Trapping: What does a typical trip look like? So now that you know what a trap looks like and what we are trying to catch and why, what does this actually look like in practice? Let's go through an imagined six day trip in the Murchison Mountains. The day before the trip we all gather in Te Anau to pack our gear. This means sorting out eggs and meat to send in. A typical day might entail 50-60 traps, or as many as 100, so for a six day trip that's a lot of eggs! Our bait gets dropped by helicopter at each of the huts we will stay in, so we can also send our own food and change of clothes etc. The next morning we arrive at the helipad bright and early. Each of us will be dropped to a different location, armed with an array of tools and a backpack full of eggs. We wave goodbye to our mates, and then we're on our own. Our workplan will tell us which traps to check, any maintenance that is needed to keep the traps functioning well, and where we will end up for the night. Each day will take us on a new adventure, trapping from hut to hut, or sometimes completing a big loop to end at the same location. A good day might look like this... The morning dawns cool and clear. I've dried my boots with newspaper overnight, and my clothes are also dry. I fry up a hearty breakfast of halloumi and beans, and get an early start to beat the heat. My workplan takes me up a gentle ridge, through gorgeous glades of open beech forest. Most of the traps are empty, meaning I move quickly, with little cleaning to do. By lunchtime I am above bushline, and I enjoy a sandwhich with views of Fiordland peaks as far as the eye can see. In the afternoon my trapline follows a bubbling stream, and about 3pm I stop and take a dip in a deep pool. I arrive back at the hut by 5pm, to find it is still in the sun. I cook dinner and read a book, soaking up the last rays, and marvelling at the relative lack of sandflies. Ahhhh, trapper paradise.... A not-so-good-day might look like this... I awaken to rain on the roof of the hut. My boots are sopping wet from yesterday, and although I tried to wring out my clothes last night and optimistically hung them in the damp annex, the thought of putting them on makes my toes curl. Eventually I coax myself out to start the day. My work plan takes me up a steep bush-clad face, with several sections featuring a fixed rope to haul myself up. My quads burn and I slip on wet tree roots, hearing eggs crack in my backpack. Around lunchtime I emerge above bushline to be slapped around the face with a cold wind and sideways rain. My fingers are frozen in my wet gloves, and cleaning the traps becomes more challenging. My day is slow going, with grubby traps to scrub and lots of rats to clear. Mid afternoon I realise I left my tool for opening the trapboxes at the last trap box, and have to double back, which means scrambling back up 200m elevation. Grrr. This happens once more later in the day. My brain is tired. I arrive at the hut close to 7pm, exhausted and feeling sad about the cold hut with mould covering every surface. After six days, I would trap my way to the lake shore for a boat pick up to take me home. Sometimes this is the Te Anau Glow worms cave boat, which makes us very aware of how we smell by that point, in contrast to the clean and perfumed tourists. Having ridden the roller coaster of emotional experiences, we arrive back at HQ to joyfully consume hot showers, cold beers, and fresh food. Mmmmmm.
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I am a conservation field worker in New Zealand. I love mountains, sunrises, river swims, barefeet, cold beer, campfires, live music and whiskey. Archives
September 2020
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