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Beaver on the Elm Flats Line with Dad
by
Cody Johnson
by
Cody Johnson
I
sit and warm up in an
Alaskan trapper outpost, just off the snow machine. As I watch out the
window
the snowflakes drift memories back from many childhood experiences. One
in
particular sticks out and I replay it. It was the first week of beaver
season
in the Adirondacks of New York. Opening day was always on a Monday in
the
northern tier, which meant my annual day of missing school each year. I
had
looked forward to this opener for weeks, knowing that this year we
would hit
the trap line harder and I would make some extra income. I awoke on
November 1st
to the voice of my father (Dennis Johnson) and the light of my bedroom
being
turned on. Instead of the slow get up of a normal school day, I burst
from my
bed and immediately put on my trapping clothes and hip boots. This
consisted of
my heavy flannel shirt, hip boots, and canvas pants. I always felt so
proud
wearing that flannel and it gave me the feeling of being a real
Adirondack
trapper, a driven and skillful breed of trapper, which I could say I
belonged
to. Breakfast was eaten readily fast, and before long we were in my
father’s
white ford ranger heading to the dirt roads leading to state land. We
drove up
Beecher Road, through Graves Ville, and to the beginning of the dirt
roads.
After driving down many dirt roads for about 20 minutes, we parked the
truck
beside a large section of state land. It was just starting to get light
out,
and we proceeded into the boreal forest scene, with a wooden weaved
basket full
of beaver traps. The spruces and pines were covered in water, as it had
rained
the day before and I walked with dad in anticipation as we walked past
beaver
ponds that old trapper friends and mentors had trapped in their youth
long ago.
I remember my father telling me how grand this beaver flow would be, as
he had
scouted it from his ultralight airplane, along with many other spots we
would
trap this season. As we walked through the thick spruce, surrounded by
swamp, I
remember telling my dad that this would be a great place for a fisher
set, but
there was no time, as I had important classes to attend to on this
beaver
opener. We came to the beaver flow shortly and as we entered, it was
lit up by
the ever increasing sunrise. The scene would rejuvenate any trapper,
upon first
sight. Mallard and black ducks were flying around, heading for unknown
parts to
feed before their annual flight south. My dad and I briefly discussed
hunting
this next fall, as we had always been skilled duck hunters. There was
an
ancient dam standing high and wide on the downstream side of a small
stream
about 6 feet in width 50 yards in front of us, surrounded by beaver
meadow
grass and swamp. The old beaver house stood enormous before me and I
thought it
was really neat to walk on the bottom of an old beaver pond, although
some of
the mud came up to our knees and was difficult to trudge through. I
stood on
the beaver house trying to imagine what this pond looked like in its
former
glory, but none the less, it was trapped many moons ago.
My
father led me to the
active part of the flow, about a100 yards downstream from the first big
dam,
through the spruce trees. After that he let me do my part as upon
seeing the
beaver sign I proceeded to do what I was born to. The first dam was new
of that
year and it stretched through the spruce, and yellow birch stand of
trees.
Yellow birch stumps dotted the flooded coniferous forest. It brought
great joy
to both of us to see the flooded forest, knowing that these were always
our
favorite types of beaver ponds to set. There was also a big channel dug
right
into the woods, many yards in, where the beaver were logging yellow
birch for
their feed pile. Its walls were lined with black excavated mud and it
really
stuck out in the forest. The forest floor was covered in new and old
beaver
cuttings, many yellow birches were felled into the pond, still attached
to their
stumps by a thread. It was a delight to see these birch trees, as they
were
bright white from having there bark partially stripped and this was the
sight
of a true Adirondack beaver pond for sure. I waked out on the monstrous
dam and
observed the big beaver lodge and its feed pile. The size of the feed
pile
indicated a big family, greater than four beavers in the colony.
Immediately,
as if instinct, I set the bottom of the main crossover with a 330 body
grip
trap submerged under water. I then made two castor mound sets with
MB-750’s on
the same dam, all of this done within 50 yards of the first set. I
placed the
big foot traps with practiced precision having learned how to trap
beaver
through experience with foot traps; I knew the deadliness of these that
many
strict body grip trappers would never know. I felt invincible with this
tool,
as if it was an extension of my will. Below the dam my father and I
spotted a
deep channel going through grass hummocks. I
carefully placed a 330 body grip on the
bottom with some dive sticks on top, and blended it all in with beaver
meadow
grass. I then rubbed a little castor on the tree leaning over the set,
knowing
this would entice the beaver to swim under, into the waiting trap. We
proceeded
to head 100 yards down the beaver flow and found another big dam and
three old houses,
which were still being used on occasion by beaver. This pond was twice
the size
of the previous and showed signs of beaver families that had come and
gone over
time. My father assisted me in placing a
castor mound on the dam with a 4 ½ sleepy creek long spring, my
favorite trap
at the time. A prized possession with engraved beavers in the springs,
bought
for me by my grandfather, a muskrat trapper in his youth.
