Trapper Builds Himself A Camp
by Walter Arnold (from the March 1964 Maine Trapper)
I had come to realize that in order to really cover a certain section of my trap line, I needed some sort of a place to get into and spend a night now and then. So, last spring I go to work. I select a spot close to a mess of blowdowns. Peel some with my axe, also cut some green popple in a clearing out near the camp grounds and peel those. I start logging up a camp, 7' x 9' inside. Going over a day or so, now and then, I finnally had it logged up.
Not far away was the remains of a lumber camp built nearly 60 years ago. Only a few boards left, sound enough for my little floor. I scraped moss off the boards, some that would scarcely hold together and covered the roof. In laying the floor, I left open a place in one corner, about 2 1/2 feet wide and 3 1/2 feet long. This hole was filled with sand.
I found an old washboiler that had lain in the woods 50 years or more. They made things solid in those days. I cut a good sized hole in one end and through the bottom, on the back end, fixed a hole onto which will fit a 4 inch stove pipe with damper. The boiler sits bottom up on the sand and makes a stove that heats the camp in no time flat. Plenty of room to cook on too.
A piece of sheet iron placed against the fuel hole for a door, held in place with a brick. A bough bunk for two runs across the back end of the camp and high enought so packbaskets, lots of wood and other junk can be stored under the bed. Balsam boughs smell good too.
I carry in a sound board 15 inches wide and 6 feet long, which I fasten up against the wall and reaches to the head of the bed, for a table, water bench, etc
I guess the reader can see there is not much open floor space left to hold country dances, so I have gave up that idea - no dances.
I soon learned that it was located on a game run. One day while working, a big cow moose came strolling down through, very close to me. Another day I looked up and on the hill was a bear with two cubs, taking their time, down through and crossed within 100 feet of me. Later on, a big bull moose came up one day, hung around for a half hour, sometimes within 40 feet of me. I think he was checking the joint over, thinking of yarding in it this winter. However, I had similar plans so he gave up the idea nd slowly left.
Another tme, a friend was with me and we were talking when we saw two deer up on the bank watching us. There are always fresh tracks of something around there. I have built many camps but don't know when I ever built and had onte that I have had the fun with and enjoyed as much as this little 7x9 affair.
After the camp was completed, our mutual friend and good member of MTA Erlon Gill, came up for a visit. I took him over for a day and he too loved the little home.
I have a good spring nearby. A small wood shed was built across the back end of the Hotel and oh yes, I found rotten boards enough to build a small bathroom nearby. A tall man could not stand up in it and I am sure a big round person never would get in it anyhow. Even I have to sort of back into it and into position, and it it is raining, sit up straight or the rain comes down your neck.
My Tribute to Norm Gray
by Lou Gagnon (from the July 1997 Maine Trapper)
I remember the nervousness as I dialed the phone. I was a greenhorn trapper and I wanted to learn how to beaver trap. I had been told by many that he was the best there was and my hopes were running high. I can still remember the disappointment I felt when he told me that he and his son had made extensive plans to trap together that winter. When he told me that he would call me and I could tag along with them sometime I said it would be great but I doubted that the call would ever come.
In about an hour the phone rang and it was him. I didn't hear much after he asked me if I would be interested in trapping with him that coming fall as partners. "I think there might be some things I can show ya", he said. I could hardly contain my excitement. How could I have ever known what was about to happen in my life. In 34 years of living, no single person has ever had the impact on my life that Norm Gray had.
Our relationship which started out as teacher-pupil quickly turned to a deeper friendship than I have ever experienced in my life. He enjoyed teaching me and I felt so proud when I did it right because I know it pleased him. "Don't try to teach the animals," he would say. "Let them teach you." Through hours upon hours spent together in the woods and fields and back roads and waters of this land, Norm shared with me a lifetime of knowledge and love for the wildlife and the land about us. Every knoll, every brook, every back road, every corner, every field, held an adventure from days past and I spent joyful hours listening to this man's vast wealth of experiences. He never repeated the same story twice. Every animal and tree and stream was it's own personal memory. I was to learn that that was the kind of respect these things deserved--just one of many lessons Norm taught me. I felt privileged and awestruck at the same time. Books, professors, and universities could never teach the lessons of life I was learning from this man. I never realized what an important part of my life he was becoming.
As we roamed about together, we would constantly stop at some new field or brook or corner in the road; places that hadn't been visited in years yet never forgotten. A story would be told and after a few minutes of search, an old hole might be found still showing the signs of animal interest or perhaps a drag with several strands of long since rusted wire or even an old moss covered notch in a tree that had fallen over the years. With each discovery he would chuckle with joy and say "There are memories of Norm Gray scattered all over this land and you never know when you'll find one." I would often think that though there may be many men who know the woods and the animals that own them there are few that it can be said that the woods and the animals know in return. Norm Gray was one such man.
There is a special bond that grows between men who share the woods and fields and streams. it can't be described nor reproduced. It just happens. Though rarely and perhaps never expressed in words, it manifests itself and is recognized in those short moments when eyes meet and silently say thank you. Thanks Norm for your willingness to share your lifetime of knowledge with me. Thanks for accepting me for what I was. Thanks for showing me the world of the whitetail and the moose, the bear and the bobcat, the otter and the beaver, the mink and the muskrat, the fox and the coyote, and the coon and the fisher. Thanks for caring. Thanks for being you .... and most of all, thanks for being my friend.
There are times when I think this emptiness is about to overcome me. I wonder who will fill the void ... and then I realize that there is no one who can because you were a once in a lifetime type of person. I can only be thankful for the time we did have though it seems so short now. in all the time I spent with you, you never said "Good-bye" once. There was never time for that with a new day and new adventures just waiting to be experienced. And even now there can be no "Goodbyes...... for just like the woods and fields, there are memories of Norm Gray scattered throughout my very being and soul. I love you old friend ... and I miss you.
The Good Old Days
by Dan Glidden (from the July 2000 Maine Trapper)
Many years ago, I ran a beaver trap line in northwestern Maine, 40 miles from then nearest town. I was running this line in January, and it was common for morning temperatures to be -20º to -38º. My transportation was an old squareback Volkswagen with no heater. While driving, the windows had to be rolled down to keep the windows, and more importantly the windshield, from frosting up. But when it did, I would simply reach up over the dash and scrape furiously as I drove along.
Poor equipment and little money never dampened my enthusiasm for being a trapper. I never felt as though I was trapping with a handicap. Isn't it great that youth is such a great equalizer? (Or is it just that ignorance is bliss?)
Thinking back to those 'Good Old Days' makes me smile. I picture that skinny kid dressed in a snowsuit with the hood up driving with chopper mitts on. That old Volkswagen was a freezer, but it could go with the best 4-wheel drives in northern Maine. I'm sure the older trappers and lumbermen had many a laugh at my expense. That's OK my beaver catch was above average.
