Home Forums Hunting & Shooting Canada Traplines (The Winter Dad Died)

A bit of fiction for you to pass the time. All the long, endless days of your meaningless, empty existence, living with the fear that COVID-19 has brought.

But while you're feeling sorry for yourself, think of Bill in this story.

Traplines (The Winter Dad Died) - Part 1
Copyright 2004 – Stephen Redgwell

It had been a hard winter and any sunlight was a welcome change from the cold temperatures and constantly blowing snow. The drifts surrounded three sides of the cabin, but that was good. The snow acted as insulation to help fend off the frigid weather. One small window let in a stream of warming light.

Inside, an old pot belly stove was the centrepiece of the one room structure. In the back, fully one quarter of the cabin was filled with cut and neatly piled wood. On the wall, a simple wooden cross made of pine, was the only decoration. Below it was a hand built cupboard, a small table and a stool. It was a kitchen, living room and church, rolled into one.

Bill talked to his dog, Boots, his only friend through the long winter days.

“Well Boots, it was a good day today. We’ve got fuel for the stove, food for our bodies and something for our souls.”

Bill looked at the cross and said a little prayer.

“Lord, sometimes I wonder why I come out here. It sure is pretty though. I guess a man has got to take the cold season to appreciate the summer. Maybe next winter You could make it with a little less wind?

I saw two foxes today. They were looking for food. I know You gave them nice winter coats, but they still looked half froze. Maybe they’d appreciate a little less wind too.

Thanks for the food in the locker. Me and Boots can’t get out every day to check the trap lines when it’s really blowin’, so we make those days special and have a party. I’m glad we packed in enough food when the leaves changed. I just wanted to say thanks for Your help.”

The dog lay in front of the stove, content to be somewhere warm. He got the name Boots because his two front paws were completely white, on an otherwise all black body. He’d been with Bill since he was a pup. His dad had bought him as a companion for his son. How long was that now? Ten years anyway!

“Boots, don’t be suckin’ up all the heat. Leave some for me!”

Bill checked his watch. 4:10. Time to get something to eat. The light was going to fade quite quickly now.

“Some hard tack chews for Mr. Boots...and some hard tack and coffee for me. Do you think I should get a candle out, Boots? Oh yes. I think I’ll write a letter to my sister.”

Bill dug around in the cupboard for a candle and some paper. He set them down on the table and looked outside.

The wind was still strong and moving the snow around, but he could still see the tree line about 50 feet away. Nothing stirred. Any animal with a lick of sense would be holed up somewhere until morning. Bill started the letter,

Dear Helen,

How are you? How are Al and the kids?

Do you ever miss the farm? I remember how angry you were when Dad died. You said that you’d never come back. In my last letter I told you that we buried Dad behind the house overlooking the pond. I was there not too long ago. The spot sure looks lonely.

I’ve been working the lines steady since the fall. I’ll be back at the farm when the good weather comes again. Right now I‘m writing you from the first cabin Dad put up when he started after furs. I use this one as my main place throughout the cold months. It’s too far to head back to the farm from here.

So far, I‘ve got about 140 pelts. Almost 100 of them are beavers! They’re all ready for market later this year. I want to get enough money together to get the farm up and running again. Trapping is okay, but it sure does take you off the beaten track. I won’t see anyone until spring. It’s just me and Boots.

I think that I‘ll plant corn and a root crop. Potatoes maybe. Remember when Dad used to say that you grow corn to sell and potatoes for yourself? I think that was smart.

Before I left last fall on the trap lines, I got a visit from Rev. Warner. He asked about you. I told him that you moved to the Soo after marrying Al. I told him that Al works for the railroad. He still does I hope?

Are you and the family going to come and visit me this summer? I sure hope so. I‘ll have everything fixed up by the time you come. Remember when we’d catch heck for jumping out of the hay loft and onto the bales when we were kids? Well, I’m going to fix up the barn like it was and maybe your kids can catch heck from you over the same thing.

I bought two cows from Henderson before heading out here. You remember him? Actually it’s Mr. Henderson’s son. He’s keeping them for me until the spring. He even asked about you. I think that he was sweet on you once!