I set it deep for a hind foot, finger tips to
elbow from the bank, as I had read someplace in my research. This would
give me
a good chance for a hind foot catch with the big foot hold trap. We
then found
a dam of about 6 feet in length surrounding a small beaver hut. We both
thought
it odd, but we set a channel leading to the dam from the house, only 20
foot in
length. It was a deadly set, we both agreed. We finally ended the
setting with
a bank hole set that my father had spotted walking on the willow
covered shore.
A 330 was placed here and we knew that this was the end for some
wandering
beaver in the flow, as the bottom was worn rock hard, a sure sign of
the beaver.
My father asked me if I was satisfied. I asked him what he thought of
my work
and we agreed that it could not have been set up any better. Eight
traps in
place, these sets would surely produce our desired results. The flow
was very
beautiful, with full sunlight against it and as we headed out of the
woods,
flocks of ducks flew overhead trying to land. I remember us getting to
the
truck after the half-mile walk out and excitingly discussing how many
beaver we
would catch and how effective our sets would be. Needless to say, I was
late to
school that day, but all my classmates and teachers new what time of
year it
was and how important it was to me, so no questions were asked. My
excuse for
the attendance records was that I was sick. I lay in bed that night not
being
able to sleep all night; I was so restless thinking of the beaver we
would
catch tomorrow.
We
awoke early the next
morning, started a fire in the wood stove and quickly made our way to
the
beaver flow. I anxiously walked up to the first beaver dam. The first
two
castor sets held young beaver on the end of drowner cables. I pulled
the cables
up in excitement and quickly reset the traps, laying the beaver on the
bank to
pick up on the way out. I caught another one in the channel below the
dam and
it was a big adult beaver, dad congratulated me. I admired its prime
pelt for a
few moments and laid it with the other beaver. I was so ecstatic and
dad
jokingly said me, “ if you catch any more beaver, we won’t be able to
haul them
out”. I responded, “let’s hope we catch more”. The next castor set
showed the
results of a large beaver pulling out of the big # 4 ½ long
spring on the
second dam. I couldn’t believe anything would pull out of that
monstrous trap.
We took another near the beaver dam and then we walked up to the bank
hole set.
It contained a large adult beaver in a 330, and its foot indicated that
this
was the beaver that pulled out of my previous set. We took note of this
beavers
escape move for future trapping expeditions, as we both figured it was
using
the hole as an escape route. As seasons went by, we found this to be a
regular occurrence
when snapped traps presented themselves. We took 5 beaver and we
decided to cut
a small spruce poll and lashed them by the feet to the poll. We figured
this
would be the fastest way to get them out, if I was to make it to school
that
day. We put the poll on our shoulders and the poll was so heavy I
thought it
was going to snap as it flexed with the weight of the beaver, while we
walked.
As we walked through the spruce, I observed a fisher hanging from a
body grip
on a leaning pole. I admired its size and prime coat, and took a break
right
there with my dad. Our shoulders were both sore from the pole digging
in. This
moment really washed an aurora of Adirondack trapping heritage over us.
What we
were living was the stuff I read about in local books as a young child.
We
picked up the pole and trudged another half mile to the pick-up truck.
We
loaded up the beaver and drove home talking of our accomplishment. We
stacked
the whole catch together in the work shop and dad took photos of our
catch. He congratulated
me again on the fine catch and told me he was proud of all my outdoor
accomplishments. This meant a lot to me, having worked hard to come
this far in
my trapping career. We caught one more the next day when we went to
pull the
sets, at the little dam surrounding the beaver lodge, and called it a
job well
done. There was lots of skinning to be done between this catch and
catches’
made from my other trap lines that week. This trap line always stuck in
my
head, as it was a good time spent with my dad, doing something that got
us in
our native woods. What a time we had. Priceless is the time we spend
with our
families and how fortunate some of us are to be able to do it outdoors.
Although I am now in Alaska at the moment and going to forestry college
in the
Adirondack’s, my father and I still run trap lines together, and I hope
to keep
trapping with my best friend, my father.