Jan. 4, 1896, J 
FOREST AND STREAM, 
8 
apring creek. He went into the creek, and came out of 
the creek, and crossed the creek, and traveled along the 
creek on top of the ice or underneath, just as he pleased. 
He met another otter, and they journeyed widely through 
the foreBt. He started off for the Wisconsin River, and 
then turned back and led straight away in the direction 
from which we had come. Seeing this, we abandoned 
him, and set on further into the wilderness, which now 
lay ahead of us— heavy thickets of tamarack, cedar and 
spruce, with boggy places showing springs near by. Joe 
still would not put out a trap. 
We found the Wisconsin River a small stream here, not 
over 40 to 60ft. in width, and crossed by a series of dams 
about two miles apart. We went up the river and found 
a big spring creek with plenty of otter sign along it. All 
along the main river, too, we found otter slides, and in 
several places saw their breathing holes. Joe said he had 
hardly ever seen a better chance for otter. He thought 
there were six or eight at least in the neighborhood, and 
that they had not been disturbed. And still I importuned 
him to put out traps; and still he wouldn't do it, but 
calmly wandered on, a little further and a little further, 
not in the least excited over the prospect which set me 
very much a-tingle with eagerness. For the small fry 
like lynx, fox and marten he had no eyes at all. I think 
Joe would rather trap otter than anything else. It brings 
more money than almost any thing else, and it takes fewer 
traps. And surely it is an interesting game to play at. 
An Artistic Otter Set. 
This, then, is what a good and wary old trapper does 
on going into a new country. He establishes his camp. 
He gets in his supplies. He studies his region carefully 
and thoroughly. Then he begins to put out his traps, not 
promiscuously, but sparingly, carefully. I shall not 
weary readers with descriptions of our several days of 
wanderings over that wilderness of swamps and forests 
while we were learning the Buckatabon country, but will 
tell the method employed by Joe Blair in setting an otter 
trap, which, as I first witnessed it, was one of the most 
interesting little operations I ever saw. 
We had seen some otter slides on the river near where 
our cat trapper was operating. At an open place in the 
river, where an otter had been going into the water, this 
man had set a trap, leaving the pole to which it was 
fastened sticking up by the bank. At seeing this, Joe 
gave a snort of professional contempt. 
"That fellow won't catch an otter in a hundred years," 
said he. "See how old that sign is? Well, all the otter 
had to do was to take a look at that pole planted there, 
and that satisfied him. He left for somewhere else, 
An otter can take a hint, I expect. Now, you come 
along with me and I'll show you how to set a trap 
right!" 
We went back down the river about three or four 
miles, away from the cat trapper's field, to a point we 
had noticed before, where a big spring emptied by a 
short channel into the river. The spring-hole was open 
for about 30ft. square, though it was very shallow. The 
little stream of water flowing from it was also open 
clear down to the edge of the ice on the river. In the 
angle formed by the river and the rivulet there was a 
big snowdrift, and down this, about 15ft. in length, an 
otter had indulged the odd fancy of his race, and laid 
him out a fine toboggan slide. The slide ended in the 
shallow open water of the little stream. Evidently the 
otter came out from under the ice of the river by way 
of this little warm water tunnel. He climbed up the 
ba.nk where the water was not a foot deep, and when 
lie got enough of sliding he went back the way he 
came, into the water of the river, where he no doubt 
did his day's work at fishing. 
The slide was perfectly fresh and plain, and it looked 
the easiest thing in the world to bury a trap in the 
snow on the slide, catch the otter, skin him and get 
$10 for him. So say the advices of some manuals. But 
Joe did not set his trap the way any book says it should 
be done. 
In the first place he never went near the spot where the 
otter was working. We laid off our packs 50yds. from 
the spring. Then Joe went 25yds. further yet into the 
woods to cut his poles— two of them, though I could not 
see why he needed two or why he went so far to get 
them. 
"You don't want any twigs, chips or choppings around 
where you're trying to catch an otter," said he. "He has 
the sharpest nose and eyes on earth. Always get your 
poles from a place out of sight and smell of the trap." 