I’ll close now. Please say that you’ll come. Dad sure loved you and said that he felt bad for getting you all upset over dying. He made a cross for you the last few days, when he could still sit up. I’ve got it here at the cabin. It’s yours though. I told Dad that I’d make sure that you got it. There’s also a box for you at the farm too. I don’t know what’s in it but it’s got your name on the top.

Love,
Bill

PS. When you come, could you bring some of that toffee Al gets from the railroad?
---

Bill folded the letter and put it in an envelope. He couldn’t mail it until he got back to the farm, but that was okay. Helen’s visit wouldn’t be for a few months anyway.

Bill stoked the fire and sat down again, his mind deep in thought. I wonder why life turns out the way it does? I learned farming and trapping from Dad and that always looked after us. I wonder if Helen is still angry? And he drifted off to sleep.
---

Next morning, Boots started barking and woke up Bill.

“What’s up Boots? You figured you got up so I have to as well?”

Bill looked out the window and saw the beginning of a gorgeous day. A day with no wind and lots of sunshine. There were blue jays and shrikes in the trees and fresh paw prints around the fur shed. The wind must have stopped sometime over night. Time to tend to the morning’s duties and plan out the rest of the day.

“You know Boots, between what I’ve saved in the bank and the pelts we’ve got so far this winter, I think that it just might be time to head back. I’ll get the sled and load up the furs. We’ll go around the outer loop of the line and back to the farm. If the nice weather holds, it should only take a few days”

Boots sensed the trip home. He ran around excitedly while Bill got everything ready.

“No time to waste now, Boots. If the weather turns bad again, I’d like to be close enough to the next cabin just in case. I think the Lord will look after us though. He’s given us good goin’ away weather!”

The next three days were spent emptying the last traps on the line and pushing on toward the farm. Along the way, Bill spotted some signs that the winter was easing and reminisced over landmarks and other things that his Dad had shown him years ago.

At noon on the fourth day, Bill spotted the pond that was around the back of the farmhouse. He had thought of nothing else the last few days. Not long now and he’d be in a real house with real food!

Bill crossed the frozen pond and up to the small marker where his Dad lay.

Traplines (The Winter Dad Died) - Part 2
Copyright 2004 – Stephen Redgwell

Hi Dad. Whew! I’m I glad to be home! You were right about keeping all the cabins stocked with food and firewood.

I’m going to start farming again in the spring. I remember you told me it can make a good life for a man, if he cares enough to work hard. I never really appreciated what you said until this winter. I spent a lot of time talking to Boots and we’ve decided that the farm wins out over the trap lines every time!

By the way, I wrote Helen. Once I’m settled in, I’m going to go into town and mail the letter. I’m hoping that she’ll bring everyone up here this summer. Talk to you later!”

Bill went into the farmhouse that had laid empty for almost six months. Nothing was disturbed, but it was cold, so he got the wood stoves going and went into the basement to start the furnace. Soon, everything would be warm and comfy. At the same time, he brought up some preserves as a special treat for supper.

Sitting down at the kitchen table, his mind wandered back to the previous fall. His dad had died in early September and Bill headed out for the trap lines shortly thereafter. Working the lines was his therapy.

The place was the same. On the table, untouched, was a deck of cards and a pad with game scores written down in his father’s handwriting. That was from the days before he was confined full-time to his bed on the main floor guest room. The two of them would play hearts or 21/31 into the wee hours of the morning. It wasn’t so much for the game as for the conversation.

Bill could hear his dad again.

“Son, I think that when I get better, I’m going to have to fix the barn doors and the stairs to the loft. The hinges need resetting and some ladder rungs are broke.”

“When I feel up to it, the front porch steps need redoing and the whole front needs some paint. That sounds like a good project for the spring!”

“I think that we oughta try peaches and cream corn this year. It markets well.”

“Make sure that after you’re done trappin’, take the pelts into the Hudson’s Bay man at Silt Meadow. Don’t take them to that idiot Wynne in town! He’s a cheat.”

