Old trapping photos

[waterninja]

Thanks for sharing those great old pics. What great family keepsakes.

[KegRiver]

Originally Posted by Red Bullets

The thing is that most young people today can't even fathom the hardships and triumphs of those past times. You have come from some of the biggest transitions in time...From the newhouse to the conibear. From your full moon in the honey closet to the first man on the moon, from the radio days to the computer age, from trail to pavement.

)

I never really thought about it that way. But I was aware that my experiences growing up are quiet different from what most alive today experienced.

I ran face first in to that fact my first day in high school.
Culture shock doesn't quiet cover it.

It was my first time in a city. I'd been to Manning a few times and Peace River once, but nothing bigger till I moved to Wetaskiwin to attend high school.

I think I may have kinda stood out from the crowd. I probably smelled of wood smoke and beaver hides. I wore locally tanned moccasins. I didn't even own a pair of shoes. And I didn't wear the latest fashions.
My jeans were well worn and so was my shirt.
I didn't know that city folks are afraid of newcomers so I walked up to the first guy my age that I saw and introduced myself. He stuck his fist in my face and asked if I wanted some of that.

I knew all too well what he meant so I just walked away. I'd had enough of fighting to last me a life time. That was life for a white kid growing up next to the survivors of the residential school experiment.

From then on I kinda kept to myself. I eventually met a fellow who was an outcast like myself. So we became friends, my only friend in that city.
I taught him to shoot a shotgun and he taught me how to drive.
We went fishing a lot and sometimes in the fall we would hunt ducks.

Originally Posted by Red Bullets

just in fun...
(You mention going to school in Wetaskiwin back in the early 70's... any stories about the live bands and dances at Mameo beach? haha )

Of course we heard about the parties at Ma-Me-O and the house parties in the city but we were never invited.
By my senior year we had both made other friends and we did do a bit of partying. But neither of us could dance and neither of us could handle alcohol so the parties were pretty tame.

Also in my senior year I met a young lady and after a few dates we decided to get married. So on March 7 1973 I put a ring on her finger and left school for good. Ten months later our first daughter was born.

When I left school computers were the new technology. There was talk about them but no one that I knew had one. I don't think there were any in Alberta then either.
It would be several years before I saw my first computer, an Atari 800. As I recall it used a cassette tape for a hard drive and one had to type in even the most basic programs to get it to do anything.
About that time transistor radios were replacing tube type equipment and a guy could buy a really nice brand new car for $6,000 dollars.

Victor traps were in every hardware store and a discerning trapper would try to find Hawley & Norton or Newhouse traps. I think both were out of production by then.
Traps with teeth had been illegal for several years and Registered trap lines were a relatively new thing.

Actually registered trap lines had been around for while but not in the present day form.
When my dad started trapping in Alberta there were no registered trap lines. One simply made sets where every they wished, but that lead to many disputes about who was there first.
So the government implemented registered trap lines.
There were still no permanent trap lines. One simply registered the trail or other travel route one wanted to set traps along.
Tarp lines were quiet literally lines. And not even straight lines.

In the late 1950s the government changed the definition of what a registered line was. They mapped out the popular lines and set boundaries between adjacent lines forming parcels of crown land that would be exclusive to the holder of that line. No longer lines they were now more like simple jig saw pieces.
Dad's good friend Mr. Ojerholm had one of the first new registered lines in the area and when he decided to retire and move to the coast in 1962 Dad acquired that line from him.
It was line number 1285 and when dad died it became my line.
I trapped it from 1982 till 1998 when my health forced me to give up trapping. For several years I kept the line as a place to train new trappers but interest in trapping was fading and by 2005 I had no more students to teach.
Eventually I turned the line over to my foster brother. Some would say I sold the line but in fact I sold only my equipment and a cabin.
I was offered $20,000 for the line and I accepted less then ten in total.

I know I could have sold it for a lot more then $20,000 but I wanted it to go to someone who wanted to trap. The big money was being offered by outfitters who I knew would use it as a private hunting reserve.

