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Telling Tales Ladies, we all have stories about our trappers. Whether it's our dad, husband, brother, son, daughter, aunt/uncle, etc. Some stories are funny (after the aroma wears off) – some are about the first catch. All are stories that would make a great collection. So, in honor of our MTA 50th Anniversary, take a little time and write down your funny, or serious, or whatever, story. Send them to me and I will work to get them compiled. Kind of like a trapper's version of "you might know a trapper if". Let me hear from you. Thanks. Lynn Miller
Living the Trapline Seems like yesterday when I lived in the teepee down in Sugar Tree Hollow. It was 1984. I had been working at Marmacie, a small town in Stone County. The last few years my winters were spent in the woods and along the James River trapping. The fur and leather shop said they would buy my best fur if I tanned it. So everything from 'possums to foxes found their way into my traps. I took them to north Missouri to a little town called Santa Rosas to spend a week trapping and tanning 'coon hides. The tiny town had corn fields on three sides and a creek called Grindstone, running north and south on the east side. Raccoon Heaven – lots of water, lots of food, with woods and old houses to have their young in. The town is full of vacant houses that are falling down, so more homes. 'Coon trapper's paradise. (My family had five old house places.) I set two dozen number elevens and put little reflective tacks on stakes near so as to be able to find them in the dark. By the time I had the last one set, I had gotten so far from home, I decided to make camp and spend the night. I had a short trotline with me, six hooks, so I set it and found rocks for a fireplace. I had a trappers ax so I used it to build a lean-to and cut a pile of firewood from a tree that had blown down from some storm long ago. It got dark before I was finished so I built up the fire and finished by its light. I had an old canteen and canteen cup with me. So I boiled some creek water and went to check my fishing line. There were four mud cats about eight inches long, looked like litter mates. I cleaned them, cut the meat off, and put it in the boiling water. When it seemed cooked, I dumped in a little pill bottle of powered milk and made some fish chowder. Sat by the fire and daydreamed of a big fur check and finding a soft place to lay my head. Morning came. I broke camp and headed back south checking each trap as I went. Soon I had more coons than I could carry. Big corn fed ones. I saw a farmhouse across the way and I wondered if the people who lived there might want a fat 'coon to roast. I skinned the ones that I had gathered so far. One was a young female, fat, and sassy. I put her carcass in a white pillow case, I had in my coat pocket, and went to the farm house. I knocked and waited. A little silver-headed lady came to the door. She looked at me. I must have been a sight 'cause she stepped back and said, "So who are you, Davy Crocket?" I was wearing buckskins that had a lot of beadwork on the shirt. I told her that there was a fine fat raccoon in this here poke, I mean sack, and would she like to have it to roast for coming Sunday dinner? She laughed and said "And I suppose you want to come help eat it if'n I do?" I smiled and followed her to the kitchen where I pulled the coon from the pillow slip and put it on her counter. I said "It's a present," and went out the back door and off to the creek. I had a lot more traps to check and time was passing fast….. After checking three no. 11's, skinning two large ‘coons, and finding one set torn up, I saw some movement out of the corner of my eye. Something that looked about 40 lbs. was following me off to the side. When I stopped, it would stop. I thought it might be a small farm dog, so I set down and called "Come here fellow, come on." To my surprise, a big boar ‘coon came out of the bushes right toward me chattering, in a frantic way. He had a big leather collar around his neck with a brass name plate on it. Before I could get out of his way, he crawled right up on my lap, nuzzling my neck, like a long lost friend. I put my arms around him and gave him a big hug. A pang of loneliness ran through my heart, as just for a moment, I missed having someone or something in my life. When trapping season had started, I had abandoned everyone and everything close to me. The 14 ft. teepee had started out being my winter home. Then for a week or so an 8 X 10 cellar was my place for storage and a cedar post lean-to, my sleeping place. Another mile left to cover, then what? My mind was racing. What am I to do with this big pet ‘coon? When after letting me read his collar, he disengaged himself and left as suddenly as he had come. I finished the line about dark, started a fire in my fire pit, and piled on lots of small pieces of wood to build a big bed of hot coals. I had saved a bunch of ‘coon meat and after rolling the pieces in corn meal, I fried them in a mixture of rendered ‘coon fat and salt. I got the corn from along the side of one of the fields where they had spilled some in loading. I have a little coffee grinder that I take with me so I can use any corn or wheat I find along the way, so as I can stay out longer. When I got back to Santa Rosa. I cleaned out my fire pit and piled a bunch of dry kindling and four larger pieces of wood. I started the kindling and then started to work putting up the hides. I