close calls on trap line

Setting up a lake this morning for beaver stepped on the beaver hut to get to the run and fell through.
Had one of those ole - thoughts as I was going through and forward knew I was going to break a leg at least.
Got lucky and there was a lot of room under the dome and my leg could move and keep it from breaking.
Got lucky this morning.

Thinking back over the years there have been other times like when I was standing up on my ATV.
I was looking for a ditch that I knew was there somewhere in the grown up field.
I found it as I went over the handle bar with the ATV coming after me I rolled out of the way,
Yeah going to fast for the conditions.

Stepped through an abandoned house one time and felt something wiggling under my foot. My foot came out faster than it went in and an otter shot out of the run and swam upstream in a big hurry.

Fallen thru thin ice alot around the beaver flowages.

I'd never go on thin ice. Every time I've gone through it was weak ice. Had one year I went through twice. Since then I only go on strong ice. lol

Flooded the waders Three times over the years...2 times I was lucky to have a friend pull me out.

After falling through feed pile ice last year and filling my waders in January I now keep a set of dry clothes and socks in the rig

It’s always a hoot....when walking in the water along the bank....and a Beaver shoots out of the hole and bumps your leg......

Well, I have had a few. A good month ago I just about went in a deep hard running creek. Lost my walking pole and one glove and I spared me. LOL I'm nor sure what the outcome would of been. It I would of went under ice maybe not so good. God was taking care of me I know.

I have fallen on two occasions and broken my ribs each time. The first time there was no cell phone I broke the ribs into .I think I only broke one rib into the second time. I was able to drive to the doctor. My boots have been bitten by snakes On many occasions. just struck my boot. I ha’ve had alligators come at me and what I can remember three occasions maybe four. I have hit two deer while trapping on two different occasions. The first year I trapped my hand got caught in a 330 about a mile and a half from my house it was only about 7°. I didn’t have a pair of pliers to disconnect the trap I had forgotten I left them at home. I managed to release the trap and walk home scared me to death.I was in north Alabama.My father happen to be at home and we were able to release the trap off my hand and arm.

The falling through ice would scare me the most if I was up north. Especially in the middle of nowhere

You just keep moving and have dry clothes in the truck to change into.

Upon pulling the last of a few mink sets along a ditch. I got out of the truck walked to the edge of the ditch, with rubber knee boots.

Started down and felt my feet moving out away. I threw myself forward. Only to be headed down on an angle.

Some snow in the bottom along with a discarded wood fence post. Which I promptly did a one point landing on my left side.

Knocked the wind out of me let alone it hurt. Now I'm looking down the ditch at the conibear setup, nothing!

I crawled over to the trap, after 5 minutes of accessing my situation. tripped it and proceeded to crawl up the side of the ditch to my truck.

On my retun trip home, I told the wife what happened. I peeled off the sweat shirt and t-shirt. My wife looked me over, and then said

" I don't see anything but lots of padding"! NICE! My son pulled the beaver sets I had the next day as I accompanied him.

Its not easy being an "older" trapper.

Quite a few years ago I was beaver trapping on the Black River. Had a set at the bottom of a cut bank in a very deep area but was able to step on the ice. Came in to check one morning and found a big coon had somehow gotten into the beaver set and was dead in the 330. Crawled down the bank and when I stepped on the "safe ice" it gave way and down I went about neck deep. The only thing I could grab was the coon and I was sure glad he was dead. Got myself out of the water somehow, pulled the coon and the set and hot-footed it back to the truck about 3/4 mile away.

Moosetrot

For years I trapped a small bridge on a road that had minor traffic at 5 TO 6 AM Most of the time that was when I was checking sets there . The bridge itself was just a cement box like structure .The cement stuck up about 2 inches above the road surface . Well one morning I was checking later in the morning but it was still dark .I checked my sets and was headed back to the truck The traffic was heavier than I was accustomed to and I did not know they had moved qualifying for the Indy 500 to that road There was a car coming but I thought if I hurried I could get across the bridge and off the road before it got close .Well I stubbed my boot on the cement sticking up above the road surface .I stumbled, nearly fell into the creek regained my balance and just got off the bridge before the uncoming car got there . I am not sure if that is a close call but it got my heart racing for sure

I’m sure glad I caught my first under ice beaver before reading this thread! You guys all convinced me to go and stop worrying about it.

