When Times were Tough

After the last go round with Ben Widrick, set me to think'n about one of his trapping endeavors.

Back in the late thirties times were still tough and a dollar looked like a dinner plate. Uncle George and my dad were trapping beyond Bennies line but their paths crossed sometimes. Beaver was worth a dollar an inch and you were only allowed four per trapper.

Anyway, to measure a beaver you stretched the hide almost round, measured nose to tail and side to side. A big beaver might measure 70 to 75 inches thus you'd get over $70 for the whole hide. Big money in those days.

Anyhow, at a place called Wolf Pond was a big beaver house and Dad decided they'd set a trap there on their way to their cabin. When lo and behold there was Bennie, naked as the day he entered this world and a big bonfire going.

As Uncle George and Dad observed this spectacle from cover of the woods, Bennie was hopping around on spruce boughs, his clothes on his pack, trap in hand and down through a large hole in the ice he splashed. Having calculated the entrance to the house, he figured he's set a trap right in that spot. It was illegal, of course, but Bennie never paid much attention to those little details.

Soon back up he came, took another breath and back down he went. Next time he emerged and clawed his way out with help of a long pole he could reach. Hopping over to his bonfire he dried himself off.

Dad and Uncle George faded off into the woods. Uncle told me many years later if he hadn't seen it with his own eyes he'd never believed it.

On that same pond many years later as a lad of 12, I caught my first beaver. It was a big'un, 74 inches. Of course, I didn't get a dollar an inch but I got $25. Uncle George had to skin it. I figured I was a real trapper now.

A couple of years later Uncle George went to war and Dad was snowshoeing head'n for their cabin. Topping a rise he leaned against a blow down and built a smoke. As he looked back down the trail, why, someone was following him. It was the game warden of course, who else would try and hide behind a tree.

Well sir, Dad picked up the pace and got to the river just before dark. It was March and the ice going out and no time to build a raft. Even if he did, he'd have the warden for a guest overnight. You didn't turn anyone away in those days.

The cabin was only half a mile away. When a huge chunk of ice came by, Dad leaped on and rode it to the bend on the other side. He leaped off and entered the woods waiting for the warden.

Soon he appeared and looking at Dads' snowshoe tracks entering the bank on the other side of the river threw his hands in the air. He said later he never figured it out but knew enough about Jean Terrillion that he would never be able to walk on water.

Eleven miles back to the car in the dark. Little did he know Dad didn't even have any traps set yet. Game wardens in those days had it tough.