keep thinking about that big ‘coon with the collar. I wonder if he is the one who tore up that one set? And if he is, why not the rest of them? I remember, when I was a young man, a story about a ghost ‘coon. Over the years, people saw him only when they were in need of help or were lonely. Just could not get that ‘coon out of my mind. Morning came and after eating ‘coon stew and biscuits made in my dutch oven, I took off for Grindstone Creek and the little trap line. When I got to where the big ‘coon had come to me, I looked for a sign of him. I found nothing that pointed to him ever having been there. No tracks in the field, nor along the creek, that would belong to a ‘coon of that size. The trap that had been torn up had a big possum or grinner in it. I have been saving them and tanning them to make a sleeping cover. Catching, resetting, skinning, same over and over, the day went fast. Made it to my camp early and decided to walk over by Maddie Church to check the graveyard for my kinfolk. Saw lots of deer, turkey, and ‘coon sign, even a few howlers (coyotes). As I was leaving the graveyard a big bobcat walked across in front of me like I wasn't even there. It ‘paid me no never mind'. Maybe I need to make some land sets. That cat sure would make a nice hat (smile!). After seeing that bobcat by Maddy Church and daydreaming of a bobcat hat, I walked back to Santa Rosa past Paul Jeffery's house and stopped to visit. He is my kin. He has a blacksmith forge in a small shed. I use it from time-to-time to make tools. He told me I should set a line north of his house as the 'coons were really hard on his corn crop this year. I ran most of the way back to Santa Rosa, got my truck, and drove most of the night down Hwy. 13 to Stone County where I had two dozen No. 11's hanging in an out building. I had gone off and forgotten them when I came up. I made a pot of coffee and started right back for north Missouri. I had got as far as Lexington on the Missouri River. I was just too tired to go on. So, I crossed the bridge, pulled off, set a trotline in a slough there, and lay down in the truck seat to sleep. I woke up to the pounding of sleet on the roof. I pulled the trotline and, Wow!, six catfish and a drum. I put one catfish aside to eat and the rest in jars to make fish oil. I went on north to the next little town and stopped at the Casey's on the west side of 13 to get coffee and Long Johns. While I was inside, a lady told me someone was looking at my traps in the truck bed. I went out and found it was a young person with shoulder length brown hair, plaid shirt, and overalls. I could not tell right off if it was a boy or a girl. It did not take long to find out it was a girl. She said, "Are those your steel?" I nodded. "Do you want to sell any of them?" I was surprised at the question. Then she said, "My papa was a trapper." She reached for one with her bare hand and I stopped her. I said, "Please don't pick up one unless you use these gloves, they are ready to set on the 'line." I ended up giving her two No. 1's I had in a bucket and talking about an hour to instruct her on how to make a set. Then I watched while she made two sets on another slough, close to where she said she lived. I started to leave when she stopped me and asked if she could follow me on my line. It is hard to say no to someone who seems to really want to learn. So we pulled those two sets and went on down river to where she lived with her grandma. I was leery about taking a stranger (girl) on a 'line where I camped out at each end. So when we got to her grandmothers house I planned to ask her what she thought about it. Well, when we got there I was amazed. The house, if you could call it that, was what looked like an old brooder or chicken house that had drifted in there during the high water some time. It was tipped a little to one side and was one room about ten by twelve feet. A homemade stove was in the middle with a wood fire burning briskly. A three-inch stovepipe ran out a hole in the roof. There was what smelled like fish stew cooking on it. What looked like a very old lady (looked about 100) was stirring it. When we came in her face lit up and she asked, "Did you find anything to add?" The girl shook her head, but I said, "Yes, we did." I went out to get the catfish I had saved to eat. When I brought it in, the old lady was delighted. Well, you know I had a sack of homegrown corn meal and a bunch of 'coon meat in a poke (sack), so I went out and got it too. When the old lady saw it, she started to cry and kept saying over and over, "Bless you! Oh, bless you." Then she turned to the girl and said I told you to find us a good man and you did. "Halleluiah!" They had an old barrel turned on end for a table and a log to sit on. Right then I decided to take both of them with me. I asked the lady if she ever skinned a 'coon and laughing she said, "A million at least. My man was a trapper on the river." Big tears rose in her eyes and rolled down her cheeks and her voice broke in pain as she said, "The river took most of my family, all in one day. Then it got real mad and took our home too." She said, "We hain't got a thing in the world excepting each other and what's left of this here shack, that I used to keep my chickens in." Her voice did not sound near as old as she looked. It was cold outside and yet she didn't seem to be dressed for it. Turns out the two girls only had one coat between them. The young one had worn it to look for food. Driftwood was all they