The
Satisfaction of Making Memories
Article from November
- December 1998 Buckeye Trapper
by John
Zachrich
It has been said, "Greet the down with enthusiasm, and you
may expect satisfaction at sunset." At 5:30 a.m. one can
hardly blame me for not being to overly enthusiastic. But the
constant rapping on my bedroom door told me that my two young
trapping partners were ready to go. They seemed to have more than
enough enthusiasm for all of us, either that or their mother forgot
to hide the soda pop from them again. "Is it time to check
traps yet dad?" came a whisper through the small crack in
the now slightly ajar door. Knowing full well that asking them
to go back to bed would only fall on deaf ears, I groggily answered;
"Yes, go get your trapping clothes on." With a scream
of delight they rushed back to their own bedroom.
I have always felt blessed to have grown up with the outdoors
being a big part of my life. My dad and my grandfather painstakingly
taught me how to trap at a young age, and now I consider it a
privilege to pass this tradition on to my sons.
The morning sun was just starting to light the eastern sky in
overwhelming displays of indigo, cadmium and lavender as we made
out way to the first set. A colony trap guarded a well-user muskrat
run under a concrete road culvert, and it was here that we made
the first catch of the day. Using my Yo-Ho trapping stick, I broke
the thin skim of ice over the trap. I was able to fish it out,
exposing in the beam of my flash light two well furred prime muskrats.
My sons, Caleb and Levi, were both excitedly dancing around on
the bank, giving each other high fives as I removed out catch,
and reset the trap.
Rhythmic swishing of the frost-laden grass followed out footsteps
as we continued further along the ditch to the next trap. This
set held particular interest for my youngest partner, Levi. It
was here, on the previous day , that he had noticed a rather large
raccoon print in the mud at the entrance of a fourteen-inch metal
drainage tile. It was here as well, that I was more than obliging
when he suggested that we set one of our snares.
As the flashlight beam played across the mouth of the tile, one
would think that a bomb had gone off. It was obvious that we had
indeed made a catch, and the two burning embers glaring back at
me from further in the mouth of the tile confirmed my suspicion.
Again using my trapping stick, I slowly hooked the snare and pulled
the snarling raccoon from the tile. Keeping safety in mind, with
a well-placed shot thanks to William Ruger, the raccoon was quickly
and humanly dispatched.
It was only then, as I removed the snare from around the raccoon,
that I noticed the shear size of the animal. As I held our prize
up for the boys to inspect, Levi, borrowing a phrase from his
favorite movie, Where The Red Ferm Grows, jokingly commented "Looks
like the boos raccoon, dad." (Our boss raccoon later tipped
the bathroom scales at 24 1/2 pounds.) Taking a new snare from
my pack, I remade the set..
No longer needing the flashlight to illuminate our path, my two
sons eagerly raced each other to the next trap. In the meantime,
I took the opportunity to enjoy the solitude of the moment. Breathing
deeply, my nostrils filled with the pleasant aroma of decaying
leaves lying about the ditch bank, intertwined with the wood smoke
from nearby farm houses, Just then I was entertained by a small
flock of sandhill cranes as they noisily flew overhead.
Hoisting the backpack over my shoulders, I noticed how its straps
dug in a little deeper and I felt a new sense of pride. Not just
for the pelts, although for tem I was truly grateful, but more
for the interest that my sons were showing in an outdoor sport
that I so richly enjoy.
I feel that in a world of Nintendo and other such video games,
trapping gives me a way of connecting with my kids. I also feel
strongly that any time spent with my boys while they are young
is precious. I know the time will come, all too soon, when being
with mom and dad will no longer be considered "cool."
I want to make a bond with them now while I can. Trapping gives
me that opportunity. My grandfather had once told me, "You
never know when you are making a memory." I can only hope
that these memories will some day give my sons as much joy as
they have given me in making them.
My short reprieve was soon interrupted by Caleb's excited shout
from farther down the trap line as he exclaimed: "We got
another one dad." Picking up the pace, I was soon rewarded
by the sight of a beautifully furred muskrat held tightly in the
jaws of a #110 bodygrip trap.
The trap was set at the mouth of yet another drainage tile that
emptied into the ditch. The toothy rodents had the tile stuffed
so full of cattail stalks, corncobs and twigs that they was no
way for the tile to do its job. I removed some of the debris,
exposing what I believe was the inner chamber of a muskrat's den.
Placing the trap in front of the tile and using two pencil sized
sticks to form an X through the trap jaws had stabilized the trap
enough to make this set connect. (Always check you game laws before
setting bodygrip traps on dry land.)
As we later sat in the warming cab of my pick-up, sharing a thermos
of hot chocolate, I could not help but notice the smiles of contentment
and satisfaction on my son's faces. I Guess that it is true, and
worth repeating. "Greet the dawn with enthusiasm, and you
may expect satisfaction at sunset." At least I know it is
true for two young trapped and their proud father.
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