Yes things have changed. Changed a lot, and not for the better in my opinion.

In those early years we had no locks for anything. Not for our home or our cabin. Not even for our fuel tanks.

Today the only folks I see out in the back country are recreation enthusiasts and one dare no leave anything unlocked.

[sureshot]

I'm really enjoying reading this. In a way I envy you for growing up in those times.

[KegRiver]

I wasn't able to find the digital images I talked about but I did find the print copies so I scanned them again, plus a few others I thought might be interesting.

So here are some more recent trapping photos. These are mostly from the 1980s and 90s

Me in my line cabin, January 1992
I look half asleep here, I'm not sure why. Maybe it was a hard day or a particularly cold day and the warmth of the cabin was putting me to sleep.
Whatever, it's sure not the best picture of me.

Notice the two lanterns. One kitchen lantern and a barn lantern.
I still have those lanterns.



This is me posing with a Wolverine I had caught.
It destroyed several 110 box sets before finding one of my running pole sets.
It seems they aren't as tough as a 220 Conibear.

There was no sign of a struggle. All indications were that when the trap fired the lights went out and didn't come back on.



In it's defense, it was a small female, a Large male may not have expired so easily.



This is one of my running pole sets, with a foul caught Marten. Even though the trap had not triggered properly, it did kill the critter rather quickly as far as I could tell.



In this photo I marked the trap locations in Black. There were two traps per pole set. I marked the bait in pink and the Marten in Tan.



This set is a modification of the way dad used to snare Fisher.
It worked well for Marten, Fisher and one Wolverine.

I like the way the catch hangs clear of everything. I found that this lessened rodent and bird damage considerably.

Here is a snare set for Marten. I don't know who the trapper was.
I found this set along a Seismic line East of Codotte Lake in 1979. The trapper had abandoned his sets when the Seismic crews arrived. There is the skeleton of a Marten in one snare.
It made me kind mad which is why I took the photo.





Next is a photo of a Beaver house I had set. Two sets, four poles per set.
One set is in front of the lodge and the other is to the left of the lodge.

Four poles per set. the two outer poles are guides only. On the right side is a bait pole and a guide pole and to the left is a snare pole and a guide pole.

Mostly the guide poles discourage the beaver from cutting off the bait pole or the snare pole.

In the center set the snare pole is partially pulled under the ice. It seems the Beaver got caught before the pole was properly frozen in.




This is what I found in that set. One beaver with it's nose frozen in to the ice. I had to cut an over sized hole to free it from the ice without damaging it.

That's my ice pick standing behind the beavers head. It is home made, my big brothers invention. A three foot home made birch handle and three feet of steel t post with a sharp point ground into one end.

It was lighter and easier to handle then the store bought alternatives and it cut faster too.



Here is my table covered with snare making parts and tools. Complete with half a loaf of bread.

No wife.

I wouldn't dare to try making snares on the kitchen table now. LOL



Just to the right of the cut cable piles is a wooden device that I use to make Hay Wire locks. I'm not sure why it was there because I can see cam locks on the finished snares so it appears I wasn't using hay wire locks that night. However, there are three hay wire locks just right of the lock making tool. Maybe I didn't have enough cam locks.

BTW that tool is simply a short length of axe handle with two nails driven partially into the end and the heads cut off and files smooth.

Oh, and those are Beaver snares.

[KegRiver]

I was thinking about that Marten skeleton and about my years doing Seismic work.

The last year I worked Seismic I cleared $8,000 dollars for three month work. I though I had made the big time. That was a lot of money for three months work in 1980.

That winter dad made $27,000 dollars trapping for three months. Lynx were selling for up to $3,000 that winter. A good Fisher could fetch over $400 and Marten averaged around $250.
Beaver, the bread and butter for every trapper in the area, brought $60 dollars for a super blanket and they averages around $35.00.
Not bad when most folks were earning less then $50.00 per day.