seemed to have and not much of that. It was small pieces that they had broken off with their hands. I had a chain saw with me so I went outside and looked for a downed tree I could cut the limbs off. In short order, I had a pile of wood cut and the gals were carrying it into the shack. I got a kettle of water again from my truck and put it on to boil. As soon as it started, I stirred in a bunch of cornmeal. It makes a mush. I had seasoning and a pound of real butter, so I added some of each and stirred until it got thick. I took it off the fire and set it aside. My doing this seemed to make the older lady mad. She proclaimed that she was the cook in this house and for me to stand down. I told her I was sorry, that I was so used to doing my own cooking. Then she pushed me towards the door and said, "Go find something to do, I will call you when it is ready." The girl followed me outside and asked me if I was a hunter too. I told her that trapping kept me in meat so I really had no need to even own a gun. Then I said, "Oh!" I could bow hunt deer and turkey. But being by myself, I did not bother as there was so much else to keep me busy. Time went by and I wanted to get on the road back north. It was sleeting and drizzling intermittently. I had studded tires so no big deal. I told the girl that I would like to take both her and her grandma with me if they would go. She looked at me with a strange look in her eyes, like all knowing, and then she said, "Pop was the boss and when he said do it, we all did it." I said, "All?" She said, "Yes. Mom, dad, granny, and me. I think if you would walk in there and said 'Woman, do you want to be my cook?', and if she said yes, just tell her to get her things into that truck cause we got a lot of miles to go. And I bet she will come right along." I thought, "What am I getting myself into?" But time was wasting, so I opened the door and walked into the room lit only by the fire in the open stove. The old girl was making corn fritters on the top of the stove and had quite a pile made up. She jumped up and said, "It's ready, let's eat." She dipped the first stew out with a tin can that had a bent lid, into three large sardine cans. She gave us each a tablespoon and a handful of fritters. We all set on the log and began to eat. By golly! She did know how to cook, not bad! I wondered where the 'coon meat was and I guessed she had saved it for tomorrow. We wolfed our food down. I licked my fingers and looked to see if there was any more corn fritters. A smile crossed her face. I thought now is the time to speak up, so I said, "Great, just real great. Now get your things together, we have a hundred miles to drive tonight." She got a full puzzled look on her face, then a big smile. Before she could say anything, I said, "You are my cook, right?" She nodded and started gathering up her makeshift cooking pots, muttering to herself, "Men, they are all alike; the way to their hearts is through their gut." I laughed and put her things in the back of the truck under my tarp. I put out the fire and we all climbed into the truck and headed for Santa Rosa. I had scraped the ice off the windshield and had the defroster running. The old Isuzu pickup gets thirty miles per gallon and has a bench seat so we all set and we could drive a long way on a tank of gas. It started snowing on us up around Hamilton, where I turned west to Cameron. I gassed up at Casey's just to keep the tank full and to let the gals have a bathroom break. The clerk stared at them, as they were poorly dressed, dirty, and looked like they just crawled out from under a rock. I felt sorry for them. While they were in the bathroom, I told the clerk that they were flood victims. She said, "Oh, poor dears!" and went right to the telephone. She called someone who came right over. Two ladies who offered to take them home with them so they could clean up and said their church had clothes to give people in need. I moved my truck away from the gas pumps and got a cup of coffee and a long john. The clerk told me not to worry that my wife and daughter would be back in a while. I guess I did not look so great myself, as a man showed up and invited me to his house to take a shower and get my clothes washed. So I went. What the heck, sure could use a shower. He turned me over to his chubby little wife who sent me to the shower and took my clothes. Someone handed me a bathrobe, which I put on and came out. The lady was on the phone to where ever the gals were. It seemed they were being outfitted with everything they needed. Time went fast and it was almost 10 PM. I was getting concerned. When the lady gave me back my clothes, which were now clean. She told me the gals were on their way over. When they walked in, I was mesmerized. The old one looked three shades lighter and her hair blazed with bits of gray. She looked about fifty and quite attractive. The younger one looked much older than she had in the overalls. Both of them had everything a lady should have and in the right amount. It's funny; we all were self-conscious now. When we were dirty, like the grapes of wrath, we were all at ease with each other. Who can figure? (to be continued...)
Trapping the Devil Now I lay me down to sleep I wonder if I set some traps I'm going to need some bigger traps I guess I'd have the braggin' rights I'd jerk the hide off that old brute Alas I'm only dreaming It's not that I'm a coward I'll put my cash on Jesus ---- |
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