Now I read all your horror stories lol.

Found a boot track ( not mine ) 2 inches from the outside jaw edge of a buried dirt hole set .

Just like driving don't drink and go set beaver traps. I once went down to a pond on my farm after a few drinks to set up a set on a drowning system. When I threw the sack of rocks with the drowning cable I went with it up to my eyes and I'm 6' 1".

Trapping the 1/2 mile wide Wisconsin River as a young teenager before class one cold fall morning I came close to cashing in my chips. I was all alone and wearing hand me down waders that were 3 sizes too big while walking along a mid river island holding onto the side of my row boat. Came around a point and the next thing I knew I was over my head with waders full to the top. I remember reaching up through the dark water and re-grasping the transom of the boat on my first attempt.Once I had my second hand on the boat I was able to kick my feet enough to propel the boat back to shallow water. Can't recall the air temp but I believe it was in the mid 30's. Rowed back across to my boat parking area and then headed home to dry off and catch the bus to school! Never did tell that story to my parents as they were non-trappers and that would have probably ended my fun!

Chris

Adventure cannot exist without risk.

That said, been through the ice dozens of times. The majority of which were on purpose. Go through purposely and get yourself out a dozen or so times and you will be keenly aware of how much it sucks, but you will lose the fear of it. Fear makes for poor decision making. Knowing it sucks is key too...lol

I never ever wear waders trapping. I can get in enough trouble wearing hip boots.

Neoprene waders float...even full of water.

Didn't know that.

Neoprene waders were not to be found back in the 70's. I wore what was available which were too large. Was not smart enough to wear a life jacket, though!

Chris

My boys started duck hunting with me at an extremely young age. To prepare them in case of a boating accident or stepping out over their heads, I would push them in the deep end of the pool and make them swim to me in the shallow end. I would then fill their waders up with water and throw them in. They would sink at first, but as the pressure pushed the water out they’d shoot back to the top. We practiced this at night with them blindfolded as well.
*Yes, I had proved all this by trying it first before teaching my boys*

I was having a lot of back trouble. Sciatic nerve in my left leg was pinched pretty good. Once in a while with no warning it would give out and I would fall. Had some surgery that fixed it finally. While it was still going on I had a double on coons down on a river bank. Shot the one on my right and switched my pistol to my left hand. C o c k e d the hammer back and took aim at the one on the left. About the time I started to squeeze my leg give out and I managed to fall on that gun. Bullet went in through my belt and lodged in my but cheek. I didnt know where it was though. I thought it was in my guts. I decided to drive to a town about 5 miles away and call an ambulance at the pay phone. Figured if I passed out they could find me there. I got to town and wasn't dizzy or anything so drove another 15 miles to a town with a hospital. They xrayed me and found that bullet. I was fine but didnt know it till I saw that xray. It could have been bad instead of just embarrassing. Have had other scary stuff and dangerous stuff happen but that was the most dangerous and most scary.

Good to know Wanna Be.I never dared to wear waders while in a boat.

the key is not falling out lol

Yep but it can happen quick I found out duck hunting in a small boat.

That had to be embarrassing and a pain in the butt!

Chris

Dang glad you made it.

You hit the nail on the head hodagtrapper Funny today but when it happened it wasn't

:

They do float. Not afraid of sinking, don't want to be a weighted bobber.

One incident that haunts me to this day was the time I was trapping a fast moving river in the UP walking on the ice the next time down the river a 4 foot by 4 foot Chunk of the trail was open water so I headed to the bank and went through right at the edge to my crotch. Pulled myself out with the willows on the bank. If I went through no way I’d come up in the same spot.

Yeah, they do...but sometimes too well. 3 years ago I tipped over backwards in chest-deep water while picking up my duck decoys in the near-dark. I was wearing the super-insulated Cabelas neoprenes with the huge boot. To make a long story short, the boots were so buoyant I could not get my feet to the bottom. Waders filled up completely while I was floundering in the water trying to right myself for 10-15 minutes, flailing in the muck water. Finally realized I had to roll over with my face in the loon dung to get my feet under me. Finally got myself back into the skiff but by the time I got back to the landing I had to have help getting out of the skiff to my truck,

I have heard of two other incidents with folks wearing those same neoprene waders, one fatal.