[crazyfish]

Awesome thread Keg , lots of great stories and memories ! Thanks

[BCROB]

Thanks for sharing the pics fellas , always enjoy looking at the old photos !!

[South west trappin RG]

I really like hearing your stories and looking into the past.

[ROAD HAMMER]

Great Pics !!! Thanks for sharing

[58thecat]

Don't want to sound greedy but more please. Thanks for the pictures, and sharing this with us.

[unclebuck]

Love the pictures Keg. Just down the road from Wim's?

[KegRiver]

Originally Posted by unclebuck

Love the pictures Keg. Just down the road from Wim's?

Just down the road from Wim's? I don't get what you are asking.

Did I live just down the road from Wim? At one time, yes. And for the last few years of his life I lived in his yard. I worked for him till the year he died.

I worked summers for him and trapped for the winter.

I drove truck for him and when there was no loads to haul I worked the on the farm. Or I took his friends hunting or fishing. That was the best part of the job. Not only did I love to go hunting and fishing, but to do it for Wim's friends made it even better. I even took him fishing one time.
He never figured it out though.

As soon as he made his first cast I could see that he knew nothing bout fishing. So I showed him which lure to use and told him where to cast his lure. Second cast he hooked a good Walleye.
Okay he says, time to go. It was clear, he figured that job was done, time to move on to the next job. LOL I figured it wouldn't help to explain that we don't go fishing to catch a fish so much as we go to enjoy and relax.
So we went home and fixed the Combine.

Good memories, good people.

[KegRiver]

Originally Posted by 58thecat

Don't want to sound greedy but more please. Thanks for the pictures, and sharing this with us.

I wish I had more but that's all I have.

For most of those years I didn't even own a camera. My big brother did own a camera and I believe he has some trapping photos.

The older photos were accumulated over many years from a number of folks, some family, some friends. But again, there weren't many to be had.

For a homesteader and his family, photography was a rare luxury. Film was expensive, cameras unreliable and expensive and trapping was just life to us, not something to be recorded. Weddings, visiting family, new friends, those were the things worthy of expensive film.

One has to keep in mind that the cameras available were mostly crude in comparison to today's cameras. Most had no settings to compensate for poor light or moving subjects. Most had a low magnification fixed lens.

They were one shot affairs. Aim shoot, crank the film to the next frame and point and shoot again. They were slow, ones subject had to be perfectly still, the light had to be exultant, and it took weeks to find out what the shot had captured.

Another thing that is part of the story is that back then it was common for folks to pass on memories by telling stories. It was our version of TV and the movies, and it was real life.

We had no need for photos or movies to remind us of the past. The past lived in the stories the old folks told and they were spell binding stories.
A skilled story teller could paint a better picture with words then any film could capture.

These days story telling is a lost art. this generation won't sit still for a story, real or not, unless it's on a screen. Too bad, there are so many good stories of real life adventure and tragedies that will never be told again.

Like the troubles our neighbor had with bears.
There was the night he spent firing into the darkness at every leaf that rustled after a bear stole his pillow out from under his head while he slept.

Or the time he scattered pieces of his home made bacon around camp to keep the bears from raiding his grub supply, only to have a bear walk past his offerings and pull down his stash and destroy it, leaving the bacon untouched.

There was the story about how my uncle shot all four tires out from under his truck or the time Matt tried to catch a bear cub.

There was the fur coat in the outhouse, and the time dad drank too much rum. There was the school teacher who walked like a fat pigeon on hot pavement and the Englishman with his hairy legs who thought he could turn a bunch of hillbilly into gentleman.

So many stories. So few who lived them remaining.
Another generation disappears like wisps of fog in the morning.

Dad is gone, Wim is gone, Howard is gone. Matt is gone. Ben is gone, Charlie is gone. Willie is gone. Vince is gone. that whole generation is now gone and a good many of my generation is gone as well.

My kids and their peers never heard the stories. They were raised on TV and the internet.
I'm one of the younger of my generation. My kid brother learned metric in school. He never lived in a home with no TV. By the time he started high school there were computers in every class room and many of the places we used to trap were open fields by then.

