Living on the Edge
I have, through out the many years enjoyed lots of great adventures in the great outdoors. What I'm about to relate are all true tales of my quest for fur and fun. I hope you enjoy reading them.
Don't Worry, He'll Play Possum
When I was a teenager my younger brother and I were walking home at night. We cut through an open field and ran across a possum. Not by any means a large possum, only a little 5 or 6 pounder.
It was a cool Fall night and the pelt was worth some money. Being in a open field I had to run back to the woodline for a stick to properly dispatch the animal with. As I ran off, I told my younger brother to go up and kick it and it will play possum. Playing possum is when the animal feels it is in mortal danger and it will play dead. The animal actually slows it heart beat down and appears not to be breathing.
My younger brother was always impressed by my vast outdoor knowledge. He ran up to it believing what I said was true and kicked the possum. The theory must be true you know, the old timers have told me my whole life. Well, guess what the possum didn't do?
How did you guess ?
My brother kicked him a good one and the possum took a roll and came up a fighting. No, the possum is not known for his fierce fighting skills. But, didn't here to tell you he is no slouch either. So, I grabbed a stick and came running back, just in time to see my brother running toward me. Right behind him is this little possum, all teeth and coming up quick. I dispatched the animal with one blow to the head. Adrenaline is amazing stuff. For some reason to this day, 20 some odd years later my brother still talks about not listening to me for some reason.
Muskrat Playing Possum
Back about the same time of the now famous possum incident this happened. I was running muskrat traps along a small stream and had made a log set for muskrats. The set is where the muskrats climb up on a log to eat. So, I set a trap there and used some lure and was catching a muskrat a night for 3 nights in a row. The only problem was the set was off a steep short bank. The creek was over my hip boots and I walked the bank, then would climb down the steep bank to retrieve the muskrat and re-set the trap.
This time the muskrat was not drowned and out of sight. No, it was laying on the surface with it’s head under water. A friend was with me. I said, "I'll the grab the m’rat and you go check the next trap." I climbed down the steep bank and stepped in the water. The whole time the muskrat has not even wiggled one tiny bit. I stepped out in the water and reached down for the tail. I remember thinking why isn't this muskrat drowned in deep water ? When my hand wrapped around the tail and I gave a pull the strangest thing happened. The dead muskrat moved like grease lighting. I mean this old male thought it’s sole purpose in life was to bite me 200 times in a minute. Muskrats have long teeth, two upper and two lowers. The lower ones are about 2 inches long.
isn't here to tell you that when this enlightening experience happens to you, where you can't run, it help you to understand what the survival instinct of flight or fight really means. I looked for a stick to defend myself with. The only one I saw was one sticking out of the water. I grabbed hold and yank it out of the mud and ended this dispute quickly. Then my friend, hearing the whole ruckus came running back and pointed out that the stick I pulled out was the trap stake. I had pulled it out so quickly the trap ring had fallen off and the muskrat was free to swim off with the the trap. He probably would have made it too, if he had not been so insistent on biting me. The little muskrat is not afraid to fight. He may be little, but he is mean.
A Dog and a Red Fox
When I was growing up I had a dog name Tiny. True to his name he was only 11 inches at the shoulder, weighed about 15 pounds. He was half Beagle and half Dashound. This dog did not know the word fear. He would take on anything. During pheasant season one year my dad and brother and myself worked a cornfield, then worked the woodlot looking for rabbits. In the woodlot a red fox came by my dad and he knocked it down with birdshot. The fox got back up and my dad yelled to me it was coming my way. I froze and waited. Soon this red fox was trotting by and at 20 yards I shot it. The fox went down and I ran up reloading along the way.
Just about then, Tiny shows up, seeing the fox get on his feet and charging me. I couldn't shoot because the little dog ran in to protect me. The fight was loud and fierce. The dog looked to be out matched as the fox was twice as long as him. The fight was a ball of movement, of red and black as the two fought it out. The dog would cry in pain when the fox was winning, then the fox would whelp in pain and growling, snarling to beat the band. What a sight ! My dad was yelling, shoot the fox. I was yelling, I cant, Ill hit the dog. Neither the fox or dog was giving an inch, this was a death fight where there would be only one winner.
The fox being larger, gained the advantage, it had my beloved dog on his back, working in for the killing bite to the throat. I knew I had to do something before I watched my beloved hunting pal die before my eyes. I couldn't shoot. My dads yelling at me to kill the fox or the dog is going to die. So, I waded into the fight and kicked the fox as hard as I could. The fox flew a few feet away and landed on his feet, the dog was up and the fight continued. I could see the dog was hurt and getting tired, but would not give up the fight.
My dads still yelling as he ran through the woods. The blood and fur was flying and the dog was losing. The fox pinned him down again and I decided it was time to end this. I waded into the fight again and kicked the fox off the dog and before he hit the ground shot him in the throat with a 20 gauge single shot. This time the fox was dead. Tiny ran up and grabbed the fox by the throat and shook him until he was convinced the fox was dead.