But Joe had two poles, evidently. I was silent, but 
watched closely. He took one long pole, about 15ft. long, 
and standing away off from the spot began prodding 
around in the bottom of the spring rivulet. This I saw 
was to learn what kind of bottom it had, so he could tell 
how far he would have to drive down his trap stake. He 
thought it would have to go down about 5ft. in this soft 
mud before it would be firm enough to hold so strong an 
animal as an otter. 
Joe next went away from the hole and fixed his trap 
fast to the other pole. This he did by driving the ring up 
along the pole, from the small end, until the ring was 
jammed fast. This was; thanks to his judgment, about 
4}f t. from the small end. Then, to my great surprise and 
curiosity, he proceeded to cut with his axe, squarely 
across the pole, at a point about 2in. above where the 
ring was stopped. He didn't cut the pole off and he 
didn't leave it on, and I thought he must be crazy. But 
he didn't say anything, only just cut about one-third 
through on each side, and left one-third solid just above 
the ring of the chain. 
Joe now took both poles, and we went over to the otter 
slide. Handing me the cut one with the trap fastened to 
it, he took the other and began to stir around in the mud 
about a foot or two from the bottom of the slide, between 
the slide and the river. He made a nice bed for the trap 
in the bottom of the creek, where the water was only 
about 5in. deep. Into this bed he dropped the trap, hand- 
ling it all the time deftly, at the end of the pole, and 
settling it with the pole. He never got closer than 8 or 
10ft. of the water, but worked with the pole. 
Now I saw the reason of the cut in the trap pole. 
Standing off the full length of the pole, Joe drove down 
the sharpened end into the mud until the trap ring and 
part of the chain were sunk down with the descendin g pole, 
the mysterious cut place on the pole being thus about a 
foot below the bottom of the water. The sunken end of 
the pole was now quite firm. Still standing back 10ft. 
from the bank, Joe now worked the free end of pole 
back and forth. There was a submerged crack, and off 
broke the pole at that cut pla,ce, a foot below the water. 
So there was the trap held fast by an invisible post, hid- 
den entirely by a man who had never come within 10ft. 
of touching the post. 
This was pretty good, but it was not all. Joe carefully 
carried away his pieces of pole, and warning me not to 
expectorate anywhere near the trap, went away into the 
woods again. He came back with four long willow 
wands, a little thicker than a lead pencil. He leaned out 
and thrust one down into the mud at each corner of the 
trap. Then he worked them back and forth, and I per- 
ceived that eaeh bad been cut precisely like the trap pole, 
for each broke off just below the surface of the water this 
time, and about 2 or 3in. above the jaws of the trap. 
And again I wondered, for this I had read in no book. 
"Old Mr. Otter comes a-crawling and a-swimming along 
up this run, out from under the ice of the river. The run 
isn't going to freeze over, you see, so he comes here to 
play. He is bound to come through this narrow place 
where the trap is. He's half walking and half floating 
when he gets there, and he feels a little stick or snag sort 
of stick him on the breast, you see — one of these we've put 
up around the trap. When this stick touches him as he 
moves along, he just drops down a paw, instinctive-like, 
to get a foothold, so he brushes over the top of the stick 
which is in his way. He drops that foot down, of course, 
and pop! the trap's got him. An' then," said Joe, after 
a pause, "I guess they's goin' to be the biggest circus right 
here for a while there ever was in this spring hole." 
"Now, is your trap all done?" said Joe, after I had seen 
in my mind's eye the full meaning of this unique, crafty 
and deadly contrivance of the twigs. I told him I sup- 
posed it was. Joe snorted again. 
"You'd catch an otter in about a hundred years," said 
he. "It ain't near done." 
So now he took his long pole again and began very 
softly to stir about in the bottom of the run. There was 
OUR CAMP AT BUCKATABON LAKE. 
a lot of green, slimy moss along this spring water, and 
among this moss Joe stirred softly, not jabbing holes in 
the mud, and not tearing loose any large pieces of the 
mossy slime. He stirred softly, slowly, until some 
of the green stuff floated in the sluggish current, which 
was only a few inches deep. The current carried it 
down over the trap, and a touch of the pole draped 
each fresh-cut twig until it looked like a clot of 
slime. The chain disappeared. The trap disappeared. 