How can this generation know the satisfaction of providing for oneself?
How can they know the value of getting along with ones neighbors?

They may never know the special warm of a wood heater of how restful it is to sleep under the stars.
They may never taste wild berries or cook a fish they caught over an open fire. They may never know where they came from.

Folks talk about how hard it was back then. Hard by today's standards perhaps. But not as hard as watching ones child die from a drug overdose.
Or as hard as it's gonna be if the power ever goes out for a week in the dead of winter.

Life was hard back then but it was also a good life. Much simpler, much more satisfying, much more freedom, much more opportunity.

Sure we had no roads, no big box stores, no Netflicks or cell phones.
But we had a roof over our heads and food in our bellies. Best of all we had friends. In fact everyone within 100 miles were our friends or were friends of our friends.

When dad butchered a hog he gave some to the neighbor. When that neighbor shot a Moose he gave us some. People shared. People helped each other.

There is more to life then money and the latest toys. Life in a modern mansion can be harder then life in a drafty log cabin full of friends.

[joeti7]

Very well said Keg, thanks again for all you contribute on this site and the stories you share.

[Bigwoodsman]

Originally Posted by joeti7

Very well said Keg, thanks again for all you contribute on this site and the stories you share.

Yes indeed, very well said.

Keg you sir certainly know how to tell a great story. Thank you.

Your perspective on life and what is hard and what is considered hard times is bang on. I so enjoy reading and listening to these memories. Reminds me of the stories my dad would tell when we were either hunting, fishing, or riding around in the pickup.

For me this is like an early Christmas gift from you to all of us on AO. Thanks again.

BW

[unclebuck]

Keg, somewhat similar to where I grew up in sunny Sask. on the farm. Similar to yourselves, we shared with our neighbours. We boys would be out behind the barn having a smoke that we stole from one of the guys in the house that had the most part of a belly full of Dad's vodka and a full belly of Mom's dinner!!! She was the best cook in the area. Besides cooking for the neighbours, she was a hairdresser and the neighbour ladies would come to our place to have their done. While this was in process, the men would be out in the shed cleaning up on the "vodka". I recall Dad, when our road was "blown in" by snow, he would harness up Dan & Duke, hook them up to the caboose, a three row unit(fire in the stove), and haul our family of four kids and the neighbours two to school over the snow.

It was rather humorous, when Dad only hooked old Dan the stud up one day, parked the caboose in front of the school, and had a rather brave lad hassle the horse. While my father was for the most part a patient man, he would not condone anyone teasing the horses. We had to wait for him to return to the school, as he turned "old Dan" loose on the kid who ****ed Dad off. The kid had some of the longest legs that one could imagine, and were they ever churning through the snowbanks when the horse was intent on biting his behind on the dead run while dragging the caboose. You do not p off a Belgian stud!!!!

Those were the days, snaring rabbits for the neighbour minker(two bits for a jack, and a dime for a bush rabbit). Unfortunately, our kids have not had the same opportunities that we did. Their grandfather would regale them with stories, but neither of my kids could imagine or appreciate the shenanigans that happened.

[58thecat]

There is more to life then money and the latest toys. Life in a modern mansion can be harder then life in a drafty log cabin full of friends.

How true.

[Red Bullets]

Keg and a few mention sharing and a sense of community. On a funny note I remember when the outhouses at the community halls had three and four holes/seats....with no partitions beween the holes.. And a 3/8 inch wood wall separating the 4 seater for the women on the other side of the outhouse.
Now that was community spirit.

[northerntrapper]

Originally Posted by KegRiver

I wish I had more but that's all I have.

For most of those years I didn't even own a camera. My big brother did own a camera and I believe he has some trapping photos.

The older photos were accumulated over many years from a number of folks, some family, some friends. But again, there weren't many to be had.

