Some Early Experiences.
Comrades of the trap line and trail, as I have gotten too old, March
1913, and too nigh played out to longer get far out into the tall
timber, I will, with the consent of the editor of the H-T-T, relate
some of my experiences on the trap line and trail of some years ago.
A young man by the name of Frank Wright was hunting and trapping on
the Crossfork waters of Kettle Creek. Frank was a young man barely
out of his teens, and had been in the woods but little, but Frank was
a hustler and was not afraid of the screech of the owl; the days were
altogether too short for him.
We went into camp early in October as we had to do a good deal of
repairing on the camp as the cabin had not been used in two or three
years, and the porcupines got in their work in good shape. The cabin
was built of logs and the "porces" had gnawed nearly all of the
chinking out from between the logs and the mud was all gone from
around the chinking. Some of the shakes were gone from the roof and
the door which was made of split shakes.
First, we split out shakes and repaired the roof and the door. We
then split chinking block out of a basswood tree to renew the
chinkings that had been gnawed and eaten up by the porcupines. After
the chinking was all replaced and fastened in place by making wedges
and driving them into the logs, one at each end of each chinking
block, we gathered moss from old logs and calked every crack,
pressing the moss into the cracks with a wedge-shape stick made for
the purpose. The calking was all done from the inside.
After the chinking and calking was done, we dug into a clay bank and
got clay, which we mixed with ashes taken from the fire then added
sufficient water to make a rather stiff mortar. We filled the spaces
between the logs, going over every crack on the outside of the shack.
Now and again Frank would notice a mink or coon track along the
creek, while he was gathering moss from the old logs. These tracks
would drive Frank nearly wild, and he would double his energy so as
to get the shack finished so we could hit the trap line.
After we got the shack in good shape, we went to work getting up a
good supply of wood, sufficient to last through the season. We had an
open fireplace, so we cut the wood about three feet long. The wood
was now up near the camp door, ranked up in good snug piles. We then
cut crotched stakes and drove them in the ground on each side of the
ranks, and laid poles in, then placed cross poles on and covered with
hemlock boughs.
Frank was so anxious to get to work on the trap line, that he at
first objected to putting in so much time in getting up the wood,
saying that we could get the wood at odd times. But when told that
there are no odd times on the trap line, he then worked the harder to
get the supply of wood, including a good supply of dry pine for
kindling fires, which we got by cutting a dry pine stub.
The camp now being in good shape, we hit the trap line and began
building deadfalls for marten. We went onto the ridges into the thick
heavy timber, where the marten were most likely to be found. We would
select a low hemlock to build the deadfalls under, so the trap would
be protected from heavy falls of snow, as much as possible. Some of
the traps we would drive crotched stakes and lay poles in them and
then cover with hemlock boughs to keep the snow off.
After we had several lines of marten traps built, we went onto the
stream and branches and built deadfalls for mink and coon.
Nearly every day we saw deer, but the weather was still too warm to
keep venison any length of time, so we did not carry our guns with
us. When Frank would see a deer he would make grave threats that he
would carry his gun the next day. We were about two miles from the
stage road. The stage made only one trip a week, so there was no way
of disposing of a deer as long as the weather was so warm. It took
but little persuasion to convince Frank that it would be poor policy
to kill deer as long as we could make use of but a small part of a
single deer.
After we had gotten out a good line of deadfalls for marten, mink and
coon, and as it was now about the first of November and time to bait
up the deadfalls, and set out what steel traps we had for fox, I told
Frank that we would carry our guns with us and try to kill a deer for
bait and camp use. Frank could hardly sleep that night; he was so
delighted to think that the time had come to quit the monkey
business, as he called it, and begin business.
We climbed the ridge where we knew there were some deer, following
down the ridge, one on each side, along the brow of the hill. We put
in the entire day without getting a shot at a deer. That night it
snowed about an inch, so that in the wooded timber, one could see the
trail of the deer in the snow; but in hemlock timber there was not
enough snow on the ground, so a track could be followed. We had
killed a squirrel or two, and had a little prepared bait, so we
concluded to bait a few traps until we struck a deer trail.