The outlines of the bottom of the tiny pool were as 
they had been. Not a splinter had been broken from 
the snow crust where it overhung the water. Not a foot- 
print was within two paces of the bank. Not a shaving, 
not a twig, not a scrap of tobacco or of pipe ashes was 
near. Not the least sign or scent of the human agency 
was at the water's edge. Apparently the calm of nature 
had not been disturbed in any way. Yet man, the cun- 
ningest and most tireless, the fiercest and most insatiate 
of all beasts of prey, had been there. I did not like to 
think of that bitter, solitary, hopeless struggle, out there 
in the winter wilderness, which all this meant — that 
struggle in which the jaws of steel would not relent nor 
relax, and which could end only in the death of a creature 
beautiful and cunning — too beautiful, but not cunning 
enough to live. 
But this was trapping. And though we read and travel 
much, you shall never see described and I shall never see 
executed, I am sure, a finer piece of trapper's art than 
this shallow-water otter set of Joe Blair's. It was suc- 
cessful. After I had returned to the city Joe wrote me 
that he had taken two otter. He also later trapped 
two bears. So it may be seen that our winter journey 
of exploration into the Buckatabon wilderness was not 
without results. 
Incident and Accident. 
We set only a few traps for otter during our stay, and 
did not put out any at the deep spring holes, such as are 
recommended by most of the authorities on trapping, Joe 
seeming to prefer the shallower creeks where the otters 
were at that time working. I recall that we put one 
trap right in the middle of an open reach of a little creek 
up and down which the otter were traveling quite often. 
This trap was set with the same carefulness that I have 
above described, its location being decided upon because 
there was a broken limb lying in the water there, around 
which the otter would crawl if he came through that 
way. No bait was used at any of the otter traps. I felt 
when I left that region that I knew something about 
trapping otter, and question whether one could well find 
a better teacher than Joe Blair. 
Nothing of great interest happened during our wander- 
ings through the region about Buckatabon, except that 
one day Joe broke through the ice on the Wisconsin River 
and fell in up to his waist. We were then about four miles 
from camp, and made a hurried march home, though 
fortunately it was not very cold that day. Joe was ot 
hurt by the accident and did not even freeze his toes. 
When we left our camp on Buckatabon Lake Joe made 
a cache of his tent, some of his blankets, and such of his 
stuff as he would not need to take along, hiding it out in 
the woods against his return. We therefore had a light 
load for our toboggan when we started for the railroad 
and made good time to the first lumber camp. Here we 
got dinner and left our toboggan, taking up our load in 
the form of packs so that we could travel faster. We 
were directed to a short cut through the woods to Laura 
Lake, but our directions proved as usual confusing, and we 
went astray. At 4 o'clock in the afternoon we were all 
at sea m the big pine woods, with night 
almost at hand. Joe could not tell on which 
side of Laura Lake we were, the east or the west 
side. In either case, if we went on north past the lake, 
we might walk forty miles before coming to any place or 
any trail. This bid fair to be interesting for awhile— lost 
in the wilderness and all that sort of thing — but it was 
only a promise. We kept on north by the compass, and 
at last crossed a trail which we took to be that running 
between Star Lake and Laura Lake. Hazarding a guess 
we kept to the right and soon saw we were correct, as we 
raised Laura Lake in half an hour. We had gone quite 
beyond it and walked about three times as far on our 
"short cut" as we would have walked had we come back 
the way we went in. We camped on Laura Lake again 
in our deserted summer resort, and here we were met by 
Mr. Saynor, the "kid," and the kid's dog sledge express. 
After that it was easy to get back to Star Lake the next 
day, and at that point I took the train for Woodruff and 
so home to stay, saying good-by to Joe and Mr. Saynor at 
Star Lake, where they separated to go to their homes on 
Big St. Germaine and Plum lakes. It is now nearly a 
year since I left them, but I hear from them once in 
awhile, and often wish I were up there again on the snow- 
shoes, breathing again the free air, enjoying again the 
free life of the followers of fur, and living in a "blanket 
camp" instead of a steam-heated house. 
The Value of Fur. 
