Post by MikeD on Jan 23, 2004 16:31:12 GMT -6
I was onced asked by a friend why I trap. Well "I told her "I don't know how not to trap". I wrote this up to try and explain why we trap
Trapping the Lost American Heritage
I can remember as a young child running traplines with my Dad and Grandfather (Pop). I can also remember the names of other trapper who trapped in the same areas that we did. Men like Arnold Favinger the raccoon and fox trapper from up in Lenni, Bob Currey the raccoon trapper who let my Father trap foxes on his farm, and Jack Murphy, the long lining trapper who would catch three to five hundred raccoons a season.
Back then you could go into any of the numerous small grocery stores similar to, Ahearns, or the Frogtown Country Store or into any local bar like Martins, Eddie’s, or The Hilltop and ask the name of a local trapper and get three or four responses. People would not only tell you, whom you were looking for, but also what they could catch, and where to find them. Now you’d be lucky to find anyone who knew a trapper at all, let alone where to find them and what animals they specialize in.
To me it is a sin to let this great American heritage fade away like a wisp of smoke. Think of all of the great outdoorsmen and adventurers of the old west that were trappers. Men like Jim Bridger, who helped map out the Oregon Trail, as well as many overland stage routes, and Kit Carson, the famous Indian scout who knew the desert southwest like the back of his hand. These men and others to numerous to name helped map out and settle this country. Their in depth knowledge of the land and waters is what guided them through the wilderness. They had no maps or atlases, all they had to go on what their own knowledge of the land and what they could gather from other trappers and hunters. By running their trapline in the wilderness they came to know and love the land, much like trappers today.
In this day and age it is hard to find a trapper, unless you belong to a trapping organization such as the National Trapper Association. America has more outdoorsmen per capita than probably any country in the world, but only a small handful of those are trappers. Trappers not only have to defend themselves against the anti trappers, but sometimes even against other outdoorsmen, like hunters as well. Trappers have long had their back to the wall, between ever increasing cost of equipment and gas, lowering fur prices, and the ever present antis, some trappers have hung it up and quit. Traps now gather dust in old barns, outbuildings, and musty basements.
My generation was just old enough to catch the tail end of the great fur boom, when fur prices were high and everyone seemed to trap. The boom lasted till I was about twelve and then the fur prices dropped, and dropped and dropped, till by the time I graduated high school, you could hardly give wild fur away. My brothers and sister and their generation never got to experience the type of things I did. Trapping taught me so many things about life and the wild world that I don’t know what I would have done without it.
I learned planning and preparation from watching my Dad and Pop. Every year before the opening day of trapping season, you could find us in the field under the big walnut tree. There would be a large cauldron of water and walnuts boiling over a wood fire (we later went to gas) to dye the trap in. The walnuts were personally gather by my brother Matthew and I by either picking them up off the ground, or shooting them off the branches with our BB guns. The traps were arranged in piles on the battered sheet of plywood that Dad and Pop had supported on sawhorses every year. Dad would check the pan tension on this one while Pop was checking the springs on other. Only after careful inspection were the traps put in the dye to obtain the proper shade of black. When the traps were dyed properly, they were removed from the cauldron and allowed to dry on a rack. Then Pop would put the wax on to melt. After the wax was melted the traps were dipped in, till they stopped crackling and popping. Then they were removed and allowed to dry. Pop and Dad did this many weeks before the season so that when the season opened they would be ready.
I learned about truth, honesty, and fair play from two different instances I can remember. One morning while checking traps with my Dad, we came to a small creek, and I could see there had been a catch made. “Hey Dad you got a coon” I yelled to him. He walked up the creek, looked at the coon and said “Son that coon isn’t in my trap; my set is up around the bend.” He walked back downstream, and I looked longingly at the coon, knowing it was worth 35-40 dollars. Dad later explained to me that he hated when someone stole his traps or fur and how he despised thieves and would never be counted among them.
