A little poem I did some years back...
T’was the night before trapping season and all through my head run visions of stretcher boards lining my shed.
I have walked and scouted for places to trap, studying the creek bends and were to close the gap.
I dyed all my traps hanging them from chain, fine tuning adjustments making them the same.
Checking my gear and loading my truck, wishing morning were here- please hurry up!
I stayed up to late watching videos on you tube, people like the boss of the swamp and coon creek outdoors to mention a few.
Morning came fast as I leapt out of bed, realizing I hadn't set the alarm- you bone head!
I threw on my clothes and jumped in the truck, I drove out of site, to trap all the night.
I got to my first creek, I threw on my pack, man that things heavy on this old back. I eased into the creek and started looking around, for trails and for paths and for anything that could be found.
I started making my sets, placing them here and some there, until I found my trap basket was going bare.
So, I sat on the bank with my boots the creek thinking to myself that the air was quite cold on my right cheek. As I sat on the bank looking at the water that I'm am the luckiest man alive, so I gave a holler!
I headed for the truck to make another round, loading the trap basket and pounding some ground. With my trap basket empty I headed to the house, wondering what mama had cooking, maybe fried grouse.
I made it to the house and crawled into my chair removing my boots and socks and putting my feet to the air, thinking this is where the story began and I’ll be getting up again in the morning.
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