fur trapping and it's etiquette

i don't see as many people out trapping as i use to. it's much hard work and some are just not good or lucky with it. times have changed to be able to make a living trapping but there's still a need for local material to make the winter gear essential in the north.

seems the few i meet who are trapping are white newcomers. maybe wanting to try this lifestyle. part of the Alaskan experience. i don't know their motivations. nevertheless, having fur stretched and drying in your home is a very attractive activity for those making a life in village Alaska.
because of the need for fur sewing materials i think there will always be a place for trapping in Alaska.

when i was a young man  in my 20's it was one way to make a winter living, feed my family, and keep in tune with the country around me. there was never a dull moment on the homestead.

it wasn't uncommon to have the living room filled with stretchers and skins in various states of care. some with skin side out to dry, others turned with the fur side out to finish. some skins my wife at the time and mother would pick out to keep but most are generally graded, strung together, stored hanging in the porch or cache.

trapping starts in the first part of November and ends last week of February. after which it's time to snare beaver all march. some trap longer but risk rubbed fur, which has lost it's guard hairs. conversely trying to stretch the season by getting an early start has little advantage. it brings you fur that have not developed guard hairs. a good trapper needs a cold fall and winter to have quality fur. an early start might involve breaking the needed trail, setting up a canvas wall tent and stove at the end of your line, and a serious examination of the country intended for harvest. other preparation work may be in order depending on the trapper.

after a 4 month season working a line of 100 martin pole sets, 3 or 4 dozen fox, wolf, wolverine, and lynx house sets. it's time to snare beaver.

the first thing i would do when coming upon a beaver house is to count the number of blankets, medium & super blankets, and little ones in there. important to know so that one can pull the set and avoid over trapping. counting comes mostly from experience and a good understanding of the beaver family. size of the house and feed pile are the only clues needed to get a fairly good count, but if there's any doubt and your luck seems to drop off, then pull the set and leave the house for a year or two. a beaver line could be made up of as few as 2-3 houses close to home for food. or a dozen houses along a 40-50 mile line for fur. it is alot of work spearing good straight holes in the ice, skinning and stretching beaver pelts round and clean. a trapper can spend the entire evening skinning and stretching the prior day's catch.

when traveling and setting a line an active trapper may come upon the trail of another trapper. the proper protocol is to turn around  and go another direction. to the next valley, ridge, or lake. never ever cross another trapper's trail. even if it's just to turn around. crossing another's trail is like standing in someone's face saying "i'm here. whatcha going to do about it?" i'd always know which families trapped what areas, but even if i didn't know who is in the area, i would sometimes stop make a fire and wait if there's enough daylight to get my own work done. try to have a little lunch of tea and salmon strips ready. if no one comes i cut a little more wood to leave  for my neighbor trapper to come along see all my movement, and make his own tea on his next ride through. that way there's no mistake i respected his country and he will not cross my trail. the white people who don't know these things just run over everything, stomp on toes and then go home and complain that someone is in their country, having no clue who's country they were in to begin with. nothing more to say on this matter.

trapping areas are kept by families for many years. i trapped the area around mosquito dome, swinging dome, saddle mountain, american creek, and the head of the iditarod river. all east of holy cross and south of flat. a good area on the divide between the yukon and kuskokwim rivers. an area trapped by my father, his father and grandfather. ocasionally i would come across an old house set for lynx. i would then stop have tea, chew a salmon strip. then make my own house set all the while looking around carefully for old sign on just what my grandpa was doing there exactly. was always happy to find old cuttings and maybe a fire site. good place to pray and be thankful, ask for luck.

twice a year i'd sell my fur. either in aniak or holy cross as the buyer came through on his rounds. several times he landed at my home on reindeer lake on skis. i would have already graded my fur and was ready with all the separate piles on a blanket on the living room floor. he would go through with his own grading. small, medium, large, dark, light, rubbed. eventually piles of fur would move back and forth as we agreed on a price. i knew what i wanted long before the buyer arrived. knowing from others the average market price. he landed his airplane, and now couldn't leave without fur.  i knew i had him as soon as the skis touched down.  he's loosing money if he takes off without fur. years later he told me he stopped for the food.
pushing notes across the table we eventually arrived at a price, might take a beaver or moose roast from mom. during my time a large dark martin would average $45-$60 each. a beaver super blanket might average $80, small $50. on a good season the total take might be $5,000. not much after paying for gas and supplies. but enough to raise a family. bring home food. and occasionally there's enough to fly one of us to aniak, bethel, or anchorage for a modest shopping spree for fresh vegetables and other treats.

i don't do these things anymore, primarily due to my brain injury. but also because fashions and prices have changed. people don't seem to know how to trap on a large scale anymore.  if i could, i would today be satisfied with a few dozen sets stretched across the lakes and countryside from my home to the head of the wood river, a 100 mile round trip is all i would need now. take an easy day to check and work. times have changed and this is good.  i'm positive  my old trapping country near reindeerlake is now restocked and as vibrant as it was during the time of my dad and his grandpa.
my traps still hang in bundles there today waiting for my return at key points in valleys and on ridges. now to be found by future trappers..maybe. some day i will talk with my kids and grandson with a map and show them exactly where the trail is and how to find the bundles hanging in the spruce. my blazes and marks were laid down to confuse any outsiders. but i'll tell the family how it works when the time is right. a little treasure map of sorts.

