On Trapping

I won’t say I’m a dedicated or skilled trapper. Work and motherhood has brought my time on the line to an abrupt halt, but I consider myself an advocate. My passion for trapping can be traced back to a drizzly November day many years ago. It was mid-morning. My brother Bill and I were out running the line, which spanned from one end of town to the other. I was driving my old 95 Ford Taurus, the kind that still had the square body and a bench seat, and he was riding shotgun. The trunk was loaded with equipment and dead animals. We put that car through a lot.