Moosetrot

Its even better when you step in a deep hole and end up neck deep with an angry beaver a foot or less from your face doing that tooth chatter thing at you, (This word is unacceptable on Trapperman) I almost walked on water getting out of there

The scariest one though was where I jumped across a small runoff stream and landed on the other side only to sink into soft mud up to my chest and started sinking from there, luckily I had my hook pole and managed to get a hold of a sapling and pull myself out

Left a almost new set of hip boots in that mud hole

There was the time in 1978 that I ran out of food for nearly two weeks until some caribou showed up. And the time in 1986 that I broke my leg in a dog sled wreck. Took 5 days to get pulled out. And the time in 1994 0r 95 when I had an abscessed tooth....Gulo flew in at 47 below and picked me out of there.

Never any close calls though.

Lol White, I like reading these little stories about your experiences. But how do you remember the exact year all these happened? Did you keep detailed notes everyday, like a journal?

Actually...............I do use those yellow Write-in-the-Rain booklets to keep notes

Lol I can’t tell if you’re serious or not. I have a hard time remembering exactly what I trapped or how much I caught a few years ago, never mind what happened 30 years ago lol. But good for you if your memory is that sharp! Lol

LOL I AM serious about the books )) I like to keep records on the conditions each year and the harvests.

Ok cool! I’m thinking about starting to keep notes next trapping season.

I encourage you to do that. It can be interesting to look back and try to draw comparisons with current conditions and populations.

I had way more close calls working the Railroad,than I ever did trapping.
Falling thru the ice the first time or two made me a little panicky,but always had a safety pole to get out.
Getting lost in the wilderness for a while will test your constitution.

Like White says, daily notes at camp are great to look back on and sometimes important if you need an exact date for something. Ken I’m with you on the bad tooth at camp thing. Took me 4 days to get a plane in and by then the pain had subsided

I use to take mental notes until I ran out of paper.

I was at the point that I was considering putting my 22 pistol in my mouth and trying to shoot the tooth out. But I finally realized I'd have to use my left hand. I decided against it.

Gulo had been trying to get me for almost a week but it was just too cold to fly. Finally it warmed up to -47 and he came and saved my bacon !! Probably saved my life too !!

Your supposed to keep a jug of whiskey at camp for medicinal purposes like that White.

I used it up when I broke my leg

That definitely qualifies as a close call on the trapline

You need to download some of those notes into book form !!

My stock gets low sometimes if I get a blister or sliver.

That's Terrible !! Prayers sent !!

Going through the ice is undoubtedly the worst. When I was a teenager trapping muskrats through the ice I would walk on the newly-frozen clear ice looking for bank dens. The ice was only 2" or so thick, sometimes less. When I broke through I rarely went above my waist, but was it cold. Being young and full of vinegar, I'd empty out my hippers and keep going.
Beaver trapping through the ice is a different matter though, and I once had my life flash before my eyes. Normally I can tell if the ice is shakey and I'll stay off the deep channels, that time the ice just gave out with absolutely no warning. Fortunately for me I was able to lunge forward and grab a stump as I was going through, my feet never touched the bottom of the channel until they hit the side of it under the stump. Once the shock of hitting that cold water wore off I was mad at myself for getting into a situation like this and took my packbasket off and tossed it onto the ice. I managed to bob, squirm and kick my way out of the water now soaked to the skin, gather up my beaver and gear and head back towards the truck. That happened in December of 1989 and while there's been other "incidents" I can still remember this one like it happened yesterday.

Like Hutchy says, there's no adventure without risk.

Had a bank den collapse under me once. Was so deep, I had to chop steps in the side to get out.

Dangers on the Trapline

I have been running trap for over forty years and in that time I have had some close calls, and near misses that could have ended very badly if certain circumstances had been different.

The first near miss that I can recall when I was about twelve years old and running muskrat traps down in Marianne’s Pond about a mile and a half from my Grandparents house. After getting home from school, I put on my hipboots and went to check my sets. I had big hopes for some float sets I had put out on the southern end of the pond. I had made the V shaped floats from an article I saw in FFG, and had them attached to 8 foot long ash saplings I had cut.

