Muskrat

This post needs a late pass from the hall supervisor, but regardless, here it is. We did not successfully harvest any beavers, but we did get a muskrat. It is possible that the beaver moved on from what looked like an active lodge. Muskrats seem to have filled the void where our friend from the nickel once played. There will be more lodges to try out though, in fact I stumbled upon one in the quarter section north of where I am living, I just need to try to get permission from the owner. This one is certainly active, so active in fact that the ice above a run was only an inch thick.

If all goes well I will get to try my hand at fleshing and tanning this month.

All Flesh is Grass

I recently finished reading a copy of The Broken Snare,the story of one man's deep end dive into the world of foothills ranching in the fifties. It follows the narrator's life from his escape to a romanticized world of simplicity and hard work, to the encroachment of mankind, progress, and it's quest for oil on the land that he worked so dearly to break and improve both for the benefit of his cattle and the surrounding wilderness. The man becomes heartbroken when he realizes that progress has no plan for him in its undertaking to subdue the natural world. He is eventually forced out and returns to the prairies, a broken man.

The intent of this post however is not a book review. I was particularly moved by one phrase the narrator kept repeating. "All flesh is grass." If you are not familiar, this is a passage from the old testament of Isaiah 40:6. Now I am not a christian man, but i do hold the belief that every religion may have something to offer if you look past its inherent flaw.

All flesh is grass, gives rise to the idea that man is simply transitory. He may be here now but he will not always be here. The grass however will. Nature will outlive us, just as it nourishes us and gives rise to our existence. Man is however often ignorant of this. The prevalent thought tends that we are the controllers of the world, that nature will crumble under our iron fist. Our plows and sheers are the creators of grain for the people of the world, but the real fact is that these same devices will reek havoc if allowed to function unchecked as commander rather than coworker. The rancher was able to recognize his place within the ecology of his land, and because of this, he watched over it, and took care of it, reveling in all its glory. It is an important lesson. Nature is here for us, but we also have to be here for nature.

Beaver

Yesterday after classes we went out to set some beaver traps. We ended up finding two runs leading away from a single lodge. To find the runs you drill holes with an ice auger until you find a spot in the water that is significantly deeper than the sorrounding area. This run is like a beaver highway, going from their lodge to thier food pile about 5 feet out from the lodge. You then slip a conibear trap into the run, fastened to a spruce stick, and wait. We are venturing out to the tundra once again this afternoon. Perhaps I will be munching on a beaver burger 8 hours from now. Hopefully!

warm winter breeze

It is nice that the cold snap is over and I can sense that a warm winter breeze from the west is starting its migration. I have been doing a lot of snowshoeing lately. Much more fun then skiing because you can go where ever you want and essentially get lost looking to pot something for evenings dinner. Yesterday I managed to find a treat.

Today the wildlife teacher is taking out a handful of us to go do some trapping. I think we will be setting up some power snares for coyotes and there are also a couple beavers on Ducks Unlimited land that the organziation wants trapped, so we will be doing some underwater sets for that. Maybe we will put out some muscrat sets as well. I forgot my fucking camera today though, but I will be sure to remember it when we check on the traps later in the week.

A story for the ages.

This is an old story, but it is winter, and thus I have no new stories.

The year was 2007, or was it 2008? Anyway, it was a few years ago, when I was just a pup. I had just bought a canoe the winter before, with great plans to go adventuring that summer. I dipped the paddle a couple times in a safe environment that spring, but never for more than a couple hours. This was the sum of my canoeing experience. The sum of my map reading skills were also at zero and so was the sum of my compassing abilities.

So with this basket of knowledge, I tied up my canoe and asked my roommate to drive me up to Besnard lake. From here I would navigate to the Churchill, hang around on the province's mightiest river for a week looking at the rock paintings, and then navigate back down into Clam Lake. So I took to the wide open waters of Besnard, barely able to stay afloat by myself, let alone navigate my big red buddy. But it was not all bad news, while the first part of the trip took longer than expected, the scenery was impeccable and I eventually made my way to the outlet of Besnard Lake. Here I expected a nice little river to take me into the Churchill. This is when I wish I had gained some skills in map reading. sure there was a river, but it certainly was not navigable for someone like me. Instead I faced a daunting, damn near 2km portage with a heavy canoe and a load of gear....alone. The next day though was not so bad. I woke up to a group of territorial hissing otters trying to scare me off their island. These furious beasts had no fear of me as they tried to frighten me out of their home.

So I spent the next week going around the Churchill looking at the paintings, doing some fishing, and just generally enjoying myself. I launched my first ever set of rapids, and got to view some other sets that I would not ever dare to challenge. I eventually neared the part of the trip where I would find the portage into a set of lakes that would take me into Clam. As my luck would have it (or more accurately, my lack of map reading skills), I could not find it. Just as I lost all hope of ever seeing the urban world again, I floated over to a set of rapids to do some fishing before the evening wore on. Then out of the corner of my eye I saw an 18 foot aluminum boat bound over this set of rapids that would strike fear into even Satan himself. They floated over to me.... "Where is your queen,?" a couple of elderly Cree men ask. "She is not crazy enough to come with me," was the reply. We exchanged some more small talk. they asked where I was headed and then invited me to their camp for some fresh moose burgers where they would take a look at my map. How could I refuse? So we pull the canoe helplessly crossways on top of the boat and I am told to hang on. An eagle would have reckoned from above that we were a small aircraft trying to helplessly take off, we must have been a sight for sore eyes.

One pull and the motor is up and going. We veer forward and in the distance looms another set of rapids that dearly frightened me. But my main man on the rudder held no such fear. He knew where the rocks were, he has probably taken this route 300 times in his life. I was totally flabbergasted, never had I seen such skill.

As I write this, I am salivating over those tasty moose burgers, so on to the feast. It was amazing, they threw me a coke and all the hamburgers I could shake a stick at. I was saved, mentally and physically. After some lie swapping and tall tales from a man who had been living and trapping in the bush for 60 odd years we pulled out my maps. "Oh!," he says, "that's where your trying to go...the trail is my trap line, and it starts right outside my backdoor here."

I'm not sure if a stroke of luck has ever hit me so hard. I would have never found this place if I had not found them. Not only was my trip saved but I had one of my most memorable feasts of my life and met an individual that I will never forget. When things get you down, right down to the ground, just remember, and I know this is cliché, but the only way from there is up.