Last Updated:  16 March 2004

German-Russian Stories Continued

Copyright (c) By

Marv Hoffer

"Sweet-Smelling Center"

1984

Dickinson, ND

Polecats and Basketball, Don't Mix

Back in '53 I had No. 1 Onida traps strung along seven miles of Hiddenwood Creek NW of Java, bout 7 miles out, which runs frm the "high country" northeast into Hiddenwood Lake, actual a WPA reservoir built in the 1930 Depression. Called this divide "high country" because a few years back glaciers severely carved Dakota so that if you drifted east you wound-up on the Jim River. When you headed west, as along Hiddenwood Creek, you flowed downhill into the Missouri River.

Red fox, muskrat, weasel, skunk, badger, and a few mink were my prize as I checked about 80 traps every third day. The high school superintendent at Java, SD, Harold Spiry, and I had struck a bargain. He granted me the privilege of checking my traps twice a week if I kept my grades at a respectable level. Now he and I had different interpretations as to what a "respectable level" was, is. Mighty good of him. Without that deal I would lose most of my catch to predators, both wild and human, and be "absent without leave" from my educational environment.

The Java Maroons had a "prime time" basketball game scheduled Friday evening, and I was playing center. Never did figure-out center of what. But, first I had to check my traps along Hiddenwood Creek because with my furs I would buy some cloths, cash for Saturday nights, and maybe salt a little away under the mattress for a date with a Dakota lass (?). I had no vehicle, nor the courage to ask anyone for a date, but I had dreams.

At high noon Mom had a big slice of fresh, homemade bread, a little of this and that ready for my traveling lunch. I put on my long-johns, extra pair of overalls, lashed on the old 5-buckle overshoes, hooded parka, cap with warm earflaps, and my horsehide mitts with wool liners. Headed northwest on a prairie-chomping stride. I had loooong legs, skinny, but long. Had to make at least 16 miles round-trip in about four hours, plus check those Oneidas. Winter days on the Dakota prairie were short. My custom was to walk half-mile at about five miles per hour, depending on how deep the drifts were, then run half-mile. More of a job, than run on that hard Dakota snow. It was fair-to-middling for the first three miles along the gravel road. But when I headed across the stubble fields and native sod those five- buckles took the wind out of my sails after a bit. Gulped snow on the trot to keep my whistle wet.

Somewhere along the trail I would thump a cottontail rabbit with my old Winchester model 62 pump rifle, if "luck" was in my pocket. Used "shorts" to get my meat so as not to tear-up too much of it. Skinned that critter and cut hind quarters and little backstrap off, wrapped it in waxed paper with a bit of salt and pepper. Cranked-up a little fire, worked-up some mud from snow and frozen dirt, then packed mud around my rare rabbit. Piled a mess of coals on top of my backing rabbit, and headed along Hiddenwood Creek to bring my furs in. I'd be back in about two hours for my cottontail lunch.

It was my best mink set on the frozen creek. I saw the trap chain tightly pulled up into the hole, and knew I had a 35-dollar pelt waiting for me. That was BIG!!! money in the early - 50s, by any standard. I kneeled down on the ice, and gently pulled on the trap feeling the mink on the other end. Down he came onto the ice, stood on this front legs with hind-quarters and tail in the air like a human handstand. At that close range that "mink" with white spots on a black coat fired two fast shots of yellow-green juice. Bullseye!! Smack-dab on my chest and legs. Took me about two flicks of a horse's tail to know that I had been had, not by a mink, but a polecat. First one I had ever seen in Dakota, least of all on the end of my trap line. Found a branch with which I ended his dancing and squirting, and removed my trap to air on a tree for months. Well, I had about two more miles of traps to check, then head back home. Smelled so bad I had to take my parka off to hang it on a fence post to freshen. Picked it up on the way back to our home at dusk. Smelled the same as when I first hung it there.....powerfully strong. Eyes watered.

Took some long strides over those prairies, and found my cottontail well baked. Broke it out of its mud and waxpaper oven, ate it with my bread, then headed SE with the waning sun to my back. Dark was 1.5 hrs. distant and that basketball game was coming on fast.

Lugged that parka home at arms distance, then put it in the barn to air...for rest of winter. I scrubbed, used that old Lava soap to pull more hide off my frame, but to my family, I still smelled, powerfully strong. My nose was so stressed that I couldn't tell if I smelled like a rose or a road apple. But my family had not doubt.

I hiked to school and showered for an hour with strong soap. I shone like a diamond in a coal pile, but the coach was sure I would not be closely guarded on the floor. We roared through the first half, and at halftime, Coach Black called me into the showers and told me that the visiting team couldn't get past the perfume to guard me. He mumbled something about sportsmanship and asked me to sit out the last half of the game. I did, and showered for another hour, in vain.

Can't remember if we lost or won that game, but know that my coat smelled longer than I did. Never did see another polecat in Dakota, but am sure that basketball and pole cats don't mix.

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