sets around the house. There were other old beaver houses there, but we found only one inhabited.
We spent more or less time cruising the township hoping we might find a colony or so that we knew nothing about, and were finally rewarded by finding a small house where we least expected one to be. We never did find out for sure whether there was one or two beaver here, but judging from our experiences we had at this place, we became convinced there was one old hermit, trap shy beaver. He knew plenty about traps and outwitted us from the start. We never did get his coat. We were at a disadvantage, as the house was at the water’s edge of a natural pond and we could find no place twenty-five feet away from the house with any shallow water. This made it nigh impossible to make a set on the black bottom and conceal our traps as we were unable to see down to the bottom.
We made a set using a maple log about six inches in diameter and twelve feet long. We notched the sides and nailed on two pegs to fasten the trap on. Above the trap was placed a big bunch of fresh twigs and limbs. This set was then slid down through a hole in the ice twenty-five feet from the house. Every time we visited this set, we were obliged to pull the log out and re-bait the set, as the old fellow came out every night and trimmed the brush off clean, taking care to keep his feet out of the trap. We next tried nailing some spruce limbs on the sides of the log above the trap, forming sort of a cubby house with the twigs as bait in back against the log, and the trap being out in front. Old man beaver was too wise, and got the best of us by cutting off the spruce limbs next to the log and then taking the twigs from the side as usual. “Oh well,” we said, “his luck can’t last forever. We will force him into the trap.”
We nailed some large dry spruce limbs, cut into about eighteen inch pieces, on to the sides of the log as before, but this time we used up a coil or more of stove pipe wire. We wound the wire around the pieces of limbs and then wove a real screen around the sides and top of this cubby, placed some fresh twigs and limbs in for bait and fastened some soft pliable fir boughs over the trap to conceal it. We lowered this into the hole, wondering just how the sly one would beat us this time. When we visited the set again, we found that he had been out and given the set careful inspection. He had nipped the boughs off the trap, exposing it to view again, and then decided to have nothing further to do with the contraption. He just would not go in over that trap.
The season was now drawing to an end and we were determined to have that beaver’s coat. We would trick the rascal. At camp we had a very large Newhouse bear trap, the jaws of this trap coming flush together. We carried it over to the pond and set it and fastened it to a pole. We then fastened a nice bunch of tender twigs to the pan of the trap and pushed the pole down into the mud through a new hole in the ice. The pole was standing upright, and the trap likewise on the pole. We figured the size of the trap would fool the old fellow and we could not see just how he was going to get the twigs off that trap and not get his head pinched.
When we got around to this set again we were anxious to find out what had taken place, if anything. After taking away the covering of the hole and looking down, I could see the upper spring of the trap, and sure enough it was sprung. In less time than it takes to write about it we had the set out on the ice, and you can imagine our disappointment when we saw the trap was empty. Well, not quite empty. Evidently the sly one had decided to nab those tender twigs, but approached from the side to do so. When the trap snapped, one jaw probably rapped the side of his head and the two jaws came together with a vicious rap right at the end of his nose, taking every whisker from one side of his face. There they were, roots and all, held firmly in the jaws of that bear trap. we laughed heartily when it dawned upon us just what had taken place. I said to Bill, “Probably the old fellow turned two or three somersaults when that trap went off in his face and then high-tailed it for the house. If beaver can talk and he has a mate, he probably stormed in cussing, ‘Darn them critters, if they don’t cut out their practical jokes they are going to be hurting someone next!’”
Finishing Up
Beaver did not come fast, but we managed to get one every few days. Only twice did we get two in a day. The last day of the season we caught what we believed to be the last beaver at the Boot Pond colony. In the small house at West Chairback there proved to be one sly beaver and a muskrat. The ‘rat commenced to bite off the ends of the twigs at one set and bring them up in the hole to eat them. We figured it was a cub, so we placed a trap on the ice inside of the logged up enclosure, and the next trip we had the ‘rat. The beaver was wise and would have nothing to do with the sets, so finally I put in half a day making a set. I cut ice until I located the bank of the channel, then with the ice chisel dug a sort of cubby house into the side of the bank. In the back of this I placed a good bunch of fresh twigs and small limbs and set two traps out in front, covering these traps with mud. As this work was all done under water, I was forced to wait occasionally for the water to clear up so I could see what I was doing. I took my time and made a good set, and was fully repaid for this trouble the next time I visited the set. I had caught him by a front foot. After that, the steam hole in the snow at the top of the house closed in tight, and I saw no more signs of beaver there for the winter. The beaver at Roaring Brook proved easy to catch. We got two there that were exceptionally large specimens.