Oiling Traps
By Potlicker
How long has it been since someone asked you, “Do you have your traps oiled yet?”
After trapping 81 years, not a fall goes by without some non-trapper asking me if I have my traps oiled yet.
When I was nine years old, my pride and joy were three traps I had found in some old barn. Some might call it stealing, but being only nine, I didn’t think of that, and the farmer was dead, so he wouldn’t be using them any more. (I’m trying to clear my conscience.). These were a #1½ and two #1s Victor Longspring traps.
My uncle was a Red Fox killer. He had foxhounds but didn’t feed them so he could listen to them chase a fox. When they got after a red, he would head to a crossing where he knew the fox would only use if the hounds were after it. He always used a big long tom 12-gauge shotgun. If the hounds circled enough, he usually got the fox. My uncle had three beautiful reds hanging in his shed, and they were the most beautiful things I had ever seen. I wanted to catch one so bad, I was willing to try anything.
Back then, no one would tell you anything about trapping because they wanted to catch the fur to put food on their own table.
One day about three weeks before the season opened, a man stopped to talk to Dad. He saw me checking my traps for the last time and asked what I was doing with them ol’ rusty traps. I had previously caught my share of ‘possums and skunks and told him I was gonna try to catch a red fox. He laughed and said, “Boy, you can’t catch a fox in those rusty traps.” Remember at nine, I would try anything to catch a red fox. He said, “Almost nobody can catch them. They are sly, smart, almost impossible to catch.”
Now, desperation set in, so I asked, “What do I need to do?” He said, “You gotta oil your traps.” I asked how. He said, “Get some oil and soak your traps, and you might some day catch a red fox, although I doubt it.”
We didn’t have any motor oil, but we had a black oil well on our farm. I got a five gallon container and filled it with crude oil and then dropped my pride and joy in it. I left them overnight. The next morning, I took them out and they were a black mess. I hung them to dry. About that time, a would-be trapper stopped to talk to Dad. I knew he was jealous of anyone who set a trap, so I didn’t want to talk to him. Naturally, here he came over to me and asked what I was doing with them ol’ oily traps. I told him I was gonna try to catch a Red Fox. He laughed until I felt bad.
He said, “Boy, you can’t catch a fox in that oily mess.” I was now desperate. He said, “Since we are friends, I’ll tell you what to do and you’ll sure catch a red fox.” Remember, I’m nine-years-old and desperate. He said, “Build a big fire, a really big one, and throw them oily things in, and leave them until the coals die down.” To be sure I did it right, I left them in until morning. I went to the dead fire, pulled my traps out, and they now looked a funny white. I took my pride and joy #1½ and started to set it. To my surprise, I could mash the springs closed with my nine-year-old thumb and finger. Daddy told me the hot fire had taken all of the temper out of the steel. Now, I was one sad little boy. I was sad until Christmas when my sister bought me a new Victor #1½ Longspring.
I rubbed the oil off the new trap with soap and water. A couple of weeks later, I found an old haystack, dug a hole in the rotten hay, put some hog crackling in the back and my beautiful trap tied to the middle of an eight-foot pole that was set in front of the hole.
Next morning, when I got to the haystack, my trap and drag were gone. After a good cry, I came to my senses and thought, ‘It was tied to a drag. Maybe I can find it.’ I started circling the field, and about halfway around, I saw the most beautiful sight. I had my red fox! I’ll never forget it, and after all these years, I still have that trap. Yes, trappers there is a Santa Claus.