When I got to the pond I could see the trap was missing from the float, and waded out to check it not paying attention to the increasing depth. I grabbed the float and pulled up the trap but it was empty! I turned to head back to shore and found I couldn’t turn; my feet had sunk in the stinking black muck at the bottom of the pond! The more I struggled the deeper my feet sank; I tried to pull my right foot up, but only drove my left foot deeper. I can say now I started to panic, as no help was available, and no one would hear me yelling where I was. Lucking I recalled reading a story about a trapper in a similar situation.
I took a deep breath and leaned toward shore feeling the shock of the cold water seeping into my clothes. I leaned over further and wriggle my legs back and forth and felt he mud slacken its grip. I held on to the tops of my boots so my feet didn’t slide out and leave the boots in the mud, I had to almost sit on the bottom and pull my left legs free before I could scramble out on to the bank. I was soaked, cold muddy and stinky from the black muck. It was darn cold and getting dark and Pops was a long way away and all up hill. Then I remember my Dad’s Friend Davy Jones lived just up the street from the pond. I emptied my boots and wrung out my shirt and jacket and started jogging towards Jones’ house. Even though it was only about a ½ mile by the time I got there my clothes were covered in ice. I started banging son the door and Davy opened it and said “What the devil happened to you boy?!!” I quickly explained my adventure to which he laughed and said mhmm a lot. Then he had me take off my jacket and gave me a blanket to wrap up in and drove me up to Pops. My grandmother made me strip out of the wet clothes and take a warm not hot shower to warm up, and then gave me dry clothes and a cup of hot homemade cocoa. To this day if I feel the bottom sucking my feet at all I move toward the bank as swiftly as I can. Lesson – if you feel yourself sinking get out of the spot as soon as possible!

I avoided calamity on the trapline for many years after nearly losing my boots in Marianne’s pond. I had the occasional fall, trip, go over boots, getting smacked in face with branches, etc. that we all suffer but nothing dangerous until I moved to Iowa.

Iowa had an open beaver season unlike the restrictive season in PA, which allowed me to trap as many beaver as I wanted within the trapping season. Now I knew beaver fur is best and primest in Late December and January. Well here in Iowa that means ICE and thick ICE. I did get a few that way but decide to wait for spring break up to try and get some more. Well the breakup was late and I went and chopped a few holes in the ice and tried that. Then it warmed up, and the ice got rotten (never go out on rotten ice), I knew the ice was going rotten and went to retrieve my traps and poles. As I walked the 30 feet out on the ice to my pole my right leg disappeared! Odd I thought it was here just a second ago, and then my body tipped sideways due to my right leg going through a particularly rotten spot in the ice. The impact of my body (I weighed about 250 pounds then) on the ice caused it to break and drop me straight through into the inky depth below, I came up spluttering and spitting our water and various curses. Luckily the hole I made in the ice was easy enough to move around in, and I was only in chest deep water. Unluckily I did not have ice spikes (spikes/nails on a string around your neck to help you claw out of the ice). I put my hands on the edge of the ice and pushed up with my feet off the bottom. I was just about to lie on the ice and slither out when the ice broke dropping me back into the water. I stood up and grabbed the edge again and tried to push myself up and it broke again. I did this the entire way to shore. I was exhausted after being soaked lugging a heavy soaked jacket and pant and breaking my way through 30 feet of rotten 8 inch ice. And to add insult to injury, I still had to go pick up my daughter at day care, how no one noticed I was soaking wet in mid-March was beyond me. Lesson learned – don’t go out on rotten ice unless you have to and if you do make sure you have some ice spikes!
A few years later I was doing some beaver control work in a very upscale neighborhood. The job was at the base of a big bluff and it was so steep the trail ran sideways down the bluff for about a good eighty yards. From the bottom of the bluff to the river was about 40 yards so, then down a six to eight foot mostly sheer bank to the river itself. The ground still had between six and ten inches of icy snow, and the river in many places was still frozen across, but this area was open. The beaver were somehow climbing the bank to feed on the trees and the landowner wanted them gone. It was tricky because even right near the bank the water was almost over the top of my hip boots. I made some bottom edge sets for beaver and put in a castor mound as well and had removed some of them when we got a huge spring warm rain storm. I rained all day and night and melted most of the snow and ice and broke the river into a raging torrent of coffee colored water and icebergs. My traps were staked and wired but I still wanted to get them out if at all possible.

