The life of a winter trapper on the hunt for beaver
Paul Smith remembers the snowy Sunday he hauled two prime winter beavers four miles on snowshoes
WOODS AND WATERS
Wow, that was a whopper of a snowstorm last week. That’s by far the most snow we have had since the big one, Snowmageddon.
When 80 centimetres of snow accumulates in 24 hours, what else can one say? That’s a lot of snow.
And it’s a lot of snow to clear, no matter how you go about it. My old 2004 Arctic Cat gets a fine workout after big snowstorms.
SNOWSHOEING
The conditions are dandy for snowshoeing in the backcountry, skiing, snowmobiling, or whatever.
The snow might be a tad deep for most of the manufactured metal racquets in common use these days. I might have to get those big wooden shoes back in use.
I like to have a walkabout on traditional shoes at least once in a season. The smaller metal frame and synthetic shoes are really only suitable for compacted trails or snow that’s been rained on a few times.
But alas, they are better than nothing in any snow conditions, and superior on icy crust.
TRAPPING DAYS
When I float over the deep powder on wooden snowshoes, I always think back to my trapping days.
My plastic canoe and traditional snowshoes were an integral part of my 1980s outdoor life. I must have logged a thousand miles on snowshoes and several thousand in my old Coleman canoe.
Much of it was solo, and with no mobile phone. I was living the life, albeit a tad on the edge.
I needed big wooden snowshoes for trapping. I had to check my traps and snares daily. It didn’t matter if we had a major storm — I had to travel in the woods and get the work done. It was hard work, but I loved it.
BEAVERS
Let me tell you about a couple of days in the life a wintertime beaver trapper.
This would have been in the mid-1980s and I wish I had photos. Back then there was only film. I did have a nice 35mm Minolta camera, but I didn’t pack it around trapping with me. I regret that very much. I have wonderful images in my head and I’m useless at drawing.
It was a cold Saturday in January and I decided to head in country to set beaver traps on a lodge that I hadn’t gotten to before freeze-up. It had been freezing cold all through Christmas and I knew the ice cover would be thick. I was in for a bit of work.
But the fur would be prime and I’d get top dollar at the springtime auction in North Bay, Ontario. That’s where I sold all my furs.
HEADING OUT
I loaded up my Yamaha Trike with my gear and headed in the trail from where I lived on the edge of the woods.
Traps and chains rattled in the wooden box on the back of my bike as I bounced along the beaten trail used mostly by woodcutters.
I managed to follow hardened paths until I got to within a mile or so of the pond I intended to trap. I parked the machine and strapped on my snowshoes.
ALL THE GEAR
I was laden quite heavily.
Inside my pack, I had my lunch, two #330 Conibear humane traps, and an axe.
I carried my four-foot ice chisel in my hand –– it was too long to secure to the pack, so this was the only way. I needed it to chop holes big enough the set traps and pull up a beaver. An ice auger just wouldn’t do, and it’s madness to attempt a hole that big with an axe. I had tried that before.
Ice chisels are fantastic. They are used by northern travellers to cut water supply holes through thick ice.
SUSTAINABLE HARVEST
With a solid sweat worked up, I reached the pond and set to chopping the trapping holes along the approaches to the resident beaver’s winter food supply.
All this I had sized up earlier in the fall while on my canoe route. My plan was to take two beavers from this lodge as part of my overall sustainable harvest management scheme. I’d leave the neighbouring lodge untouched.
Beaver trappers in Newfoundland are trusted to manage the population on their assigned trap lines.
There were more beavers on my trap line when I retired than there were when I started a decade earlier.
THICK ICE
Back to chopping a hole, and the ice was at least two feet thick.
I needed the hole about 16 inches in diameter, so that’s a lot of exercise. You have to keep the bottom of the hole flat and the sides vertical as you proceed; if not, you will end up getting wet. Think about it.
Finally, water burst through. A few final chops and I was staring down at the muddy bottom, just like from my canoe months earlier.
SETTING THE TRAP
I got my axe out and went to the shoreline to cut a couple of sticks to set the trap. I chose spruce, about two inches in the butt and not too tapered.
Back on the ice, I took out a trap and compressed the springs one at a time. Back then, I could set a #330 myself by hand without a leverage tool. I discovered last year that I can’t do it anymore. I guess I had a trapper’s grip strength in those days.
I slid the sticks through the spring loops and lowered the trap down in the water, simultaneously setting the butt ends of the sticks solidly into the mud. After a bit of fiddling and hands in cold water, the trap was in place and ready for action.
Repeat for another trap, and bough in the holes to prevent freeze over.
SNOWY WALK
Home I went.
That night it snowed, lots of snow, about 40 cms. I had planned to check those traps and a bit of snow wasn’t going to stop me.
But the trike was useless in that much snow, and my snowmobile was in my basement for repairs. I’d have to walk the full distance, about four miles on snowshoes.
Off I went. The snow had stopped, and the morning sun was glistening and sparkling off the fresh powder. All was well with the world.
My big wooden Algonquinstyle racquets kept me moving forward, afloat on the snow, almost effortlessly. It is a beautiful thing that never gets old.
LUCKY NIGHT
I reached the beaver lodge and cleared the snow off the boughs covering the holes. I used a small plastic shovel that I carried in my trapping pack. No problem.
I pulled up the first trap and was happy to have harvested a fine, big, prime winter beaver. Perfect.
Not expecting two on the same night, I peeped down through the second hole so as not to disturb the trap.
I had two beavers in one night. Wow, I didn’t expect that kind of luck.
All good, but I hadn’t towed in a sled, and this was going to be one hell of a backpack carry.
I was going to discover what I was made of.
HEAVY LOAD
I debated making two trips, but I wasn’t fussy about retuning after Sunday dinner. Plus, I had two beavers to skin and mount on drying frames.
No surprise I’ve had a couple of hernias in later life. I must have been carrying close to a hundred pounds on snowshoes for much too long a walk. But somehow, I made it home just in time for Sunday dinner.
Such are the exploits of the young and strong, but foolish.
Goldie had a chicken roasted in the oven, and a chicken has never tasted better. I had no need of heading to the gym that evening.
I should have fixed the snowmobile Saturday night.