We did not succeed in finding the tracks of any deer until well along
in the afternoon. It so happened that I got a shot at a deer that was
nearly hidden from sight behind a large tree. I shot the deer
through, just forward of the hips. We followed it only a short
distance when we found the bed of the deer, and there was blood in
it, so it was plain to be seen in what manner the deer was wounded.
All still-hunters (excuse the word still-hunt; the word stalking does
not sound good to a backwoodsman) of deer know that when a deer is
shot well back through the small intestines, that if conditions will
allow, the right thing to do is to leave the trail for a time and the
deer will lie down. If left alone for an hour or two the hunter will
have but little trouble in getting his deer. So in this case, as we
were not far from camp and it was nearly sundown, I told Frank that
we had better let the deer go until morning, when we would have more
daylight ahead of us, and we would get the deer with less trouble.
We started for camp and had gone only a short distance when Frank
said he would work along the ridge a little and see if he could not
kill a partridge.
[Illustration: FOOT OF TREE SET.]
I went on to camp and when dark came I couldn't see nor hear anything
of Frank. I ate my supper, and as I could get no word from Frank
either by shouting or firing my gun, I climbed to the top of the
ridge so I could be heard for a greater distance, but still I could
get no answer. It had turned warmer and what little snow was on the
ground had melted. I could not follow his trail in the dark, so went
back to camp and built a good big fire outside of the camp in case
Frank should come in sight, he might see the light and come in. At
intervals of half an hour, I would call as loud as I could. I kept
this up until midnight, when I lay down to get a little sleep,
knowing that I could not help matters by staying up.
At daylight the next morning I was on the ridge at the place where I
last saw Frank, and by close watch managed to follow his trail while
he was in the hardwood timber, where there was a heavy fall of
leaves; but when he struck into the heavy hemlock timber, I could no
longer track him. However, I had tracked him sufficiently far enough
to see that he had gone back to look for the wounded deer. I made
tracks in the direction I expected the wounded deer would be likely
to lie down. After some searching I found the bed of the deer, also
tracks of a man, which I knew to be Frank. But I could only follow
the trail a short distance from where he had driven the deer out of
its bed. There were plenty of deer tracks all around, but knowing
that the wounded deer would naturally work down the draw, I worked my
way along the hollow, keeping a close lookout for any signs of the
wounded deer that I might chance to cross. At different times, I
found a few drops of blood, but no signs of Frank.
I had worked down the hollow some ways, when I ran onto the wounded
deer; it staggered to its feet, but was too near gone to keep its
feet. I finished it by shooting it in its head. I removed the
entrails as quickly as I could, bent down a sapling and hung the deer
up, and then made tracks down the stream the best I could shouting
and occasionally firing off my gun.
We were in a big wilderness. No roads or inhabitants west of us for
many miles, and this was the course I feared Frank was most likely to
take.
I now began to think that I had a serious job on hands. I kept up the
search all day without getting the least trace of Frank and returned
to camp late that night.
Starting early the next morning, and taking a good lunch with me, I
crossed the head of Winfall Run and over the divide onto the waters
of the Hamersley, continuing to shout and occasionally firing my gun.
I had worked down the run some six or eight miles, when I heard some
one hollow two or three times in quick succession. I was quite
positive it was Frank. It was miles from any inhabitants in a dense
wilderness, and hunters were not common on those parts in those days.
I immediately answered the call, and soon I could hear Frank coming
down the hill at breakneck speed, giving tongue at every jump.
We at once started for camp, Frank eating the lunch I had brought in
my knapsack, and telling of his trials, as we made tracks the best we
were able to for camp. Frank, in telling his story, would cry like a
baby, and then laugh like a boy with a pair of new boots. But he cut
no more boy tricks.
We finished the season's hunt, catching a goodly bunch of fox,
marten, mink and coon, as well as killing a good bunch of deer. Had
fur and venison brought as much in those days, as at the present
time, we would have bought an automobile, and put an end to this
hoofing it.