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Small Beginnings
Lynx are fascinating animals. They have built-in snowshoes for traversing the North's deep snow drifts, they are rarely seen even by the most vigilant trappers, and their population follows the same roughly ten-year long cycle as their primary prey's-the snowshoe hare.
When Shane and I began trapping at ages 9 and 10, lynx weren't even on our radar of animals that we hoped to catch. Our first "trapline" was a red squirrel community about a three-minute walk from the family cabin. Armed with a dozen connibears that we had bought with our own hard-earned money and a small sleigh in which to carry them, we set up every trail, pinecone pile, and tunnel opening that we could find. We would wake up early, excited to run out and check our "trapline" each day. Some days when schoolwork was especially disinteresting (which was most days), we would check our traps two, or even three, times before nightfall. While those extra checks never gained us extra fur, they did get us out of school for a little bit, which to us was a great success.
From there, we expanded our trapline west, towards the old creek that ran through about a mile from the cabin. Having watched our dad set up lynx cubbies on the rest of the trapline, we were excited to do the same. This newly expanded stretch of line included squirrel sets, weasel sets, and a single lynx cubby (which we were sorely disappointed to learn later had been set up under the mistaken belief that the rabbit tracks we had found were really lynx tracks). While we never managed to catch a lynx that year, our end-of-the year fur cheque included a few new entries under the "species" tally, with the odd weasel and two flying squirrels supplementing our red squirrel collection for a total of $40.00.
With that money wisely invested back into more trapping equipment, the subsequent trapping season carried us even further afield. With squirrels more or less forgotten, we began to hike a few miles along the creek, generally collecting a weasel or two with every check of our traps. Our first tentative steps into the world of "grownup" trapping came the day we found our first mink tracks. Near an old, dry beaver house that we had crawled into and explored a few days before, a mink had taken up residence in the snow, digging tunnels through the drifts and dancing around the old beaver house. Excited by this discovery, we pulled a few of our weasel traps and set them for the mink. We were especially proud of one connibear we had set over the entrance to a tunnel, beautifully disguised by a bundle of grass.
We were so thrilled about this new development that we practically ran home to tell our parents about it. Our enthusiasm was slightly dampened when we arrived home and were informed by the neighbouring trapper, who had stopped by for coffee, that we would "never catch a mink in a set like that. You don't trap mink over tunnels." Of course, this seasoned trapper really did know what he was talking, as such a trap seldom works for mink. We were confident in our sets though (and perhaps a little naïve), so the next morning, we set off with high hopes.
It was a frigid morning and the sky hung heavy and low over us as we trudged through the snow. By the time we neared our mink set, we were straining our eyes through a snowstorm that had drawn a curtain of white across the willow flat before us. When we were still a hundred meters away, Shane grabbed my arm in excitement, pointing ahead to where something brown appeared to have moved. Our hearts in our throats, we crossed that final stretch of trail hoping desperately that we had not simply seen grass swaying in the breeze. Finally, we crested the top of the beaver house, and were met by the sight of a mink, caught only minutes before, in the very trap that we had been assured would never catch us anything. The resulting "whoop" probably scared every animal away for miles around, but we didn't care! We had caught our mink! This time we did run home and were met with equally enthusiastic "whoops" from our parents as we walked through the door, proudly displaying our latest achievement. Of course, when we proudly announced our success to our neighbour on his next coffee-visit, we were congratulated and simultaneously reminded that it was simply "beginner's luck."
From there, we continued to expand our trapline, learning how to trap from our Dad. The family success rate in lynx trapping grew each year, but for some reason, Shane and I were never able to catch our own, unaided lynx until our first full winter on our own trapline. There, using the tricks we had learned from Dad (and which are discussed in this video), we caught more lynx in one year than Dad had in the previous two years combined.
So, where are we going with this? Well, looking back, our trapping adventures were never focused on money or pushing for that next big catch. We were content to simply be outside, enjoying nature and avoiding school (which while tempting, should be practiced with caution; stay in school kids! It's worth it). When we were catching squirrels, we were thrilled with squirrels. When we were catching weasels, we were thrilled with weasels. When we caught a mink, we couldn't restrain our jubilation. And when we weren't catching anything, we were thrilled to be out, wandering the trails and exploring dry beaver houses. Trapping isn't just about catching animals, and it certainly isn't about money. It's about enjoying nature, honing skills, and once in a while, proving that "yes, it actually is possible to catch a mink in a tunnel."