My wife and our new baby drove me out to the site, she and they baby parked at the road on top of the bluff, while I headed won to try and retrieve my traps. The river looked nasty with the water about 2-3 feet higher than normal and full of slabs and chunks of ice. I had made a grappling hook out of an old drag and 20 feet of 3/32” cable to try and snag the traps and drag them to where I could reach them. After fishing for a bit with my hook I dig manage to snag out two of my 330’s. The last 330 I had wired high on the bank just in case of high water, it also had 6 foot of 3/32” cable hooked to the spring, and it was all tie doff to a 24” rerod stake I had driven into the top of the bank.

After untying the wire and pulling the coni up I noticed a place where the beaver were still coming up the bank despite the high water. I thought if I was real careful I could lower the 330 into the river where the beaver seemed to be coming up the bank. I was trying to maneuver myself down the bank to a small edge to lower the 330 on a pole. I took on step and my feet shot out from under me (it was a 1/2” of md on a still frozen bank). And I slide down the bank and off the ledge like a ride at the water park. When I resurfaced I was chest deep in the river with slabs of 8 inch ice floating by me. I was also at eh bottom of a 6-8 foot tall sheer mud and ice slickened bank. I could not go down stream as the water was deeper there, and I could not go upstream against the current when up to my chest. Panic started to set in as no one would hear my cries for help, I could not hope to climb the bank and trying to swim down to a lower bank may lead to drowning and or hypothermia as well before I even got out of the river. I had to think, so I took stock of what I had on hand. I still had the 24 inch rerod stake in my right hand and the 330 conibear with the long cable in my left hand. Finally, I figured out what to do. I switched hands and set the 330 under water against my knee, then holding onto a loop at the end of the cable threw the 330 up on top of the bank and heard is SNAP onto the brush at the top of the bank. I said a very large prayer and pulled on the cable, it seemed to hold so I wrapped my right hands in the cable and pulled myself up at least to my waist out of the water and face first into the bank. Then I took my left hand and drove the stake in as hard and as high on the bank as I could. Then I I pulled myself up using the stake, and when I got to the stake I wrapped my hand in the cable again to hold me in place against the bank and withdrew the stake and slammed it into the bank again . I did this over and over slowly inching my way up the bank until I reached the top. I was soaked, covered in mud and starting to shake from the beginnings of hypothermia. The long slow hike up the bluff back to van warmed me up at least. My wife was shocked by my condition and got me home to a warm shower and dry clothes but alas no hot cocoa. Lesson – when stuck in a dangerous situation, do not lose you head, think out your problem, as panic can lead to death. Use what you have to your advantage.

The next time I did something that could of gotten me killed, I was trapping mink with coniboxes in some culverts coming out of a marsh. I had caught a mink in a box the week before, it snowed heavily the night before I checked it this time however. I usually walked to the edge of the concrete culvert and stepped down on the ice and walked over to the cat tails that held my box. This time though I was hurrying after work, and just want to uncover my box and relure it quickly. So I just jumped from the top of the culver to the ice (about 2-3 feet) , but the ice broke as soon as I made contact with my feet and my back SLAMMED into the edge of the culvert knocking the breath out of me. I lay half in and half out of the culvert in 10 inches of soft snow on top of the ice trying to catch my breath. It took me a few seconds to realize what had happened. I realized I had been very lucky. I was wearing my big down parka as the temperature was about -10F and when my back hit the edge of the culvert the down had acted like a cushion to protect my back from the edge of the concrete. I was also lucky that I had not his my head on the concrete and been knocked out as no one would of looked for me for several hours, and by then I might of very well been a Trapper-Pop. Now I walk down and around to get to my sets no matter what, with age comes wisdom. Lesson – never hurry if you can help it and ALWAYS let someone know where you are and when you should be back, and watch your step!

Even though I have lived and learned from my mistakes, as I hope you will to if you read this I still got in s sticky spot this past season. I was setting up opening day in a small creek just down from my friends Les’ house. I looked like any other small creek I had been in around here sandy and pebbly. I made a quick set on the west side of the bridge and even though my feet sank below about 4 inches of the sand/pebbles I do not go any lower so thought nothing of if. The creek flowed about 2-8 inches over the sand/pebbles, I figured if I stayed to the shallower side while going under the bridge I would be ok. Well that did not work out so well. As I was trying to go under the bridge I went from ankles to mid-calf to knee to mid-thigh by the time I was on the other side. So here I am with about 2 inches of boot top showing above the water that looks only 4 inches deep, but is as close to quicksand as I ever want to be. Gee where have I had this feeling before? Same as Marianne’s if I try to work one leg free the other goes deeper. Now what?