“Don’t forget to check in with Henderson’s boy about the new cows.”

Dad was always thinking about the farm. Hey, wait a minute! Dad knew things were not getting better with him. He was leaving instructions!

Bill got up and went to Dad’s room. The room was neatly laid out. The wife of the funeral director had helped with everything when Helen wouldn’t come.

Nosing around, he saw Dad’s old 303. There was a little dust on the barrel, but it was untouched. He decided to clean it and opened the action. Out popped an empty case with a piece of paper rolled up and stuffed inside. The note said,

Give it a good clean, son. Look in my night table when you’re done.

Tears welled up in Bill’s eyes as he carried the rifle into the kitchen. They always cleaned their rifles by the cook stove. His dad made a gun cradle from pine and hung it on a peg beside the stove. Bill put the cradle on the table and laid the rifle on it.

“Always open the action and make sure it’s clear, right Dad? Lay the bolt to the side and check the bore for obstructions. Then get out the gun oil and run a wet patch through. Let it sit for a few minutes and give the barrel a scrub with an oiled brush. Then run a dry patch down a few times and see what comes out.”

Bill performed the task, talking to the empty room. The rifle was clean inside, but it didn’t matter.

“Then wipe down the bolt with an oily rag. You can use the old toothbrush to clean the hard to get at spots. When it’s all good, wipe it with a dry cloth and put it back in the rifle.”

Bill finished the job, and took it back into the bedroom.

He walked to the night stand and opened the drawer. There was an envelope with his name on it inside. He picked it up and went into the kitchen. Boots appeared, perhaps sensing something was up. He curled up beside Bill’s feet and closed his eyes.

Bill opened the letter.

“Bill,

You’re probably reading this after I’ve gone. I figured that you would take off to the trap lines to get away and start healing. The bad feelings are back again no doubt when you found this. It’s normal. Have a good cry if you want to, son. You’re alone in the house, and no one would find fault with a man crying to ease his grief.

When your grandfather died, I spent some time in the barn alone. If you look on the main beam where it meets the floor you’ll see a small cross and ‘Dad’ carved into the wood. I did that. It was my special place and the reason why I never ripped the barn down and built another.

I know that you’re going to get the farm running again. If you look through the rest of my papers in the night stand you’ll find an insurance policy and a phone number. The number is for Mr. Grange, the president of the Legion. He has instructions to help out when you call. Please call him. He was my best friend. Invite him up to the house, but make sure that you have some tea and canned milk. He likes that. He’ll walk you through all the legal stuff. You and him can talk about me in and share some laughs.

I know that you were upset with your sister when she wouldn’t come down. I thought about it, and realized that she just couldn’t handle the thought of me going. She’s gotten over it by now. I’ve left a letter for her too. She needed to work through her own grief. She’s a lot like your mother. We hardly went to any funerals because she always ended up a wreck.

Somewhere in that pile of papers is a list of what I thought needs fixing. You should have a look and see if you agree with it.

I’m not going to say goodbye son. I’m just going to see your mother and some of the family. Look after yourself. Your mother and I love you.

Dad

It was all that Bill could do to keep from crying out loud. It hurt so much!

“Come on, Boots. We’ve got to go out to the barn.”

Bill found the carving left by his father, years before. He had to move some old hay bales, but it was there.

“Time to add another carving, Boots. I wonder if Dad figured I’d do this? I guess it doesn’t matter.”

He carved his own small cross and his dad’s name and final date on the beam.

“Boots, you and I are going to town tomorrow and get some groceries. It would be a good idea to drop by the Legion too. Maybe Mr. Grange will be there. If not, we’ll phone him and see if he’ll come back with us. I hope that he can!”

Very well done Steve.............-sniff-

Steve,
Nice....Very Nice! Keep it going....we need to see what Dad left for Helen.

Very nice Steve. You have no idea how close that is to the truth. Was hard to read but, well good story keep it going I to would like to see what happens. Bill out. 👣🐾👣🇨🇦

Thanks all. I'll see what I can do about creating a part 3.

Steve, nice story well written. Thanks.