Unfortunately though, it does not appear possible to catch a lynx using a Justin Beiber CD as an attractant.
When Shane and I began trapping at ages 9 and 10, lynx weren't even on our radar of animals that we hoped to catch. Our first "trapline" was a red squirrel community about a three-minute walk from the family cabin. Armed with a dozen connibears that we had bought with our own hard-earned money and a small sleigh in which to carry them, we set up every trail, pinecone pile, and tunnel opening that we could find. We would wake up early, excited to run out and check our "trapline" each day. Some days when schoolwork was especially disinteresting (which was most days), we would check our traps two, or even three, times before nightfall. While those extra checks never gained us extra fur, they did get us out of school for a little bit, which to us was a great success.
From there, we expanded our trapline west, towards the old creek that ran through about a mile from the cabin. Having watched our dad set up lynx cubbies on the rest of the trapline, we were excited to do the same. This newly expanded stretch of line included squirrel sets, weasel sets, and a single lynx cubby (which we were sorely disappointed to learn later had been set up under the mistaken belief that the rabbit tracks we had found were really lynx tracks). While we never managed to catch a lynx that year, our end-of-the year fur cheque included a few new entries under the "species" tally, with the odd weasel and two flying squirrels supplementing our red squirrel collection for a total of $40.00.
With that money wisely invested back into more trapping equipment, the subsequent trapping season carried us even further afield. With squirrels more or less forgotten, we began to hike a few miles along the creek, generally collecting a weasel or two with every check of our traps. Our first tentative steps into the world of "grownup" trapping came the day we found our first mink tracks. Near an old, dry beaver house that we had crawled into and explored a few days before, a mink had taken up residence in the snow, digging tunnels through the drifts and dancing around the old beaver house. Excited by this discovery, we pulled a few of our weasel traps and set them for the mink. We were especially proud of one connibear we had set over the entrance to a tunnel, beautifully disguised by a bundle of grass.
We were so thrilled about this new development that we practically ran home to tell our parents about it. Our enthusiasm was slightly dampened when we arrived home and were informed by the neighbouring trapper, who had stopped by for coffee, that we would "never catch a mink in a set like that. You don't trap mink over tunnels." Of course, this seasoned trapper really did know what he was talking, as such a trap seldom works for mink. We were confident in our sets though (and perhaps a little naïve), so the next morning, we set off with high hopes.
It was a frigid morning and the sky hung heavy and low over us as we trudged through the snow. By the time we neared our mink set, we were straining our eyes through a snowstorm that had drawn a curtain of white across the willow flat before us. When we were still a hundred meters away, Shane grabbed my arm in excitement, pointing ahead to where something brown appeared to have moved. Our hearts in our throats, we crossed that final stretch of trail hoping desperately that we had not simply seen grass swaying in the breeze. Finally, we crested the top of the beaver house, and were met by the sight of a mink, caught only minutes before, in the very trap that we had been assured would never catch us anything. The resulting "whoop" probably scared every animal away for miles around, but we didn't care! We had caught our mink! This time we did run home and were met with equally enthusiastic "whoops" from our parents as we walked through the door, proudly displaying our latest achievement. Of course, when we proudly announced our success to our neighbour on his next coffee-visit, we were congratulated and simultaneously reminded that it was simply "beginner's luck."
From there, we continued to expand our trapline, learning how to trap from our Dad. The family success rate in lynx trapping grew each year, but for some reason, Shane and I were never able to catch our own, unaided lynx until our first full winter on our own trapline. There, using the tricks we had learned from Dad (and which are discussed in this video), we caught more lynx in one year than Dad had in the previous two years combined.
So, where are we going with this? Well, looking back, our trapping adventures were never focused on money or pushing for that next big catch. We were content to simply be outside, enjoying nature and avoiding school (which while tempting, should be practiced with caution; stay in school kids! It's worth it). When we were catching squirrels, we were thrilled with squirrels. When we were catching weasels, we were thrilled with weasels. When we caught a mink, we couldn't restrain our jubilation. And when we weren't catching anything, we were thrilled to be out, wandering the trails and exploring dry beaver houses. Trapping isn't just about catching animals, and it certainly isn't about money. It's about enjoying nature, honing skills, and once in a while, proving that "yes, it actually is possible to catch a mink in a tunnel."
Unfortunately though, it does not appear possible to catch a lynx using a Justin Beiber CD as an attractant.