I use a lot of bait triggers with a nice piece of aspen screwed onto the trigger. I’ve experimented with different ways of screwing the bait on and although every way has been successful I’ve found that a large piece screwed on parallel with the bottom bars is the best way to go. Here are a couple of photos showing the bait screwed on vertically as well as horizontally. They are effective and work with any 280 or 330 size body grip.
The days are getting about as short as they can up here now. The sun comes up but it doesn’t get very high. It circles on the horizon and then in less than seven hours drops like a stone. If it’s cloudy it doesn’t really seem like we had any daylight at all. This sunset just wouldn’t quit and I stopped chiselling my way through the ice to check traps at least three times to walk over to my Argo and get my camera so that I could take another picture.
I never used to stop for anything and most days I still don’t stop to eat or have a drink. But on some days a little break and a hot drink can make a big difference. I seldom bring a thermos during winter because it’s just one more piece of gear to have to keep track of. Almost every time I empty a large tin can I wash it out and poke a couple of holes just under the rim. I crimp about 20 inches of 1/16 7X7 aircraft cable on it and turn it into a pot. Wire works just as well.
I always have one or two on my sled, Argo or quad and they work great. In my back pack I always carry lots of tea, sugar, powdered orange juice, bouillon cubes, powdered soup and hot chocolate. It only takes a few minutes to build a fire hot enough to melt snow and boil water and while that is happening I usually stay busy cutting more beaver bait or repacking the load on my machine. Most times it takes longer to stand around waiting for it to cool and drink it than it does to make it.
This week the temperatures have hovered between -16 and -20. The water is deep here and warm and the ice is still really thin especially around the houses. To make my management goals this season I have to go hard. That doesn’t mean that I’m letting safety slip but this year the ice is especially unreliable and I’ve gone through a couple of times. So far it hasn’t been a full baptism and I’ve only gone down to my hips but even then when it happens it’s like the first time in my life. It always comes as a surprise and it never fails to scare the hell out of me.
This coyote isn’t bothered by the chain holding my beaver trap. In fact he wandered along for about four miles and closely checked out nearly every set that I had under the ice.
Four Sauvageau 2011-12 body grips under the ice and baited with large pieces of poplar. Generally speaking I always put four traps to a house. I don’t like fooling around or loving things to death. I move in and take the number of beaver I have set for my management plan and I move my traps to the next colony. This colony is targeted for complete removal and by the time a couple of weeks have gone past there should be no beaver left in here.
During the 2010/2011 trapping season I was able to spend three uninterrupted months on my newly acquired trap-line. It is located in a very remote part of the SE Yukon, and is only accessible by helicopter. No trapping had occurred there for many years and my main
task was to re-establish the extensive trail system developed by the former trappers. These trails are not abandoned logging roads or seismic lines that have grown in with willow and alder. They had been cut by chain saw through pristine wilderness.
The portion of the trail along the river created the greatest challenge. Here an ancient forest of white spruce and balsam poplar exists. In the river valleys of the SE Yukon trees of enormous size can be found. One white spruce across my trail was 90 cm. in diameter and there were many others almost as big! Within a short distance of camp the trail leads away from the river and up onto a bench. Trees there are much smaller and the forest is much more open. There was still a great deal of chainsaw work to get the trail system re-established. It became apparent that this would not be accomplished in my first season on the line.
My daily routine was to leave camp on my quad and continue extending the trail. I felt a great sense of accomplishment as the trail was advanced a little more each day. Not only was the trail being extended in two directions from camp but my marten boxes were being positioned at the rate of a box approximately every 0.2 km.
On calm, damp days I would stay at camp and fire up my trap boiler. Logwood powder supplemented with alder bark and twigs are my preferred method of treating traps. The line came with several hundred traps, none of which appeared to have ever been dyed and were quite rusty.
On October 16, I shot a small bull moose a short distance down river from camp. Paddling the canoe with the moose aboard back upstream against the swift flowing current was very difficult and made all the more miserable by the heavy wet snow which began to fall just as I began skinning. The moose had been shot mid-morning and by dusk all eight pieces were safely stored on a clean bed of snow atop the flat roof of my wood shed. Here they remained for several days, until I transferred them to game bags hung for another week at a perfect temperature only a few degrees above freezing. With a supply of tasty moose meat secured, my time was now divided between two tasks – the never-ending work on the trails, and pre-season positioning of marten boxes. Enjoying my meal of fried moose liver one evening, I realized how fast the time was passing, it being just over a month since my arrival.
It was inevitable that mechanical problems would occur with some of the equipment that came with purchase of the line. I brought in many spare parts. In the event of issues that could not be resolved flying out for parts was simply not an option.
The Honda generator, Stihl brush saw and Tundra snow machine all performed without incident even though they had sat at the cabin for years without being used. The 15 hp. Evinrude outboard motor did not run at all. Initially the Yamaha ATV was performing fine, and then the electric start went. It was difficult to pull-start on cold mornings but my trail clearing activities continued. A full three weeks before trapping season opened I was forced to park it for the season.
This was a major set- back as there wasn’t enough snow yet to start using the Tundra. My plan had been to get the trail cleared as far as the first two line cabins, get them cleaned up and ready for over-night use, with several weeks firewood cut at each. In addition to this, I brought spare marten boxes and traps to the campsso that I could keep advancing the line as the season progressed.
As the fine weather continued my line of marten boxes grew. Although not very efficient there was no other way of getting them out other than by foot. Walking the trails each day, carrying five boxes and enjoying the fine fall weather I was able to evaluate and process all the clues and indications of fur-bearer presence, and abundance. There was not a great deal of wolf scat on the trail! This was a good sign that once my under-ice beaver snaring began the sets would be productive. This is excellent marten country, and yet there was not much sign. All indications were that this was a year of very low marten numbers. I bolstered my spirits by telling myself that, ‘’you won’t know for sure until trapping actually gets under way’’.
By the last week of October there were only a few cm. of snow on the ground. One day while working on what has become known as the ‘’West Trail’’ I encountered what were obviously wolverine tracks. This was my first time trapping in an area inhabited by them. The tracks looked like they were approximately one week old. ‘’Oh Boy’’ I may just get my first wolverine! The following day on the ‘’North trail’’ wolverine tracks were encountered again. This time they were very fresh – only hours old. That evening, both of these observations were marked on my calendar. It was going to be interesting to see if there was a predictable pattern to the wolverine’s wanderings. Sure enough, a week later the wolverine was back and had travelled both trails very close to where it had been earlier. After another repeat of this, important information has been gathered that would help me catch my first wolverine.
Mild weather persisted when the season opened on November 1st, so I decided to wait another ten days. When I did begin, lack of snow made for very rough travel with the Tundra. Alternately I would run the two main trails that led out of camp, checking and extending my line each day.
My earlier assessment of a poor marten year proved correct.The next few weeks flew by quickly! A few marten were being caught and snow build-up was gradual. During the third week of November a brief cold snap occurred. With nightly temperatures down to -40o C good travel conditions on the river developed. This allowed me to get another line out and resulted in a few more marten being caught. I was having a great time in beautiful surroundings.
All too soon it was time to start shutting down the line. It took several days to bring all my marten boxes back to camp, place shutters on the windows, and ensure that all precautions had been taken to avoid bear problems during my absence. Weather delayed my departure from camp for two days (December 17th), exactly three months since my arrival. My poor fur catch: 17 marten, 4 beaver, 2 muskrat, and 1 wolf did not deter me. Knowing how volatile marten populations are, next season could be a much better catch. Always the optimist, I reflected on the excellent start that had been made at getting the trails re-established. Also the long and never-ending process of learning the line had begun. I look forward to next season with much enthusiasm. Next September can’t come too soon for me!
It is often the case that our moments of greatest fear occur without warning then pass within seconds to leave us shaking our heads in wonder at how we survived the ordeal. I had this experience last October while on my trap-line which is located in a remote portion of the southeast Yukon.
October 30 was a fine, sunny day. Since early morning I had been working around the camp, engaged in a variety of pre-season projects, eagerly anticipating the fast approaching season.
About mid-day I was alerted to the presence of an animal by the frantic barking, and growling of my dogs, Max and Shadow. I quickly grabbed my gun and went to investigate the source of their agitation. Both dogs were at the far end of the small clearing that surrounds the cabin. Whatever had them so excited was not moving .Both dogs continued their barking and growling, all the hair standing up on their backs, yet reluctant to tackle it. Cautiously approaching I could see a large cow moose. At my approach she started walking slowly through the thick brush until coming to the trail which leads out of the yard. Turning in my direction, she began walking towards me. By now I was getting quite uncomfortable as the distance between us narrowed. As I began to back up she laid her ears back, emitted a soft grunt, and then charged at me like a freight train. 
Terrified I spun around and ran. Within seconds she was right behind me, and I quickly realized the futility of trying to outrun a charging moose. Without slowing down, I pointed my 30-30 over my shoulder, and fired. A clean miss! I lost my balance at this point, and fell. My head almost hitting the rear carrier of my Tundra Long Track. I had been working on the track adjustment the day before, and the rear of the machine was still propped up on a block of wood. My knee slammed into the frozen ground with great force, causing great pain.
Whether it was the muzzle blast, or the fact that she was about to run into the corner of my work shop, I don’t know, but she put on the brakes, and appeared unstable on her feet. I thought that she was going to fall on top of me! Backing off about 15 metres she calmly stood there as if nothing had happened. By this time I was in a lot of pain from my knee. My fright at this incident was quickly being replaced by anger at this sudden disruption of my schedule. Yelling at her, I fired a warning shot over her back, hoping to drive her off. She just stood there, not the least bit bothered by the shot.
I limped into the cabin and sat down. Over a cup of tea I reflected on what had just happened, and how fortunate I was to have got out of this with no more than a badly bruised knee. In an hour or so, I looked out the cabin door, fully expecting to see that she had left. Much to my surprise, there she was, and still highly agitated. I already had my winter moose, and besides, cow moose are protected in the Yukon. I spent the remainder of the day inside, putting marten boxes together, assuming that she would eventually leave. No sign of the dogs, after my gun shot! Max is afraid of guns so they may have taken off. I went outside at dusk, rifle in hand, and there she was feeding on red willow not far from where I had first seen her. The following morning she was gone.
There are several factors that could possibly have caused this incident.
Whatever the cause, this was a terrifying experience that I won’t forget. I now consider a cow moose to be a very dangerous animal, and one to be treated with great caution.
I would be interested in hearing from any other trappers who may have had a similar experience.
Sept. 23 – It has been seven days now since arriving at my recently acquired trap line in a remote area of the southeast Yukon. So far, all has gone well and I have accomplished a great deal. At approximately 8 p.m., my dogs Max and Shadow began barking and growling frantically, alerting me to the presence of something in the yard. Opening the cabin door, flashlight in hand, I was startled by presence of an enormous black bear walking boldly towards the cabin door eight meters away. I let a loud yell that I am sure my nearest neighbours 40 km away could hear. The bear bolted and quickly disappeared from view.
I retreated to the cabin and grabbed my 30-30 rifle. It was apparent that the bear had not been frightened off as the dogs continued their alarm. Stepping back outdoors, I could see that the dogs were focused on the trail leading out of the yard. Pointing my flashlight in that direction, I quickly picked up two eyes shining in the dark.
This was a very bold bear.Instead of running off, it had merely circled the camp and was coming right back in. I realized this bear had probably never seen a human before. The line had not been trapped in many years and is very remote and accessible only by aircraft. I have no reliable communications with the outside world. My satellite phone has proven to be of no use and somehow, the SBX-11 antenna got left behind. It will be mid-December before anyone even begins to think of looking for me. There is potential here for serious problems with this bear – breaking into the camp while I am out working on trail-brushing or an attack on the dogs or myself.
I quickly decided to shoot the bear.It was too dark to see the sights on my rifle. I pointed it to the clear night sky where I could see them. All I could see of the bear was its two eyes shining in the dark. When I fired, the eyes immediately disappeared. As my ears stopped ringing from the muzzle blast, I could hear a very faint cracking of twigs and a rustling sound in the bush about 12 metres from where the bear had been standing.
In a brief period of time, all sounds ceased and silence returned to the clearing. I interpreted this as a good sign, but was not about to go and investigate in the dark. The dogs had calmed right down and I returned to the cabin.
The remainder of the night was uneventful, but I kept the rifle loaded and right beside my bunk. At early light the following morning, I went to investigate. There had been a light dusting of snow sometime in the night. There was no blood or hair that I could see. Focusing my search in the area where I had last heard sound, I quickly located the bear, quite visible against the white snow, and obviously dead.
It was lying on its side. “Nice exit wound,” I thought, as I approached. It was a perfect and very lucky shot. The bear must have been standing broadside. I was unaware of this when I shot, as all I could see were its two eyes shining in the dark. The 170-grain bullet had passed through both lungs and the bear ran 12 metres before it fell. I remembered what an old hunting friend had told me years ago, “It is well-placed bullets and not big bangs that bring down game.”
Now that I have killed the bear, I am obliged to skin it! I had wanted nothing to do with bears. There are just so many other things to do prior to trapping season. As I was working on this bear, I realized that my decision to not take any chances and to dispatch it had been a wise one.
I was very aware as I skinned out the huge paws and massive forearms, that a human would have very little chance against a serious predatory attack of this size. The front pads on this bear measured 15 cm in width and the hide well over 2 metres nose to base of tail.
I spent over six hours skinning and fleshing the hide. The bear appeared to be in good health with a modest amount of body fat, but not as much as I would have expected. Definitely, a mature boar, but tooth wear suggested not really old. This was a very sobering experience for me. I realized how lucky a shot I had made and that in an aggressive, predatory attack; the 30-30 would be woefully inadequate.
For the next six weeks, I kept the 30-30 near at hand at all times. Next year, I plan on bringing a 12-gauge Remington 870 with slugs. Prior to this experience, there were many occasions when I was outside the camp at night, never armed and often, without my flashlight.
I still feel uneasy when I think what might have happened if my four-legged bear alarms had not alerted me.
It was shortly after I had taken the trapping course and I was already out setting coyote snares. I only had about a half dozen snares to my name at the time but I figured they weren’t gunna catch anything lying on the desk in my room. I’d only ever seen a few snares set during the trapping course and I was trying to remember just how it was done. I had read over the trapper manual for the hundredth time that morning and figured I had a pretty good idea what I was doing.
I found a spot in the bush by my house that looked like it was just waiting to be a bait station. I had got a few road kill deer and put them there a few days earlier and the coyotes had started to come in. I picked a few trails that looked promising, set the snares, stepped back and looked at my work. ‘Well that might do it’ I thought to myself. The next few days went by with no action. I’d get home from school, and rush out to check my snares only to find them empty. I was getting a little discouraged with the lack of progress.
Then one day I got home from school, rushed out to check my snares, and once again found them all empty. You weren’t expecting there to be a coyote there were you? That would’ve 
been kind of anti-climactic. Anyway, I walked slowly back home trying to think of something I could do to improve my thus far non-existent catch. I was still trying to figure out what to do when I went to bed that night. I’m sure that’s what I was dreaming about at two in the morning when my dad walked in and woke me up. “I think you may have caught something. I can hear a racket coming from the direction of your bait station.” Believe me, I’ve never snapped awake faster than when I heard those words. I quickly got dressed and the two of us headed out to see what was going on. There’s not much you can compare the feeling of walking through the dark toward a bait station to. Especially when you have good reason to believe a coyote is waiting there for you. And it’s impossible to describe the effect a coyote howling fifteen feet away from you in that pitch black has on your heart.
I had caught a coyote but the lock jammed in the guard hairs on the neck so it was still alive. After we dispatched it my dad suggested that seeing as I was up already and because coyotes are easier to skin the fresher they are, that I may as well skin it before I went back to bed. I figured that was a good idea and besides, as excited as I was there was no way I was gunna get any more sleep in that night anyway.
After me and my dad finished skinning it I figured that while we were at it I may as well flesh and stretch the coyote as well. Because I was still new at the skinning game it took me until morning before I was done. About the time I walked into the house was when my 
mom woke up to make sure me and my younger brother got up and off to school. After a lot of pleading and some of the best acting I’ve ever done, I convinced her that I was too tired to go to school and she let me stay home.
If the excitement about catching my first coyote wasn’t enough to convince me to be a trapper, finding out that I could skip school because of it sure was.