A LIFETIME OF MEMORIES

“As I entered the shop in the back section of the garage I couldn’t help but think of the hundreds of critters that had been brought through those doors.”

In 2003 my dad, Howard Clements, had a stroke, at which time he lost 80% of his eyesight. Knowing that he was no longer able to trap and work in the fur shed inspired him to publish an article for the “American Trapper” titled “Go Make Some Memories”. Recently I sent a copy to Jeremiah Wood and he suggested that I write a story for the magazine. What could a small time trappah’ from Maine come up with of interest? Then it occurred to me that many stories have already been written in my mind and could be recalled by reviewing the notes and numbers written on the rafters of my dad’s former garage. I would make that trip to our old fur shed to do some reminiscing.

With the goal of reading through those numbers I made that trip to our longtime fur shed. The trip next door to my dad’s former garage / saw sharpening shop / fur shed was short, but encompassed a lifetime of memories. As I entered the shop in the back section of the garage I couldn’t help but think of the hundreds of critters that had been brought through those doors.

Dad was a proud fur handler and wanted to make each and every pelt look its very best. As a result, we had received quite a few NAFA “Top Lot” certificates through the years. He would express his willingness to do our best by saying that we needed to “put a smile on every pelt.”

Howard Clements at work in the fur shed

Once the pelts were stretched and dried we would take them upstairs to hang in cold storage. As I approached the top of the stairs I could see the year-toyear records still written on the rafters. While reading through the numbers my mind drifted to a few memories…….like notching out that tree limb at water level in the stream behind the house and placing a #1 long spring in the notch, going through that sleepless night of anticipation and having my dad take me down back the next morning to find the trap was missing! Dad carried me out so that I could pull the chain……my first muskrat!

Then there were the times we searched for and found the perfect location for that coyote set. You know, the ones where the wind and crop changes make for the perfect spot. And then we returned to that all familiar smell…..we’d been skunked!

That leads me to think of the time a longtime trapping friend and I took our young sons to a late summer ballgame in Boston. The late night bus trip home was interrupted by everyone coughing and gagging as we passed a fresh road killed skunk. We immediately glanced at each other and both jumped up and yelled “Yeah!” We got a lot of strange looks, but it reminded us that trapping season was just around the corner!

Still reading the rafters, I saw a note for 1987, where we had set several flowages on opening day – nineteen under ice conibear sets – and returned the next day to find seven consecutive beaver catches. There were a few others that day as well, which filled the fur shed and made for quite a pile of fur waiting to be smiled upon!

Speaking of consecutive catches, this past fall I caught a weasel, an otter, a squir- rel, a muskrat and a beaver in consecutive traps. I’m pretty sure I could never have predicted that combination of different species in a row.

After reading the entries I noticed the finish nails still in the beams. Over the years those nails had hundreds of muskrat pelts hanging from them, which resulted in a great mystery on one particular year. We had a large catch of muskrats and when bagging them up to ship to NAFA we noticed a dozen or so were missing. We shipped what we had and it wasn’t till a week later that Dad noticed a pile of doggy doo-doo beside the garage door. We figured a neighborhood dog had pushed open the door and helped himself to a few rat skin chews upstairs! At least they were the $2-3 ones and not the $15 rats of 2014-2015.

As I concluded my journey I stopped by the garage door and leaned against the wall where we used to lean our 330 ‘racks’ and again the memories came back. I could see us hustling around to construct the frames before it was time to head out on the flowages at midnight. Back in the day our beaver season would begin at midnight on January 1, so our New Year’s Eve tradition was to spend the night cutting fir and spruce poles to put together a dozen or so of those ladder-like structures that held our 330’s for under ice sets. Those racks have mostly been replaced by ‘H’ stands, but I still make the same ones today. As the evening progressed and we were running out of time, Dad would wonder why we waited till the last minute. Guess it wouldn’t have been a tradition if we did them earlier!

Dad passed away in 2012. The last entry on those rafters simply reads “Dad’s final season.” I tapped that rafter, then my heart and smiled, thankful to have the memories.

Remember to go make some memories, have fun and take pride in your fur handling. You owe it to the critter you’ve harvested to “put a smile on every pelt!”

In honor of his dad, Steve made up some special “Put a Smile on Every Pelt” t-shirts, and was gracious enough to send a customized ‘Trapping Today” edition to me. I wear it with pride.

Born on Snowshoes

Written by Evelyn Berglund Shore

First Published 1954