It's difficult to explain why I trapped skunks. Why would anyone want to trap skunks? Why would anyone be paid to trap skunks? Nevertheless, Uncialle once trapped skunks nearly every day, and liked it.
Years ago I worked for the University of Idaho on the original research project that defined the boundaries of the (then) proposed Snake River Birds of Prey National Conservation Area. Birds of prey need prey, and to help define the boundary of the proposed sanctuary, we set out many trap lines of livetraps to see where prey were most and least abundant. Three of the trap lines were rows of large wire-mesh box traps I baited with apple and cabbage. One trap line, Rim, was along the rim of the Snake River Canyon, atop black lava walls falling a sheer 800 feet to where the gray Snake crawled below. The second, Talus, was in the canyon, in a slide of black lava boulders as big as cars, sloping down from the bottom of the cliffs toward the Snake. The third, River, lay parallel to the Snake and very near the water, in small plots of grass bounded by currant and sumac. Each morning I would rise before the sun and begin my checks of Rim, Talus, and River.
Each little creature I caught was carefully weighed, tagged, and released. I would record its species, weight, sex, and condition, let the little one hop off, and move along to the next trap. By noon I would be finished. After eating lunch and writing up my notes, I would rebait and set all the traps and return to the office, only to drive back to the canyon the following morning. I captured cottontail rabbits, wood rats, porcupines, and marmots. After the first two days I thought,"This is fun. I'm out in the spring sunshine where I hear the meadowlarks singing, see the falcons flying over--and I get to handle the small creatures without harming them."
Then I caught my first skunk.
It was on Talus, and it was a spotted skunk. Spotties are extremely attractive small skunks, black with white bars and dots, and plumy white tails. When they feel threatened, they stand on their "hands," fluff out their tails--and SQUIRT! --let you have it from their scent glands. Spotties are very irritable, and this one was stamping its front feet when I got to its trap. I knew it would spray me right through the wire mesh if I got close enough to open the trap's door. What to do, what to do? I went about releasing all the other creatures caught that morning on Talus while I pondered what seemed to be the only alternative--take my medicine. Arrgghhh!
The moment of truth arrived. I looked wildly around for help. Then, miraculously, I saw it! Down by the river was a pile of ugly junk left by boaters and fishermen. In this pile lay an old black rubber raft. A light bulb blazed in my mind.
The raft was about seven feet by five, fully collapsed (it no doubt leaked), and still had a rope tied to a ring at the front. "Aha!" I said aloud, and rushed to claim it.
Holding the raft, I approached Spotty's trap. When I was four feet away he let me have it. I raised my raft-shield with the speed of light. I still have a clear memory of the yellow-green droplets shining in the sun as they flashed through the air--and hit the rubber raft. I flapped the raft down over the top of the trap, completely covering it. Gingerly, I reached under the raft and propped open the trap's door. Then I took up the rope and backed away. Fifteen feet from the trap, I used the rope to pull the raft off the trap. Spotty sprayed again, but I was out of range! My hand was a little stinky, and the raft was mighty stinky--but it had saved the day. When Spotty had gone under a boulder, I tied the rope to the trap, folded the "bad" side of the raft around it, and carried my perfumed bundle down to the Snake.
At the water, I held the rope in the middle and threw both raft and trap into the current, anchoring the rope with a big rock. I then went down to River and checked that trap line. When I came for the raft and trap, they were a bit skunky, but tolerable. Back went the trap to Talus. Into the back of the pickup went the blessed raft.
I caught skunks about three times a week during the many weeks I trapped Rim, Talus, and River that year--both the little spotties and the common striped skunks. A few skunks got so used to being caught and released that they stopped spraying. But new skunks always sprayed, and each time, my dear rubber raft saved my bacon. My dear raft got skunkier and skunkier as the weeks wore on.
Several times during the field season, I shut down the trap lines for a few days to do other research. On these expeditions my work partner was a person I will call "Frank." During the research, Frank was living in an old trailer house that was part of the research equipment, which a local rancher kindly let us park on his property. When I worked with Frank I would drive to the trailer and pick him up, and deposit him there at the end of the day.
Frank was frank. He was very frank. His mission in life seemed to be to convert me to his religion, which seemed both bizarre and joyless. After an interval of polite interest, I requested him to stop trying to convert me during working hours. He ignored my request, and became even more frank. As the field season progressed, I got very sick of Frank. I much preferred the skunks.
For some fun at the end of the field research season, all the scientists and technicians decided to have an open-air potluck party down by the Snake. We planned to play volleyball, grill meat over a fire, and eat ourselves silly. Frank's trailer was only about two hundred feet from the area chosen for the party, and we entreated him to come, but he refused.
On the Friday evening before the Saturday party, I dropped Frank at the trailer. This time I got out of the pickup, smiled, and again asked Frank if he would come to the party. I had the idea that some relaxation might help him become less rigid.
"Not a chance," Frank replied. "There will be beer. Someone might dance. There might be a radio with the wrong music."
"Someone will probably bring beer, but you don't have to drink any. I don't," I said, trying to be friendly. It was difficult. I was hoping he would invite me into the trailer for something cold to drink, and we could talk.
"No," Frank said. "This kind of party is from the devil." Slamming the door in my face, he shut himself into the trailer. I turned to the pickup--and my eyes found the faithful rubber raft lying in the pickup bed, steaming skunkily in the hundred-degree heat, even folded up as it was with the smelly part inside. The field season was over, the traps cleaned and stored. What would I do with the raft? I couldn't take it home--it would stink up the whole street. Suddenly I noticed a dark gap in the aluminum flashing that served as a "skirt" for the old trailer. "Aha!" I thought again.
Saturday was fine and very hot. The party was a great success, attended by dozens of field researchers, toddlers, and dogs. After an afternoon of volleyball, the potluck dinner was set out, and we lit a fire to cook the meat. Two fellows walked over to Frank's trailer for a last attempt at inviting him. When I saw them trudging back, I could tell from their dejected posture that Frank had turned them down. "Wow," said "Jim," "It sure stinks over there. Must be a whole family of skunks living under that trailer."
"Yeah," said "George," "You know, that trailer has all kinds of holes in the floor where the stench can come through. I don't know how Frank stands it in there!" A faint odor of skunk clung to Jim and George as they flopped down beside me on the grass. It turned out to be a beautiful, starry evening down by the Snake. The skunks must have loved it.