536 
Forest and Stream 
TRAPPING THE THREE RIVER ZONE 
ACTUAL EXPERIENCES OF A TRAPPER DURING A PERIOD 
OF SEVERAL YEARS IN THE WILDS OF NORTHERN ALBERTA 
By RAYMOND THOMPSON 
A S I look back over the years I 
spent as a young lad I can see 
that I was truly destined to live 
the life I have led and I believe 
“There is a Destiny that shapes our 
ends, rough hew them how we may” ; 
today I am not ashamed to think that I 
have been, and still am, a plain hunter 
and trapper. When I was about fifteen 
I wrote an account of a trapping ex- 
pedition into the wilds of Canada that 
would make some of our fictionists sit 
up and take notice. If I remember 
rightly, there were four or five large 
“scratch” tablets of that narrative, all 
drawn of course from a lively imagina- 
tion largely influenced by all the wild 
tales I had gobbled up. In this story 
two of my chums figured largely, al- 
though naturally I was the big IT. We 
caught silver foxes by the score, chewed 
grizzlies’ ears for mere pastime, and 
everything else in proportion ! The only 
living soul that read that yarn beside 
the writer was my youngest sister and 
she has since confessed that it was one 
of the most thrilling things she ever 
read. Alas that dreams must be shat- 
tered by realization. 
There wasn’t much opportunity for 
either hunting or trapping near my 
home, but I did hunt and trap every- 
thing I could. I 
practiced largely 
on the demon coy- 
ote and will say 
that never in the 
wilderness have I 
run across any ani- 
mal that was so 
trap - wise ! But 
every trip I made 
into the “scab 
lands” east of my 
home town only 
increased my long- 
ing for and deter- 
mination to see the 
real wilderness. 
Opportunity came 
the fall preceeding 
my nineteenth 
birthday. A cou- 
sin, I. A. Perkins 
(better known as 
“Cy”), was work- 
ing for a farmer 
some fifteen miles 
distant from the 
place where I was working. We had 
just finished harvesting and while we 
were eating dinner the lady of the house 
announced that I was wanted on the 
phone. It proved to be my cousin. 
“Ray,” he said, “I’m going to Canada, 
want to go along?” 
“Sure thing !” I answered, and ar- 
rangements were made so that I would 
meet him in Spokane the following day. 
I have often wondered how my poor 
mother felt, when without warning I 
Who has not wanted at some time 
during his life to become a trapper? 
Even the man who owns a large and 
well-stocked game preserve and 
whose sport is secure for the pro- 
verbial three-score years and ten — 
even he envies the freedom and the 
resourcefulness of the trapper. 
Read this story and you will feel the 
lure of lonely lands and the ro- 
mance that forever surrounds this 
fascinating game. 
told her that I was going into the wilder- 
ness a thousand miles to the north. 
Since that time I have received so many 
letters from young fellows contemplat- 
ing something of the same sort, that I 
have always urged them to consider 
their mothers always. However, such 
is life. And even now I am figuring on 
making a trip home this fall, and if all 
goes well I will again see my loved ones 
from whom I have been absent four 
long years. My years in the wilderness 
have sobered me and while I am still a 
very young man, I can see how quickly 
the time glides away. 
\ /ERY few men and boys with trap- 
^ ping proclivities have not pictured 
to themselves a life in the wilderness, a 
sort of an ideal existence and a regular 
trappers’ paradise. My cousin and I 
were not exceptions to this rule and 
many were the wild fancies of which we 
dreamed, often aloud, as the train rolled 
northward. Our primary object had 
been to hit straight for the Peace River 
district. At that time there was a steady 
stream of immigrants pouring into that 
part of Canada and many marvelous | 
tales were circulating freely in regard 
to the great opportunities that lie in 
store for the intrepid settler. We got all 
the reliable information on the subject 
we could procure (maps, data, etc.), and 
studied the situation from every angle. ‘ 
Although we were both under voting , 
age we exhibited a sound bit of reason- ! 
ing when we decided to give up the idea j 
of hitting for the Peace River. We | 
figured that, as everyone seemed to be 
so crazy about that part of the world, it 
would be a mighty poor place for a 
couple of greenhorns to steer into. On 
one of our maps was a crooked, dotted 
line, indicating an old trail that lead into 
two hundred miles of wilderness that 
lie to the north of the Grand Trunk 
Pacific Railway and just east of the 
Canadian Rockies. Not a single Indian 
Reserve or timber claim was marked on 
this twenty thousand square miles of 
wilds and as near as we could find out 
there were hardly any trappers in that 
district. The starting point of this trail 
was from Edson so we embarked on the 
G. T. P., reaching that point at the un- 
pleasant hour of four o’clock on the 
tenth day of Oc- 
tober. 
A comparatively 
short time pre- 
viously we had left i 
a hot climate and ' 
here the frost was 
thick enough to 
cut with a knife ! 
We sat shivering 
in the railway sta- 
tion for an hour or 
so and then shoul- 
dered our packs 
and lit out. All our 
worldly posses- 
sions were in two ' 
large pack - sacks ; 
Cy’s weighed eigh- 
ty-five pounds and 
mine ten pounds ; 
less. Now these 
were mighty heavy 
packs for young 
tenderfeet, besides 
we had the follow- 
ing weapons: Cy carried a 30-30 Win- 
chester and a Marble Game Getter (a 
two-barreled gun using the 44 shot or 
ball in the lower barrel and the 22 in 
the upper), while the writer toted a 
32-30 Colt’s on a belt and a 35 Reming- 
ton auto wherever it rested lightest. 
Whenever I think of the outfit with 
which we fared forth to conquer the 
unknown I always smile. We had 
enough ammunition to keep a first-class 
revolution going for a year or two, two 
The author’s cabin on Kimberly Lake 
