Sundance has an earlier thread entitled "Mystery". Rather than clutter up his thread, I thought I'd honor the requests of a couple other guys in this new thread. Sorry it's so long.

The day progressed as predicted. It was late December, so light was short. In my little SuperCub, I departed the little Alaskan village on a beeline for the southern-most sets, planning to work my way back north to home. At a hundred feet or so above the taiga, I could see a marten hanging in a 120 off a pole, so swung the plane around and landed on the nearby slough. Throw on the engine cover and kick into the snowshoes and race to the pole set, remove the fresh-caught marten, and race back to the airplane. By about 1 o’clock, I had a respectable 4 marten, a mink, and an 80-lb pup wolf. I was a happy camper. I was concerned, but not overly surprised, that the cloud cover had descended to maybe 200 feet above the treetops. Not too concerning, but already well below “legal” flying minimums. Not too much different than a lot of other winter days of flying in this country.

The next spot had three marten sets and a wolverine bucket, and, low-and-slow, I circled over, inspecting the sets. Sure enough, I could see another apparently fresh-caught marten. Again, I landed and ran over to the set to remove the marten. As I approached, it was apparent that the big male had just been captured, and it was in a foothold trap rather than a body-grip. He was, no question, very much alive. Too, he didn’t appear too happy about his predicament. My normal operating procedure in this sort of case was to walk up to the leaning pole, pull off my beaver over-mitt, and rap the marten on the nose with a knuckle to dispatch him quickly and humanely. I did so, remade the set, rebaited, and hustled back to the plane, wrapping the fresh-caught marten in a small tarpaulin and laying him in the back seat of the ‘Cub, atop the furs already accumulated.

I only had about 30 miles to get back home. Darkness was closing in, and the clouds dictated that I fly low along the frozen river, keeping the white spruce and paper birch that lined the river away from the wing-tips. I had only a single set yet to check, which was a wolverine bucket right along the river bank. When I passed by it, I was rewarded handsomely with a view of a nicely colored wolverine laying in front of the bucket, firmly whacked by a 330 Conibear. What a stupendous day. Undoubtedly the best check I’d had that year. I pulled the plane around and landed a scant 40 yards from the prize, snowshoed over and removed the fine animal, thinking once again to myself how I would be busy in the skinning shed this evening, as half the day’s fur was already thawed. This wolverine, couldn’t have been in the trap more than an hour or two, as the body was noticeably warm and no snow had accumulated to cover him.

By the time I was again airborne, the flying conditions were terrible. Thick clouds above me were dumping snow and it was sticking on the leading edges of the wings and on the windshield. Carb heat was used almost constantly. Again, I stayed below the treetops along the river. At about 7 miles out of McGrath, I radioed Flight Service, and was surprised to learn that indeed, I could request a special VFR clearance and come in to land on the river, so the ceiling and visibility must have been much better ahead.

I’m concentrating 100% on the flying, just trying to stay alive and get home. I’m fully aware that my little ‘Cub is gathering ice on the wings, lift struts, nose cone and prop. I’m 30 feet off the river ice. Visibility is way below minimums, both due to the encroaching darkness, the heavy snowfall, and the low cloud cover. Peripherally, I feel a thump on the back of my beaver hat, and absently take my hand off the throttle and rub the back of my neck. Then it happens again and fully registers. What the heck is that? A slight shot of adrenalin, and I’m now fully aware that the big male wolverine is alive and well in the 4-foot by 2-foot by 6-foot confines of a cramped SuperCub cabin. He’s undoubtedly about to consume me. Ominous music plays in my head.

Immediately, I throttle back and start a frantic eyeball search for a landing spot. About that time, from under my seat and scooting between my bunny boots, darts a fully loaded marten (not the imagined wolverine). This entire scenario takes about 20 seconds. As usual, I’ve got one hand on the throttle, other hand on the stick, and my feet are dancing on the rudder pedals. I gotta find a place to set this bird down…now!

Nothing materializes in front of me that I can safely set the ‘Cub down on. Seemed like hours (probably in reality more like 60 seconds), and I see a straight spot ahead on the river that’s not choked with frozen-in drift logs. I point the nose toward it, pull a notch of flaps, further reduce the throttle. I’m going in. ‘Bout that time, the scoundrel again emerges from between my legs and scoots up across my lap and over a shoulder headed for the back seat once again. In the next 30 seconds, he makes about 40 laps around the inside of the cabin, a couple of times right across my face.

