Continuation 
of 
SPRING 
TRAPPING 
IN THE 
NORTH 
COUNTRY 
By RAYMOND THOMPSON 
I T was near the end of April that 
John Wells and I left Edson. 
There was still plenty of snow 
for the dogs to make good headway 
with the toboggan, even near civiliza¬ 
tion, and the farther north we got the 
more snow was to be encountered as 
it is a steady climb after the first 
twenty miles. When we passed Mile 
20 it was snowing again. A mile or 
so past this place we saw where a 
bear had been wallowing through 
three feet of snow on his way to the 
bare hillsides along the Muskeg River. 
Undoubtedly he had come from up in 
the hills to the north and how 
he ever managed to make 
through that snow was a mys¬ 
tery to us. 
Wells came from a part of the 
States where they hunt small 
furbearers, such as skunk, coon, 
etc., with dogs. When he saw 
this bear track he was immedi¬ 
ately in favor of tracking the 
animal down, but I explained 
the impossibility of such a task 
through our being unable to snowshoe 
off the trail. He tried it, just out of 
curiosity and after floundering about 
in the wet snow for a few yards came 
back well satisfied to let Bruin go on 
his way rejoicing. 
We made my camp at Mile 27 with¬ 
out any mishap although we were very 
tired from our long hike. But after a 
generous supper we felt O. K. again 
and beguiled the hours away with tales 
of our past experiences. Wells had 
never been in a country like this until 
the previous fall; like everyone else 
who comes here he was very anxious to 
A FINE OTTER SHOT BY THE AUTHOR 
kill his moose and to date he had never 
even seen one. He had hunted deer 
and antelope in Colorado but that was 
the extent of his big game experiences. 
I promised him that he would sure have 
an opportunity to see a number of 
moose. 
As I had feared the snow was too 
soft the following day for us to attempt 
the long trip northwest to the Upper 
Cabin, our only hope lay in a good 
frost. We laid around camp most of 
the day and got everything in readiness 
for the trip in case it turned colder. 
Wells had been amazed at the load 
which my dogs hauled so readily and 
he shook his head dubiously at the stuff 
I kept piling onto the canvas that was 
spread out on the bottom of the sleigh. 
Our hopes were realized, quite a 
severe frost came that night and made 
a crust on the snow that we were en¬ 
abled to walk on with snowshoes. We 
left Mile 27 before daylight and by 
pushing right through managed to get 
over the greater part of the journey 
before the snow got sticky. As it was 
we were played right out when we got 
to the little cabin on the head of Lynx 
Creek. 
m 
“TRAPPING 
THE 
THREE RIVER 
ZONE ” 
Part Eight 
V 
Lynx Creek had its source in the side 
of Moose Mountain facing to the north¬ 
east. My little cabin was situated in a 
deep valley to which there was no out¬ 
let save by going down the creek. On 
all the other sides great hills towered 
above us and it was in these hills that 
I had made my best catches of marten. 
Wells thought we were in a beautiful 
spot but before we were able to leave 
there I expect he was heartily sick of 
that valley. 
The day after we arrived there we 
tried exploring along a little stream 
that flowed into Lynx Creek, but had 
gone but a mile or so when we 
were glad to turn back. It was 
impossible to make any headway 
on snowshoes, so we decided to 
sit tight and wait for the snow 
to melt away. It was certainly 1 
aggravating in the extreme, we 
had a stake set out by the cabin 
and each night marked the new 
level of the snow; it was as slow 
as the proverbial “Molasses in 
January.’' 
After a week of waiting we were 
able to get along the creek by watching 
out for the bare spots along the sides, 
and a mile or so below the cabin the 
snow had left some meadows standing 
in shallow pools of water. Along these 
meadows the beavers had once been 
very numerous and in one place a 
family of these amphibious creatures 
still thrived. One evening while watch¬ 
ing for them I saw one climb out onto 
the ice which lined the shores. I was 
across a bend in the creek but realizing 
that I could hardly get any closer, took 
a shot at him from where I stood. He j 
Page 488 
In his story Mr. Thompson gives us a pic¬ 
ture of the North Country at the close of 
winter. W nen the ice leaves the Athabasca 
his partner and he make a raft and go down 
through the rapids. One need not be a trap¬ 
per to be able to enjoy thoroughly this tale 
of real life on the trap line. 