Ok don’t panic, not that I was because I knew I could get out but wanted to do it and stay DRY. Use what you have available; coon bucket, pliers and lure bag. Ok pliers no good, lure bag, err nope, ahh bucket. Using the bucket I pushed it wide flat bottom into the sand in front of me and pushed down as hard as I could and felt my legs lifting free of the morass they were stuck in. I twisted the bucket free moved it about a foot and pushed down again feeling my legs get free enough to propel me toward the bank and freedom. I did not make any sets under or to the east of the bridge. Lesson – remember your previous lessons and don’t panic!

I've been through the ice more times than I can remember .

I once broke through some rotten ice by a beaver feed pile while I was wearing a backpack with traps and had a handgun on my hip. When I broke through I was able to catch myself on the ice with both hands but when I pushed down to get out the ice broke again and I went in up to my neck and the backpack started to roll me over. While kicking my feet I never felt bottom and then panic struck. Somehow I rolled back and got my hands on the edge of the ice and pulled myself up and this time the ice held and I was able to get myself out. I was gonna tell you all that I drowned but you would probably not have believed my story then. I have renewed respect around bad ice after that incident.

Another time I broke though wearing snowshoes when it was 31 below zero but the water was only about two feet deep. The problem was that the bindings were so tight that the shoes did not pull off and the heels of the snowshoes kept getting caught under the ice as I sat trying to pull them out. I finally had to get my arm wet as I reached in to turn the snowshoes under the ice so I could pull them out of the hole. The ice had been thick enough there two days earlier (4") but the heavy snow and current thinned it down to almost nothing under the new snow. The mile walk back home was made difficult since my pant legs were frozen like stovepipes.

Close call MnMan!

Been there Twice

White17, After being out of food for two weeks and caribou showed up, did you eat some raw when you reached the first dead one to regain some energy before you did anything else? I bet that was some mighty tasty food.

Trappers and thin ice. Seems to be a pattern. I fell thru ice so many times I quit counting. Almost froze to death the last time I fell thru. At 30 below and a high wind stripping down is not fun. And long johns freeze to in 5 minutes. And yes it was beaver trapping. Fell of the lodge on the weak side of the ice. Thank god I touched bottom with my head above water. After that. By 8 am we landed in tower Sudan at the municipke liquor celebrating my good fortune of not dying that day.

Had an adult male beaver latch on to the foot of my waders on 2017. 3/4” or less from my big toe.


Eye opener

Caught a large beaver in a mink set. He was waiting for me on the bank. As I approached he dove between my legs and bit the bottom of my boot as I was trying to keep from falling. Luckily all he got was rubber. First time he came up for air I got him.

I one time couldn't get my outboard to start in a powerful fast flowing river and drifted into a pile of drift logs, overturned and found the jon boat filled with water and up-ended pushing against me and the drift logs. Thought it was going to squeeze the air out of me but managed to squirm around and not drown after all. Much to my surprise.

Then there was the time I sat on the #48 Newhouse.
Not near as hurtful as once the 4 ft chain got run taught...
(We need to start a thread of best lies told )

Stinky, I always said when I started ice trapping rats for the season if I didn't go down 8 10 times a day for the first week or so I was too late to start. Also a guy should put the snowmobile on the bottom once or twice a year. Winter of 2011/12 was pretty mild, I think my shins were black and blue for a month or more.

The only time I ever thought I was going to buy the farm on the line was when my brother almost tboned me with his snowmobile at 50 miles an hour. It was close, too close.

After reading these pages I hate to include this
Danny I new you was tough as nails, did you finish checking traps after the doctor visit ? :/)

White 17 how many more traps can you carry since you stopped using the stone tablets?

Golf ball was pretty amazing. Doc asked me if I wanted a pain shot and I said yes as they took me to xray. I saw that bullet was in one piece, had not hit any bones and I was fine. Doc came in with the shot and i told her I didnt need it. Funny the tricks your mind can play on you. Surgeon was busy and said he would cut it out the next day. Cop came for a statement so I told him what happened and where. So yes I did leave to finish checking traps. When I got to where It happened to shoot the live coon there were tracks where that cop had gone to check out what I told him. That coon was still unharmed which I was happy about that cop hadnt blown a big hole in it.