while working the line it's not uncommon to catch an occasional camp robber (grey jay) or squirrel. this is not good, except for bait. some times a weasel with a black tip tail is caught. although it causes your set to stop working for other larger animals, it is a sign of good luck and mom loved  keeping these.  eventually saving enough to make a hat or mittens for a child.  i'd come around the corner and there would sometimes be a weasel hanging from my pole set.  oh' i'd say, another one for mom!  rest of the line will be good.  more often than not, that day was always a good run.

a native hunt, not much of a gut pile when we're done

again i must use caution when talking of these things. a matter of luck.

each village has their own way. some things i was taught are not done the same here in nenana. so i will be talking mainly of my own experience. strict traditional rules from a lifetime of running the river.

whether with my dad or best friend, we never mention the name of the animal we're about to hunt.

as preparations are made to go out it is as if the animal can hear it's name. intellectually i know this is not physically possible. be that as it may, keeping silent has to do with the energy of your soul.

occasionally mom would ask us in code what we were about to do. knowing we're looking for moose, she would carefully ask, if we see a "black" animal, the bear, will we take it? it would be about this time when she would talk of upcoming plans or guests she has coming. that was how she told us what was needed. never talking about the hunt, never vocalizing any names, never saying exactly what she needed or wanted. the power of woman, 'nother blog.

mom would only know where we were going and when we might be back.

to help us get ready she would feed us a big meal. the animals know when you are hungry and will avoid you.

not being as traditional as mom, dad would be eager to get started. we'd talk of where we last saw sign and the type of country we were about to visit. maybe decide which points we would run. guns sighted in, we load our boat with a small lunch, tools, tarps, and containers for choice parts.

dad would matter of factly say exactly what we were going to do. depending on the time of year, a bear may not be wanted. or we'll take bulls of a certain age only. still he'd never call their name. the biggest horns are not desirable nor are some spike bulls. once these decisions are sorted out, we'd cast off and only speak in whispers or sign language after we are there and right in the thick of all the sign reading where everything is moving and generally see what's happening in our country. that's when the hunt really starts.

see a moose on the way? take it in the midst of much rushing around. a hurried but deliberate effort to grab a rifle, pick spot to drop animal, aim, and..

time seems to slow during this quiet rush. slow motion excitement. it's like hunter and hunted know the inevitability of the moment.

only a head shot is good, one bullet per customer. don't want to waste meat or ruin good parts. still moving and not going to get up? never shoot again, unless it's trying to stand. stay away from the legs and cut the jugular to bleed it out. the faster it drains and cools, the better taste. good time to stop right there and give a prayer of thanks.

should not start dressing it out till muscles stop and life is gone. make fire if necessary to wait. muscle should not quiver when cut, life is still present. makes the meat tough to rush this.

most of the time there is much more work in hunting a moose. on those river points where there are fresh tracks going in but nothing coming out, we would "run" the point. dad drops me off in the elbow of the bend, young legs. he then returns to the point, stops across the river where he can watch both beaches of the point. soon as i hear the motor stop, i walk into the brush and find it. occasionally drop it right there but most of the time it will come out from all the commotion. maybe even run deeper into the point to another lake or river bend. i follow to see what's happening then walk out, never chase. knowing the country we make our plan, reset then go get it.

once the moose is down the work really starts. and the talking and stories can swing into full speed. willows are laid out along the kill to keep everything clean. never use an axe or saw if there are teething children at home, to avoid splinters and other danger. everything that needs to be done can be accomplished with just a sharp knife and stone.

if you know where to cut each joint, rib, or connection you'd see that the moose is perfectly designed to come apart. even a small pocket knife can do this. a fancy hunting knife says more about the hunter than the job at hand. experienced hunters can dress out a kill in about 20-30 minutes. the gut pile is stretched out more or less as it's being removed. the lace or fat from around the stomach and intestines is removed in as large a piece as possible and hung to dry on surrounding willows or grass, whatever is handy and clean. good to chew while packing meat, loading the boat. the heart is split, opened up and laid out to drain. a dish pan is good for liver and kidneys since they will take a long time to drain.

favored parts saved, the intestine is stretched out and cut into manageable lengths. brought to the river, cleaned and turned. mom will later clean again, soak and stuff this to bake. makes a wonderful layer of moose fat around your scraps and ground meat. the head remains with it's horns and placed upside down so the tonge is easy to remove.

most families have their own preferences and ways. but in the end it's all the same. very little left for the camp robbers and magpies who have been sitting and waiting close by all along.

once our catch is home and hung to age. then we rest. tomorrow we skin, remove the tenderloin, trim head and neck if needed, sometimes add smoke. take care of our luck. mom's first breakfast was usually eggs, fried liver and onions, diced potato. oh the joy!

for those unfamiliar with this activity, i don't mean to make you squirm with blood and guts.

you don't like it? i don't care. this is our food fresh out of the garden and it was a garden of Eden till they paved Paradise to put up a parking lot.

great care is taken to do everything right on a hunt.

there are no trophy hunters here. taking a life is not something to brag about, to hang on your wall. native people relive the hunt through stories with young folk hanging on to each problem wind movement, cracked stick, and mosquito bite. that's how we "brag". a native man never says how good a hunter he is. by sharing his luck he lets other people talk big about him.

i hope I've done right here by the moose. guess I'll know next fall when i go out.

adapting this technology to my upbringing and beliefs is a steep learning curve for me and I'm a bit apprehensive.

maybe now outside hunters will care more for their meat by reading this. i don't like to see horns on top of a boat load of butchered, souring meat. makes me sad and mad.