For a homesteader and his family, photography was a rare luxury. Film was expensive, cameras unreliable and expensive and trapping was just life to us, not something to be recorded. Weddings, visiting family, new friends, those were the things worthy of expensive film.

One has to keep in mind that the cameras available were mostly crude in comparison to today's cameras. Most had no settings to compensate for poor light or moving subjects. Most had a low magnification fixed lens.

They were one shot affairs. Aim shoot, crank the film to the next frame and point and shoot again. They were slow, ones subject had to be perfectly still, the light had to be exultant, and it took weeks to find out what the shot had captured.

Another thing that is part of the story is that back then it was common for folks to pass on memories by telling stories. It was our version of TV and the movies, and it was real life.

We had no need for photos or movies to remind us of the past. The past lived in the stories the old folks told and they were spell binding stories.
A skilled story teller could paint a better picture with words then any film could capture.

These days story telling is a lost art. this generation won't sit still for a story, real or not, unless it's on a screen. Too bad, there are so many good stories of real life adventure and tragedies that will never be told again.

Like the troubles our neighbor had with bears.
There was the night he spent firing into the darkness at every leaf that rustled after a bear stole his pillow out from under his head while he slept.

Or the time he scattered pieces of his home made bacon around camp to keep the bears from raiding his grub supply, only to have a bear walk past his offerings and pull down his stash and destroy it, leaving the bacon untouched.

There was the story about how my uncle shot all four tires out from under his truck or the time Matt tried to catch a bear cub.

There was the fur coat in the outhouse, and the time dad drank too much rum. There was the school teacher who walked like a fat pigeon on hot pavement and the Englishman with his hairy legs who thought he could turn a bunch of hillbilly into gentleman.

So many stories. So few who lived them remaining.
Another generation disappears like wisps of fog in the morning.

Dad is gone, Wim is gone, Howard is gone. Matt is gone. Ben is gone, Charlie is gone. Willie is gone. Vince is gone. that whole generation is now gone and a good many of my generation is gone as well.

My kids and their peers never heard the stories. They were raised on TV and the internet.
I'm one of the younger of my generation. My kid brother learned metric in school. He never lived in a home with no TV. By the time he started high school there were computers in every class room and many of the places we used to trap were open fields by then.

How can this generation know the satisfaction of providing for oneself?
How can they know the value of getting along with ones neighbors?

They may never know the special warm of a wood heater of how restful it is to sleep under the stars.
They may never taste wild berries or cook a fish they caught over an open fire. They may never know where they came from.

Folks talk about how hard it was back then. Hard by today's standards perhaps. But not as hard as watching ones child die from a drug overdose.
Or as hard as it's gonna be if the power ever goes out for a week in the dead of winter.

Life was hard back then but it was also a good life. Much simpler, much more satisfying, much more freedom, much more opportunity.

Sure we had no roads, no big box stores, no Netflicks or cell phones.
But we had a roof over our heads and food in our bellies. Best of all we had friends. In fact everyone within 100 miles were our friends or were friends of our friends.

When dad butchered a hog he gave some to the neighbor. When that neighbor shot a Moose he gave us some. People shared. People helped each other.

There is more to life then money and the latest toys. Life in a modern mansion can be harder then life in a drafty log cabin full of friends.

You sir, should consider putting these memories to print. These are the kind of books I look for, but are increasingly hard to find.

[sureshot]

Originally Posted by northerntrapper

You sir, should consider putting these memories to print. These are the kind of books I look for, but are increasingly hard to find.

x100

[KegRiver]

I really have to tell you guys about the fur coat in the outhouse.