I got everything taken care of. I was sore but not awful. It was fear causing me more trouble than anything

It was around 20 degrees and water wasn't much warmer. Boat was loaded to the gills with traps and anchors ( brake rotors) and I had a long ways to go so I was pushing it. Came up on a narrow where the water was fast with high waves and the nose of the boat disappeared into one. Took the top right off the wave but we stayed afloat. Had me wondering for a minute, lol.

I slowed down some until I ad some weight outta the boat.

This is an excerpt from a book I'm putting together, much of which is about various trapping and hunting adventures I've had over 50 years in Alaska, Russia, and Idaho. Sorry it's so long.

The day progressed as the weatherman had predicted. In my SuperCub, I made 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, reset the trap, 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 treetops. Not overly disconcerting, 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 shut down 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 the falling snow had yet to conceal the prize.

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 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 a full 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 40 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 (tail feathers) 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 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

Great narrative Gulo,cant wait for the book!

I remember this one, Jack ....hits home my father's saying as my flight instructor, drilled into me often...."No matter WHAT happens-FLY the plane !"

So glad you are compiling these life events !

Well for me there is some like over turn the canoe when trapping rats in Dec and Jan and fish for all my gear. Fall through the ice rat trapping, Oh when you wear chestwaders wear a belt it will keep the air in your waders to float. I had went duck hunting in canoe with my dad and he need to take a leak and when finish did not told me and push the canoe when under a low bridge and I went over and floated down river till I was swim to shore. And there was a time I had a snare in a steam hole for coon and the coon did not want to show its head for me to shoot and fought with it and then the coon turn around and came at me and then I went back to stop it to get me and hit an 4" dia tree and less them a foot form the tree was a cliff of about 60' down of ledge , then there is another time when beaver trapping had snare a beaver the day before and the next day check my traps there and hear a crack and before I know it that a tree was falling on me that the beaver had work on and fell on me and ht the back of my head and my glasses fell in the creek and I was standing in it also. Luck for me I was not knock out other wise I would of drown in the creek. I just came out with a lump and days and kept on run my trap line that day and day follow took some time to get over it .

Almost hints of a Pat McManus story Jack. I'll bet that book is going to be a best-seller. At least with our crowd anyway.

Sign me up for a copy Gulo !

Actually I had been eating boiled marten for those two weeks and wasn't in the mood for any more culinary adventures. I did enjoy stuffing myself with boiled caribou. Wish I could have fried it but I had no fat or oil.

The trouble with caribou is that you can eat two pounds and be hungry 30 minutes later.

You can't believe how right you are.

Gulo let me proof read the manuscript and correct the misspellings and tone down the egregious lies. But that was exactly my comment to Gulo. This thing reads like Patrick McManus wrote it. Lots of laughs, adventures, and learning. It's like sharing the campfire with Rancid Crabtree !!

Quote from white17

"Actually I had been eating boiled marten for those two weeks and wasn't in the mood for any more culinary adventures. I did enjoy stuffing myself with boiled caribou. Wish I could have fried it but I had no fat or oil. The trouble with caribou is that you can eat two pounds and be hungry 30 minutes later."


Marten, in my opinion, is one of the least delectable critters as table fare. Didn't you have any Gusto to slather on it?

Jack

Gulo,
No apologies necessary for the length of your story. You were able to put me in that airplane. I felt that marten crawling up between my legs and the stabilizer knock on the noggin, my face is still cold from the face-full of snow, and I can't figure out what that smell is, given that I have never even seen a marten before.

Tried to swing my canoe into a really active beaver feed bed just upstream from a big cottonwood sweeper. Current took me broadside into sweeper flipped canoe. I had on chest waders, no PFD. So I'm in the upright position, feet on the bottom of the river bouncing rapidly downstream, lucky for me the hole tailed-out fast, my head popped above the surface and I drug myself to shore.
This happened on the Yakima river in 1980. Taught me to wear a PFD and not try to go into a feed bed on the upstream side.

Gulo for the win!


What a story

I stubbed my middle toe once.

Caribou must be like speghetti, white !