NEWBURGH, Maine — Together, they methodically slosh their way across the patchwork quilt of ice and hummock, a perfect Maine bog in the midst of a mid-winter thaw. Man and boy. Stepfather and stepson. Trapper and trapper’s apprentice.
In some ways, the semi-frozen swamp is a classroom for 11-year-old Micah Shamlian: He is homeschooled by his mother in neighboring Carmel, and completed a study unit on muskrats before he ever stepped foot on the ice with his stepdad, Kevin Smith.
Not that Micah thinks of it that way. To him, heading outside to check and set traps is more like recess.
“[I] get to get out and just have time with [Kevin], and get out in the woods,” Micah says, nodding toward his stepfather. “It’s really nice.”
Still, there are lessons to be learned. Gently, unobtrusively and constantly, Smith slips into the role of teacher.
Why not not trap on the small, pristine beaver flowage that they had to hike past on the way to this somewhat less attractive spot? “Two reasons,” Smith says as the duo check out the first, potentially better, option. “One, there’s already a guy trapping here. Two, if the ice goes thick and thin, you don’t want to [trap] on a pond that’s over your head. There’s nothing here worth dying for.”
Micah nods his head in agreement. Lessons learned: Be courteous. Be safe.
Smith is a taxidermist by training and trade, but trapped a few times with his brothers when he was growing up. Still, he wasn’t a licensed trapper when then-8-year-old Micah and he sat down for a discussion three years ago.
“[He asked me] how he could make some money,” Smith recalls. “I told him about my paper route [when I was a kid]. That was out. I told him about mowing lawns. That wasn’t a good option in Carmel. Then I said, ‘I did a little muskrat trapping, made a few dollars off that.’”
Since then, during trapping season, which runs from November until March in Wildlife Management District 17, the duo have teamed up to run their own small trap line. On this January day, they tend 27 traps. Most are set for muskrat and a few targeted beavers.
Not far from one beaver house, Smith drops his pack basket and hands Micah the ice chisel. It’s time for another unannounced lesson.
“I’ll have you [chip ice away from] the hard one,” Smith said, pointing to a hole where one trap has been set, and has frozen into the ice. “I’ll do the easy one.”
Micah nods and starts chipping. Another lesson, another passing grade: Earn your keep. Respect your elders. Work hard.
Micah is a relative rarity: Even in an outdoorsy state like Maine, there aren’t many “junior trappers.” According to the most recently available Department of Inland Fisheries and Wildlife data, in 2013 the state had 3,141 licensed trappers. Of those, just 236 were junior trappers — younger than 16.
For Smith, trapping is a way to enjoy a tradition that goes back centuries. And he’s glad to share the experience.
“Our country was settled on trapping, the fur trade, pioneers, stuff like that,” Smith says. “All the technology in the world’s not going to make you that much better of a muskrat trapper.”
Knowledge, however, might. How do muskrat act? What do they need? Where do they live? How do you find them?
Smith points at the ice to explain what trappers see, and others may ignore … if others are even out tromping around on frozen swamps.
“See those bubbles in the ice?” They may look like regular bubbles, but there’s none over there, none over there,” he says, pointing at different parts of the bog. “Since the bubbles came along right here, most likely the muskrat went through there. And that’s the house, right back there.”
Trap after trap, hole after hole, Micah chips ice and checks traps. A common theme emerges.
Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.
“We’ve got to get one,” Micah says as he approaches yet another hole, hoping for the best.
“It’s a good thing we’re not counting,” Smith says.
For the record, Smith is not “a counter.” He loves golf, but doesn’t keep score. When asked how many muskrat the duo have sold, he asks Micah. (The answer is 28).
“It’s a bunch of mud,” Micah says after extricating the trap and finding a mess where he had hoped to see a muskrat. “At least we caught something.”
Another lesson learned: Accept defeat with grace. Don’t sweat small stuff. Live in the moment.
“It’s a good thing we’ve got another job to pay our mortgage,” Smith replies, smiling.
No, Smith’s not a counter. Instead, he’s a story-teller. But even the best story-tellers know that certain tales should be told by someone else. It’s just a matter of getting the unsuspecting narrator to start talking.
“He likes to eat muskrat,” Smith begins. “Don’t let him forget to tell you that.”
Micah takes up the tale on cue: “That’s not good,” he groans, reliving his only experience eating the swamp-dwelling critter. “We only tried it once because my mom tried … she was like, ‘We’re not going to waste this.’ So we tried it. Disgusting. Very disgusting.’”
Micah can’t remember exactly how his mom tried to prepare her muskrat dish, but is pretty sure she soaked the meat in salt water overnight. After that, things get hazy.
“I think she fried it, but she could have put it in a crockpot,” he says. When pressed to compare it to anything else he’d ever tasted, Micah came up empty. “That’s how bad it is. Horrible.”
Don’t eat the muskrat. Even if it’s been brined. Lesson learned.
The life of a trapper isn’t easy. Sometimes you get cold. Sometimes you break through the ice. At that point, it becomes important to have learned the right lessons.
“You usually don’t get wet. [But] I sometimes wear waders that are up to my hips,” Micah says. He also reluctantly admits that he can’t remember exactly how many times he’s broken through in shallow water.
“I don’t even know how many, man,” he says. “The last one was a pretty good soak.”
As always, though, Smith was nearby to lend a helping hand.
“We got him back to shore,” Smith says. “We won’t tell mom about that.”
After a couple hours on the bog, the duo begin the hike back to their truck. Man and boy. Stepfather and stepson. Trapper and trapper’s apprentice. Teacher and student.
And class is still in session.
“This is getting heavy,” Micah complains, switching the ice-chipper from one shoulder to another.
Kevin keeps on walking.
“Life’s not easy, young man,” he says, teaching day’s final lesson. “You want to carry the pack basket?”
Micah smiles and just keeps walking.