That was one of the most spectacular animal fights I have ever witnessed. Tiny and I had many adventures when I was growing up. The dog was unreal. He lost part of one ear in a coon fight. Was shot with a .22 rifle by some jerk. Climbed down possum dens and fought it out with the possums. He would kill the possums and haul them to the top for me. Caught the largest pheasant I have ever seen without a shot fired. Hunted rabbits until you shot them. I miss him, his dedication and loyalty has never been replaced in any of my other dogs. This is a tribute to my beloved hunting companion, Tiny.
Bobcat Trapping up Close
I was running fox traps one year and was having a typical day with a couple of fox and coons in the back of the truck. I pulled up to a farm and was walking out to check my set. I was using drags to get away from a theft problem I was having from spotlighters driving around and stealing the animals in my traps. These people are typical in some areas. No job, living in a dump, kids running around and welfare supporting them. They are some of the best poachers in the area. Some areas of the country they call them shiners, spotlighters, jack lighting, and assorted other names. I call them scum bags.
They drive on private property, drive over the farmers fields, shine deer and shoot them by the truck full. Plus, steal from trappers. As they are out looking for deer with their spotlights they will come across my foxes, coyotes, and coons in traps. Then, I find the trap circle made by an animal and the area looks torn up and an empty trap with a pile of blood where they shot them. You can tell when it is poachers, because they don't steal the traps and they shoot the animal with a .22. A shotgun shot animal leaves a larger blood spot. The poachers know that the trappers are sick of being stole from and have marked their traps with weldings and other tricks. Then the trappers show the game warden, so if the scum bags rip off the trap tag, the trap can still be ID in the field. Once the poachers know this, they stop stealing the traps. But not the animals.
I was sick of doing all the work while these leeches were stealing my catch. So, I switched to drags. This works good because the animal goes into bushes and is out of sight and the poachers miss them . Not all, they still find some, but I bring home more fur then when I staked the traps solid. So, this one morning I came up to farm to check the trap and the drag was gone. It was raining lightly, it was a cool day. The woods smelled of Fall. A friend was with me. The drag was gone. There was a faint trail going into some brush, about 20 yards from the trap. I walked in and saw where the area was all torn up. But no animal. I looked carefully and could just make out where the animal pulled through to a dirt road. We spilt up and I allowed the other guy to take the .22 rifle. He took one side of the road about 20 yard in and I took the other side. The rain had washed away any drag marks on the road.
About a 100 yards from the set. I heard this noise and saw this animal jumping like mad trying to get out of the trap. At first with the brownish skin, I thought it was a coyote. Because it was so tall. Then it stopped fighting the trap, flattened its ears and let out a blood curling scream at me, that I will never forget. He was only 20 feet away. This bobcat was not afraid of me at all. So, he decide it was time to fight. Me not having the gun decided it was time for some help. I yelled, Bring the gun. The cat thought this was a challenge, now remember, he is on a drag with 6 feet of chain between me and him. He turns toward me and charges. I'm yelling, Bring the gun. The bobcat is snarling and screaming and I'm wondering if the drag is going to pop off. The drag stopped the cat, but he kept growling deeply at me. The other guy came up and I said, shoot him, now. The shot end this quickly. The bobcat weighed in at 31 pounds.
A Fisher in the Dark
For those of you not familiar with the fisher. It is in the same family as a mink. The females are about 6 to 8 pounds and the males are 12 to 15 lbs. After releasing several of these animals, I started calling them Tasmanian Devils. I mean they are hyper, strong, and just go wild when you try to take them out of a trap. The females are not too bad, you can cut a forked stick, hold their head down and release the trap and the animal is gone in a flash. The males on the other hand want to kill you from the start. I mean, I have had them pop their heads out of the forked stick and just chew their way up the stick, like corn on the cob. I let one male go and he chased me back to the truck.
I have a great respect for these animals. So, I wised up and bought a release pole. That way when I run my traps in the dark, for fox before I go to work, I can easily release the animal. So one morning I'm checking traps and have this big male fisher in the trap. I mean, big, close to 20 lbs. Of course, my flashlight died when I was checking the last trap, so, I could just barely see in the early pre-dawn hour. I placed the release noose over his neck, tightened it down and put the animal to the ground. Much better I thought. I stepped on the release pole and grabbed the trap lever and popped his foot out. Well, if I had a flashlight with me, I probably would have seen that the release noose wasn't all the way around his neck. Anyway, the strangest thing happened. When his foot pop out so did his head.
He grabbed a hold of my pant leg and started to climb and bite his way up my leg. Now, all I can see is a super hyper dark animal growling, biting, snarling up my leg. I kicked out as hard as I could. The fisher had his teeth dug into my pant leg and when my leg came back so did he. Real panic set in. I think I kicked with other foot hitting the Tasmanian Devil in the head and then kicked out with the other foot. Old Taz went a flying. He hit the ground at a dead run, straight back for me. If I would have had a gun, I would have shot him on the spot. But no gun, I ran for the truck.
Making it to the truck just before Taz, I leaped on the hood. He circled to the other side and I jumped in the truck, slamming the door. Poor defenseless animals, does not apply to fishers !!!
So when someone says, Its not a job, but an adventure, ask them if they trap. If their answer is yes, now you understand, if the answer is no, then tell them they should start and see real adventure up close.
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