I know this is too long. Sorry. Take your time and read it, though. Just some ramblings.

A Trapper...

This Ain't Heaven

I got a couple dozen snares in the truck and I’m ready to go. Before I leave the house in the pre-dawn tepid light, I pour a second cup of coffee. It tastes as good as the first. Surprisingly my knees feel pretty good too this morning, despite the fact my doctor has already told me both need replacement surgery, making it hard to even walk some days. Almost ready to attack the day. I go in the darkened bedroom and gently kiss my wife on the forehead. She barely stirs and moans good-bye softly. On my short walk to the truck, I’m shuffling the new snow. It’s not enough to worsen driving conditions, but it’ll give me a new, clean slate for seeing tracks. It’s perfect. I get in the truck and think “Man, what a morning brings…”. Just yesterday, my breathing was shallow, it ached to do so, and both my arms were numb. It’s so good to sleep soundly and get refreshed.

My first snare sets are barely a mile up the canyon road. The first morning sun lends a beautiful yellow caste to the sagebrush-covered hills. The coyotes were out and active last night. Tracks in the new snow portend great things during that mile from the house. I pull over on the dirt road, and get out, grabbing two new snares as I do so. I walk less than 100 yards slightly uphill from the truck, noting with anticipation the coyote tracks in the trail, and, rounding the corner, I’m rewarded with a coyote laying there. What a way to start the day! I take time to brush off the dusting of snow, and, in the first vestiges of morning’s light, I note with satisfaction the long mane, heavy underfur, and light coloration. Looks like a great coyote. It takes but a minute to replace the snare with one I brought along, then on another 30 yards to the next set. It takes but three paces to see the next snare, and I am more than happy when I see that that one, too, has a big coyote snared and dead. It’s with a big grin that I return down the trail with two beautiful coyotes slung over my shoulders. The next snares are only ¼ mile farther on, a short drive up the road. Well, I’ll be darned! That snare’s got a coyote, too. Three for three. I don’t know if I’ve ever had such a good start. I retrieved it and put it in the bed of the pick-up. Only then did I notice the quality of all three coyotes. They were gorgeous; as good as I’ve ever gotten.

As I pulled back on the narrow road, I noticed Randy coming behind me. He was a neighbor, a good friend, and a trapper as well, probably heading up to check his own snares. I pulled over at the next wide spot, intending to let him pass. He went on past me, not even waving as he drove by. Odd, I thought. We always chewed the fat a bit on the road. Must be in a hurry. The next spot had three sets. Unbelievably, it had three coyotes, all big, luxurious adults. I had to make two trips carrying them back to the truck. What a day. I had never done this well! By the next sets, a couple miles up the road, I was sort of expecting it, both snares held additional coyotes. This was an unbelievably good day. I would be busy in the fur shed tonight.

By the time I checked the last of my snares, I was expecting every one to have a coyote. I was not disappointed. But yet, I was. This was not trapping. This was not the way it’s supposed to go. It was early afternoon when I pulled back into my driveway, several friends’ cars in the driveway. I idly wondered what my wife had going today. I’d only had 17 snares out on this short line, and I had 17 nice coyotes in the back. Exhilarating, yes? No, not really. It all had lost its fun. It was too easy. I got them all in the skinning shed and hung up. It was only then I walked in to the house. Lisa, my wife, looked like she hadn’t slept at all. She had dark rings around her eyes. Tom was sitting at the kitchen table. I said my hellos to him, but got no response; just a blank stare. Same with Glenn, and Tony and Rita. I wanted to brag a bit about my coyote-snaring prowess, but nobody would acknowledge me. It was only then I saw the paper on the table. It simply said “Jack Blakey, born 29 July 1948, died 18 December 2025 (today’s date). R.I.P."

Jack

Quite the story

Nice story Jack.

Heaven was when you were out on the line

Good write Jack, enjoyed reading.

Quality read Jack…makes one think of their own mortality…Thanks

It's the disappointments ....that make the achievements exhilarating.

So Jack...your telling me ..there's no trapping in Heaven ??

Well written and pretty sobering

Creeped me out lol

Did me too!

I was anticipating a pic of that day's catch.

I'm pulling all my snares right now

Yep! Reminds me of the story about two bench rest shooters.

Was going trapping tomorrow. Nope, stayin' home!

Good write Jack. Reminded me of "An occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge".