I don’t know much about trapping but this much I do know: whoever wrote the ad appearing in the DNR’s Minnesota Hunting and Trapping Regulations Handbook teaching “how to release a domestic animal from a trap” has never actually faced that situation.
Unfortunately, I have. Thanksgiving Day, when the trap pictured in this post grabbed my
My Lab was completely out of control with fear, pain and anxiety. All the soothing talk on the planet wouldn’t have stopped him from tearing up his mouth trying to bite the trap open. Nor would all the stepping on the traps flanges by me open it. I ultimately had to leave my dog trapped, run home, get a bolt cutter and my tractor, cut the trap chain and carry Doc, with trap still attached, home in the bucket of my tractor. A crow bar finally freed him.
Next day I found the trapper and determined he had no license, no ID on his traps, was setting his snare traps far above 16” off the ground, was setting traps in deer trails and, finally, gave me a false name.
But the bigger issue here is whether dry land snare and spring loaded traps should be allowed at all in the
The requiem for the 2009 duck season will be held with cheers or jeers resounding from the choir loft. Which of those sounds you are singing will depend on your perspective. Younger hunters may look back and say it was fair to good. Middle-aged waterfowlers might describe the results as spotty. But if you’ve been tromping to the swamps as long as I have you’ll be harmonizing with my assessment: duck hunting in
I saw 21
You can tell me about the day you were lucky enough to be in the right picked corn field.You can tell me about all the canvasbacks there were in the river bottoms. I hope you plucked with care the one bull can you were allowed to take. And you can tell me about all the woodies your kid shot during the youth weekend in September.
I’m long enough in tooth to remember when you actually saw plenty of ducks during a
So when you ask me how my duck season was, I answer “compared to what?”
I have come to know that pheasants have magical survival powers. To wit:
When I walk my dogs around my own place in the late fall we’ll often be granted two or three from-your-feet rooster flushes. However, should the yearning for pheasant cacciatore be on my mind, and a 12 gauge in my hands on these walks, there are never, ever any roosters around. Coincidence? I don’t think so.
A few years back I was hunting pheasants in southern
Many years ago in
On a hunt in southwestern
Deer hunting on my place in northern
I do not hunt deer but I have pals who get after them with bows, shotguns, even muzzle loaders. I applaud each deer taken as do my sweet corn, green beans, beets and broccoli.
Many acres of field corn still standing tall and unseasonably warm weather are the best guesses for the lack of success. The hunters are dubious about the rut which should be in full swing by now. No chasing of does has been noted. No bucks running brainless with tongues hanging out.
Barb and Charles Kannegaard, hunting together in the same stand, mistook an odd spike buck for a large doe. The deer had a big body, a mature head, thick fur yet carried only pencil-sized antlers. And since one of the antlers was over three inches long they had to tag it with a buck tag.
Many, many yearlings have been sighted and passed on. This points to an even-sorrier spring for my vegetables. It might be time to put up that 10-foot fence I’ve been threatening to build.