One cold November morning I was checking traps with Pop, down in the Darlington Valley. As we were walking down the train tracks we could see three people in the distance. They saw us and waved and we met about halfway down. It was Arnold Favinger, Jack Bonny, and a young kid. “Morning Charlie” Arnold said to Pop. “Morning Arnold, morning Jack” Pop replied. (All local trappers pretty much knew each other back in those days.) “Say, Charlie did you shoot one of my coons yesterday, down under the trestle?” Arnold asked. “Yes I did, it was only held by one toe and I didn’t want it to escape on you” Pop replied. “I appreciate it, but was wondering why a thief would shoot my coon, and then leave it for me?” Arnold said laughingly. Arnold later told me when he and I trapped together that he never feared losing a trap or an animal when he and Pop trapped the same area. Pop unwittingly showed me fair play, and how to establish and honest reputation for yourself.
I also learned that you have to take responsibility. I can remember one year my Dad hurt his foot at work and could barely walk, but he made sure his fox sets got checked every single morning, even if it took him twice as long. I can remember Pop driving through a blizzard to pull his traps just so they would not be operating when he would not be able to reach them.
I learned a few things about honor as well from trapping. I can remember every December 23rd we would either pull or snap all of our traps. “Nothing should die on Christmas” Dad once said to me. I still carry this tradition with my children; all traps are sprung or pulled on Christmas Eve.
Another thing I can remember is a single set of fox tracks on a frosty trestle bridge. I saw them many times as Pop and I walked over that bridge to check his sets. “Why don’t you ever try to catch that fox Pop?” I asked. He just looked at me grinned slightly and said “Someday you’ll know why” and continued on down the tracks. Later I did know why neither he nor Arnold, nor Jack ever tried to try to catch the fox that left the tracks on the trestle. I wish I could tell you but it is something you have to discover for yourself.
I was taught a lesson in respect every year. Although Pop and Dad had been trapping some of their farms for a decade or more, they still stopped by the farmhouse in early October to renew permissions with the farmer. It also gave them a chance to ask questions on where the farmer had seen foxes or coons, get to know the dogs again, and find out if any areas were off limits. The farmers appreciated that we stopped to ask permission and talk again and that we did not take their permission or land for granted.
Trapping the Lost American Heritage
I can remember as a young child running traplines with my Dad and Grandfather (Pop). I can also remember the names of other trapper who trapped in the same areas that we did. Men like Arnold Favinger the raccoon and fox trapper from up in Lenni, Bob Currey the raccoon trapper who let my Father trap foxes on his farm, and Jack Murphy, the long lining trapper who would catch three to five hundred raccoons a season.
Back then you could go into any of the numerous small grocery stores similar to, Ahearns, or the Frogtown Country Store or into any local bar like Martins, Eddie’s, or The Hilltop and ask the name of a local trapper and get three or four responses. People would not only tell you, whom you were looking for, but also what they could catch, and where to find them. Now you’d be lucky to find anyone who knew a trapper at all, let alone where to find them and what animals they specialize in.
To me it is a sin to let this great American heritage fade away like a wisp of smoke. Think of all of the great outdoorsmen and adventurers of the old west that were trappers. Men like Jim Bridger, who helped map out the Oregon Trail, as well as many overland stage routes, and Kit Carson, the famous Indian scout who knew the desert southwest like the back of his hand. These men and others to numerous to name helped map out and settle this country. Their in depth knowledge of the land and waters is what guided them through the wilderness. They had no maps or atlases, all they had to go on what their own knowledge of the land and what they could gather from other trappers and hunters. By running their trapline in the wilderness they came to know and love the land, much like trappers today.
In this day and age it is hard to find a trapper, unless you belong to a trapping organization such as the National Trapper Association. America has more outdoorsmen per capita than probably any country in the world, but only a small handful of those are trappers. Trappers not only have to defend themselves against the anti trappers, but sometimes even against other outdoorsmen, like hunters as well. Trappers have long had their back to the wall, between ever increasing cost of equipment and gas, lowering fur prices, and the ever present antis, some trappers have hung it up and quit. Traps now gather dust in old barns, outbuildings, and musty basements.