Such are some of the methods of modern trappers. It 
will be noticed that in trapping, as in shooting, the gen- 
eral law of the day obtains — that of growing scarcity of 
the game and increasing difficulty in getting it in quanti- 
ties. Good trapping ground is hard to find to-day. The 
trappers will go almost anywhere to get at it. Frank 
Brandis had been all through the Rainy Lake region of 
Minnesota looking after fur country. Old man Buck had 
trapped one season in Arkansas. Joe Blair was thinking 
of going out to Washington to try it there. Not one of 
them, however, said anything about giving up the trap- 
per's life, and I presume all of them will follow the fur 
until it has grown still scarcer. 
My lady may well value her furs. They mean lifetimes 
spent in solitude and in persistent effort under the hardest 
of conditions. Is it any wonder we admire furs so pas- 
sionately? Is it wonder that when we see a handsome 
garment we fall to asking ourselves where the furs came 
from, how they were caught, who caught them and when? 
We admire these beautiful fabrics of nature because the 
look and the touch and the smell of them take us out of 
the houses and back into the wild free air again — back 
into that savagery of which we all have some left in us 
still, albeit embryonic or dwarfed or atrophied. I prefer 
to think we admire furs because through the touch, the 
look, the smell of them, we feel ourselves kin to the 
trapper, who is a man. ;r - 
Deadfalls and Wooden Traps. 
I have spoken heretofore of the use of steel traps in the 
pursuit of fur, but shall like to speak briefly on the mak- 
ing of a few of the wooden traps or deadfalls used by 
some trappers who do not have steel traps at hand. The 
deadfall has played quite a part in the capture of fur and 
can still upon occasion do so. Fpr instance, my trapper, 
Joe Blair, depends largely upon deadfalls in taking bears, 
and as I have above stated, took two bears by this means 
after I left him. We built one bear deadfall, and it may 
be of interest to mention the method of its construction 
when speaking of other wooden traps. E. Hough. 
909 Security Building, Chicago. 
A BEAR HUNT IN THE SIERRAS. 
A chapter from "Hunting in Many Lands," the second hook of the 
Boone and Crockett Club. 
A few years ago a friend and I were cruising for our 
amusement in California, with outfit of our own, consist- 
ing of three pack horses, two saddle animals, tent and 
camp furnishings. We had started from Los Angeles; 
had explored various out-of-the-way passes and valleys in 
the San Bernardino and San Rafael Mountains, taking 
care the while to keep our camp supplied with game; 
had killed deer and exceptionally fine antelope in the hills 
adjoining the Mojave Desert; had crossed the San Joa- 
quin Valley and visited the Yosemite, where the good 
fortune of finding the Half Dome, with the Anderson 
rope, carried away by ice, gave us the opportunity for 
one delicious climb in replacing it. 
Returning to Fresno, we had sold our ponies and ended 
our five months' jaunt. My friend had gone East, and I 
had accepted the invitation of a member of the Union 
Club in San Francisco, to whom I bore a letter of intro- 
duction, to accompany him upon a bear hunt in the 
Sierras. He explained to me that the limited extent of 
his ranch in the San Joaquin Valley — a meager and re- 
stricted demesne of only 7,000 acres, consisting of splen- 
did pasturage and arable land — made it necessary for the 
sheep to look elsewhere than at home for sustenance 
during the summer months. 
Many of the great ranches in the valley possessed pre- 
scriptive rights to pasturage over vast tracts in the high 
Sierras. These, although not recognized by the law, were 
at least ignored, and were sanctioned by custom. The 
land belonged to nobody— that is, it belonged to Uncle 
Sam, which, so far as a Texas or California stockman was 
concerned, amounted to exactly the same thing. The 
owner of such a right to pasturage zealously maintained 
hie claim; and if, for any reason, he could not use it him- 
self during a particular season, he formally gave his con- 
sent to some one else to enjoy the privilege in his stead. 
It was considered a gross violation of etiquette for a 
stockman to trespass upon that portion of the forest habit- 
ually used by other sheep. Such intrusions did occur, par- 
ticularly upon the part of Mexicans with small flocks — 
"tramp sheep" they were called; but when the intruder 
was shot, small sympathy accompanied him to the grave, 
and the deep damnation of his taking off, in more senses 