On the marten’s 41st lap, I manage to grab him around the abdomen with my beaver-mitted hand. Now what? I’m on short-short final and things are happening way too fast. He’s screaming and biting. I’m undoubtedly screaming as well. I start trying to beat his head against the airplane’s dash, and this bloodies his nose, sprays marten snot and blood all over the inside of my windshield and across all my instruments. I’m now a scant couple of feet off the ice, still at about 45 knots. I chuck the somewhat subdued marten over my shoulder into the passenger seat behind me, try to concentrate on settling the plane without wrecking, wondering why my heart hasn’t yet exploded from the adrenalin. I slide to a near-stop (plane still upright), pull the fuel mixture knob, release the seat-belt harness and release the door, and bail out of the plane, face-down in the snow. The plane is still going forward at about 10 knots, and a millisecond later the leading edge of the horizontal stabilizer smacks the back of my head, once again planting my face in the snow.

The plane comes to a halt about 20 feet in front of me. I’m alive. Four-Six-Zulu is none-the-worse for wear. I lay in the snow another 10 seconds, then, on wobbly legs, get to my feet and trudge toward the now-quiet airplane. I’ve got marten nose-blood spattered across my face. I’ve got a sizeable lump on the back of my noggin from getting whacked by the tail-feathers. I’m still a bit shaky from the adrenalin. I get to the airplane at precisely the same time as that deranged marten comes blasting out the open door like a cannon shot, hits the snow and heads for the nearest trees on a dead run. In the near-dark of that sub-Arctic snowstorm, I remember plopping down on my butt next to the plane, taking many long, deep breaths, and simply laughing…at myself.

Jack

Wow! Thanks for sharing. You really do need to write a book or two. Please!

Great story Gulo.
Brings back memories of a few critters that had more than one life.

Great story, thanks for sharing, as a fellow pilot it was easy to picture your story in living color!

ROFLMAO ! It was great the first time I heard it and it's even better now !! What a hoot.

Thanks Jack ! I needed that !


Next up.............shooting otters by open leads ........... and all the fun stuff that can happen

One for your book material , Jack !

As the sage saying goes, no matter what happens, " Fly Da Plane " .....

Well done, sir !

White-One-Seven -

I'll put together the "Revenge of the Otters" story, but it'll take a day or two to pare it down to something that'll fit here. That was yet another idiotic "day on the line".

Mac, Boco, Flipper, and Sharon - Many thanks for the comments. On the other hand, you all should rub my face in it a bit for getting myself into such predicaments.

Jack

" Good Though"

Every one of them keep , you probably have already, in collection of your well deserved bio story to publish. Of all people on this earth, you need to .

And dont censor them - at least for your book bio.....your unique personality and expressions in every scenario is what make the stories come alive , as seen through your eyes.

Things just happen ....at least it was a marten and NOT a wolverine.....or the Cape Buffalo that suddenly jumped up to charge the PH when he thought it was dead - things that happen in small to large sizes in life ....

Thank you for the mighty ping of life enjoyed !

Great story! I was waiting for you to outrun him in the deep snow and take final revenge. I guess he earned his freedom the hard way.

Hot darn! And I thought I was scared with a live coon in the back of a pick up.


Glad you made it without crashing. I did smile the whole way through your story.

That is one heck of a great story! Thanks for sharing!

Hahahahaha.... Jack thank for sharing that. It was hard to read the last few paragraphs through the tears of laughter. Quite the story and what made it was that the little devil actually managed to escape after being knocked out once and bludgeoned with a dashboard a second time!

Glad you enjoyed it Eric. They say that cats have 9 lives. I can attest that marten have at least three! For the next several years, I declined to put any marten sets in that area. Figured that old boy had already had a hard enough life, and I wished him the best (or, in retrospect, perhaps I was afraid of him?).

Jack

Yeah I'd say he earned his freedom on that one. I'm sure he had some stories to tell the other marten.

Thanks for taking us all along on your trapline adventures. I second what Sharon said above, about a bio. Sign me up for a copy.

Very good thanks for sharing. Is that chapter 1 in the book "Gulo's Adventures"? Send me a signed copy.

Good read, thanks. LoL.

Never a dull moment in the life of a bush pilot & trapper .

Great story , the high road to adventure is what keeps trappers going out there season after season despite fur prices or fur .

Well that beats the snot out of my recent episode of a paper wasp in the hot cab of my truck on the busy interstate the other day. I was no less spun out at the time however. I wish that I had read your marten story sooner. I would have handled my "minor inconvenience" much more calmly.
I had numerous superlatives to add to my "treacherous adventure" as well. Now I have been made to feel as fragile as a little girl in retrospect in comparison to your adventure.