My generation was just old enough to catch the tail end of the great fur boom, when fur prices were high and everyone seemed to trap. The boom lasted till I was about twelve and then the fur prices dropped, and dropped and dropped, till by the time I graduated high school, you could hardly give wild fur away. My brothers and sister and their generation never got to experience the type of things I did. Trapping taught me so many things about life and the wild world that I don’t know what I would have done without it.
I learned planning and preparation from watching my Dad and Pop. Every year before the opening day of trapping season, you could find us in the field under the big walnut tree. There would be a large cauldron of water and walnuts boiling over a wood fire (we later went to gas) to dye the trap in. The walnuts were personally gather by my brother Matthew and I by either picking them up off the ground, or shooting them off the branches with our BB guns. The traps were arranged in piles on the battered sheet of plywood that Dad and Pop had supported on sawhorses every year. Dad would check the pan tension on this one while Pop was checking the springs on other. Only after careful inspection were the traps put in the dye to obtain the proper shade of black. When the traps were dyed properly, they were removed from the cauldron and allowed to dry on a rack. Then Pop would put the wax on to melt. After the wax was melted the traps were dipped in, till they stopped crackling and popping. Then they were removed and allowed to dry. Pop and Dad did this many weeks before the season so that when the season opened they would be ready.
I learned about truth, honesty, and fair play from two different instances I can remember. One morning while checking traps with my Dad, we came to a small creek, and I could see there had been a catch made. “Hey Dad you got a coon” I yelled to him. He walked up the creek, looked at the coon and said “Son that coon isn’t in my trap; my set is up around the bend.” He walked back downstream, and I looked longingly at the coon, knowing it was worth 35-40 dollars. Dad later explained to me that he hated when someone stole his traps or fur and how he despised thieves and would never be counted among them.
One cold November morning I was checking traps with Pop, down in the Darlington Valley. As we were walking down the train tracks we could see three people in the distance. They saw us and waved and we met about halfway down. It was Arnold Favinger, Jack Bonny, and a young kid. “Morning Charlie” Arnold said to Pop. “Morning Arnold, morning Jack” Pop replied. (All local trappers pretty much knew each other back in those days.) “Say, Charlie did you shoot one of my coons yesterday, down under the trestle?” Arnold asked. “Yes I did, it was only held by one toe and I didn’t want it to escape on you” Pop replied. “I appreciate it, but was wondering why a thief would shoot my coon, and then leave it for me?” Arnold said laughingly. Arnold later told me when he and I trapped together that he never feared losing a trap or an animal when he and Pop trapped the same area. Pop unwittingly showed me fair play, and how to establish and honest reputation for yourself.
I also learned that you have to take responsibility. I can remember one year my Dad hurt his foot at work and could barely walk, but he made sure his fox sets got checked every single morning, even if it took him twice as long. I can remember Pop driving through a blizzard to pull his traps just so they would not be operating when he would not be able to reach them.
I learned a few things about honor as well from trapping. I can remember every December 23rd we would either pull or snap all of our traps. “Nothing should die on Christmas” Dad once said to me. I still carry this tradition with my children; all traps are sprung or pulled on Christmas Eve.
Another thing I can remember is a single set of fox tracks on a frosty trestle bridge. I saw them many times as Pop and I walked over that bridge to check his sets. “Why don’t you ever try to catch that fox Pop?” I asked. He just looked at me grinned slightly and said “Someday you’ll know why” and continued on down the tracks. Later I did know why neither he nor Arnold, nor Jack ever tried to try to catch the fox that left the tracks on the trestle. I wish I could tell you but it is something you have to discover for yourself.
I was taught a lesson in respect every year. Although Pop and Dad had been trapping some of their farms for a decade or more, they still stopped by the farmhouse in early October to renew permissions with the farmer. It also gave them a chance to ask questions on where the farmer had seen foxes or coons, get to know the dogs again, and find out if any areas were off limits. The farmers appreciated that we stopped to ask permission and talk again and that we did not take their permission or land for granted.