Actually it was fake fur but my big sister seemed to think it was the most expensive fur coat in the whole world.
She bought it at a Salvation Army store in the month of July. Like most Julys it was hot weather but never-the-less Sis wore that coat every day all day for the first several days, until, , , ,

It was late in the day. The sun was almost touching the horizon, the light was fading fast.
Several of us kids were playing outside. I don't recall what game we were playing. In fact I remember little of that day, until, , , , , ,

I remember seeing big Sis and her fake fur coat heading for the half moon shack out back.
Some time later, I'm not sure how long it was, another sister, we shall call her wide sister. Don't ask. It was some time later that wide sister also headed to the little house out back.
Now this would not pose a problem if the first occupant was still there for it was a two holler, but apparently, unknown to us, she had left.
Remember, it was getting dark by now. Outside one could see well enough but in that two hole shack it was as dark as the inside of a cow.
So wide sister opens the door and disappears inside. We continue to play.
Actually I don't think any of us noticed the activity at that little shack but we were about to.

The first thing I really remember of that day was the most penetrating squealing screeching panic sounding wail coming from inside that half moon shack. I recall feeling instant terror at what I did not know. All I knew was that something really really terrible was happening inside that little shack.
Moments later wide sister shot out of that biffy with most of her cloths on. She looked neither right nor left. Running far faster then I ever thought she could she headed for the house and disappeared inside.

For a moment there was stunned silence. Then everyone started talking at once. What happened? Was she hurt? It didn't appear so. Must be an animal in there. Maybe it has the rabies. What should we do. Is there a loaded gun in the house. What if it jumps at you. Maybe it's a snake.
Maybe it's poisonous. It could be an evil spirit. Where is mom's Bible?
Does dad have any Silver spikes?

That was the first two seconds of conversation. Brave bunch we were.
Fortunately big brother volunteered to rout out whatever had attacked wide sister. The rest of us, all six of us would back him up. With a leader we had some courage. Okay, so it wasn't so much courage as it was fear of being left alone out in the yard with a rabid Tasmanian Devil lurking in the throne chamber.

Anyway, big brother took a large stick and hooked the door to that shack open. Nothing moved. No sound emitted from inside. Even the evening breeze held it's breath.
Big brother moved to one side to peek into the corner, then moved the other direction to peek into the opposite corner.
No one else moved. No one else breathed. It was so quiet I could hear my heart beating. Matter of fact I could feel it beating. Actually I think everyone could hear it beating. It was beating so hard it hurt my ribs.
But I did not move. No way was a leaving that crowd. Safety in numbers and all that.

The light was nearly gone now but our eyes were starting to adjust. Big brother suddenly tensed up even more then he was already. There's something furry on the seat he hissed.
Ever so slowly, so as not to alert the intruder he slid forward till he could reach the furry thing with his stick. But he didn't reach for it, he swung at it, with all the force a 14 year old could muster.

Whack! Whack Whack! He struck it again and again with such intensity that it shocked me. He seemed possessed.
Finally he stopped. "I think it's dead" he said hoarsely. He reached in with his stick and pulled the thing's ghastly carcass out the door.
There it lay in the dirt, my big sister's prized fake fur coat.

It seems that it was awfully hot inside that shack that hot July evening so for the first time in days big Sis took off her new fake fur coat and lay it on the seat beside her. She must have felt much better with it off for she forgot it there. I'm sure she would not have left it if she had been able to see it, but in the darkness of the interior, feeling cool for the first time in days, she forgot it.
When wide sister took her place some time later, she knew nothing of that coat's whereabouts. She could not see it laying there beside her. But then she put her hand on the seat to steady herself and her hand landed on hot fur.
She swore it moved but I don't believe her. I think it was all in her imagination. Little girls have wild imaginations you know.

[58thecat]

Now that's funny, I have visions of "wide" sister sprinting to the house.

[Bigwoodsman]

Lmao. Hilarious. Thanks Keg.

BW

["No Choke"Lord Walsingham]

Good stories,

That faux fur got all of you real good... Classic!

[Talking moose]

Some good stuff happening here. Talking moose enjoys!!

[bill9044]

Great story. That's one to tell around the fire with friends and a drink. Hahaha.

[Brian Bildson]

Keg - I could really feel your world brought back to life through your words.

I bet you Kim Hureshenko, who edits the ATA magazine, would love to run some of your stories and old pics. The contact info on ATA site.

Breathe some life back into those oldtimers you remember so well.