HAZEL DELL -- After a morning snowmobiling against frigid windchills, tramping through deep snow and checking mainly empty traps, the veteran trapper still has a smile as wide as the prairie landscape.
It's not everyone who reaches age 72 and is as blissfully content with life as Jim Luthi. You could say his life has come full circle -- after seven decades he finds his favourite, bittersweet times are still spent checking his traps, expertly skinning his catch and bemoaning the low returns for all his labour.
"In 2006 I was averaging almost $9 for muskrat and about $42 for beaver. This past year the muskrats were fetching $2.60 and I was getting $23 for my beaver," Luthi sighs, sipping hot tea in the cozy comfort of his trapper's cabin.
The senior trapper looks at his shelter, an Atco trailer he and his two sons bought in Prince Albert a few years back for $1,800. It's simple. Four bunks fit into one end, which leaves room for a small kitchen table, an even-smaller work bench, a sink, propane stove and furnace.
"We do have running water. The pump's outside and I do the running," he says with a laugh.
Hanging between the bunk beds, two beautiful coyote pelts catch the early afternoon light splashing in through the trailer's windows. The coyotes are part of his week's catch from the 67 kilometres of trapline he runs on the Hazel Dell PFRA pasture, about 30 kilometres west of Preeceville.
Four tiny weasel pelts, also part of his harvest the past few days, hang from overhead lines like a ballerina's stockings.
"They're small, but each one is worth about $10, and they take only a little work to skin and clean them," he says.
The 55-kg wolf he caught earlier in the winter was a different story. He sold that hide to a Regina taxidermist for $350, a premium compared to what he would have received if he sold them through his usual marketing channels. Saskatchewan trappers like Luthi usually sell through either Fur Harvesters Auction in North Bay, Ont., or North American Fur Auctions in Toronto.
In the past 10 years, provincial trappers have taken between 50,000 to 125,000 pelts, worth about $1.5 million to $3 million depending on market conditions, says Mike Gollop, fur administrator with Saskatchewan Environment, Fish and Wildlife Branch.
"Compare that to the 1920s, when in a typical year Saskatchewan trappers might have harvested a million pelts," says Gollop, who estimates there are still as many as 3,000 trappers in the province.
Luthi figures he was about nine when he first began trapping muskrat and squirrel near the family farm around Punnichy -- the same farm he lives on today with his wife Julia.
"It was the only way I could get pocket money. I'd check my traps on the way back from school. I'll tell you, it was a lot more exciting than any classroom I was in."
The excitement of the trapline and his love for the outdoors never left him.
"Ask any of my four kids. It put clothes on their backs, books in their hands and food on the table," he says.
Today, trapping has lost much of its economic momentum. Low prices due to thinning markets and a strong battle with the international anti-fur lobby all contributed to the downturn in the industry, says Luthi. Warmer winters in Europe have also not helped fur prices.
A longtime director and former president of the Saskatchewan Trappers Association, an organization with about 400 members in the province, Luthi takes all the pressure in stride.
"If I thought this was cruel, I would not be doing it. The simple truth is that when a trapper harvests an area, he is helping maintain nature's balance."
If trappers do not help keep the balance, Mother Nature will, through starvation, disease or both, he says. In a professional trapper's set, an animal will either die instantly or within a few moments.
"That's a whole lot better for a coyote then getting mange and taking two months or longer to die a miserable death," he says.
Luthi was one of a number of professional trappers who worked with the Fur Institute of Canada in helping develop more humane traps for the industry.
From his small trailer Luthi works his line through much of the winter. Every couple of weeks, he makes the two-hour drive south to his farm at Punnichy.
After a couple of days at home, he'll make the trip back to his trailer for another spell of trapping. The crisp, clean Saskatchewan air, the ever-changing weather and the wide-open spaces give him a sense of freedom that is, well, addictive.
He doesn't know if he will ever quit trapping. His health is pretty good and his passion for the work is as keen as ever. If he does one last trip around his trapline and doesn't come back, searchers will find him with a gentle smile on his face. At least that's what his eldest daughter told him.
"How can you stop doing this? I'm surrounded by beauty, tranquility, peace and everything else in the world money can't buy."
http://www.canada.com/saskatoonstar....html?id=0fc615df-b472-451a-8d77-06196ae52fab
It's not everyone who reaches age 72 and is as blissfully content with life as Jim Luthi. You could say his life has come full circle -- after seven decades he finds his favourite, bittersweet times are still spent checking his traps, expertly skinning his catch and bemoaning the low returns for all his labour.
"In 2006 I was averaging almost $9 for muskrat and about $42 for beaver. This past year the muskrats were fetching $2.60 and I was getting $23 for my beaver," Luthi sighs, sipping hot tea in the cozy comfort of his trapper's cabin.
The senior trapper looks at his shelter, an Atco trailer he and his two sons bought in Prince Albert a few years back for $1,800. It's simple. Four bunks fit into one end, which leaves room for a small kitchen table, an even-smaller work bench, a sink, propane stove and furnace.
"We do have running water. The pump's outside and I do the running," he says with a laugh.
Hanging between the bunk beds, two beautiful coyote pelts catch the early afternoon light splashing in through the trailer's windows. The coyotes are part of his week's catch from the 67 kilometres of trapline he runs on the Hazel Dell PFRA pasture, about 30 kilometres west of Preeceville.
Four tiny weasel pelts, also part of his harvest the past few days, hang from overhead lines like a ballerina's stockings.
"They're small, but each one is worth about $10, and they take only a little work to skin and clean them," he says.
The 55-kg wolf he caught earlier in the winter was a different story. He sold that hide to a Regina taxidermist for $350, a premium compared to what he would have received if he sold them through his usual marketing channels. Saskatchewan trappers like Luthi usually sell through either Fur Harvesters Auction in North Bay, Ont., or North American Fur Auctions in Toronto.
In the past 10 years, provincial trappers have taken between 50,000 to 125,000 pelts, worth about $1.5 million to $3 million depending on market conditions, says Mike Gollop, fur administrator with Saskatchewan Environment, Fish and Wildlife Branch.
"Compare that to the 1920s, when in a typical year Saskatchewan trappers might have harvested a million pelts," says Gollop, who estimates there are still as many as 3,000 trappers in the province.
Luthi figures he was about nine when he first began trapping muskrat and squirrel near the family farm around Punnichy -- the same farm he lives on today with his wife Julia.
"It was the only way I could get pocket money. I'd check my traps on the way back from school. I'll tell you, it was a lot more exciting than any classroom I was in."
The excitement of the trapline and his love for the outdoors never left him.
"Ask any of my four kids. It put clothes on their backs, books in their hands and food on the table," he says.
Today, trapping has lost much of its economic momentum. Low prices due to thinning markets and a strong battle with the international anti-fur lobby all contributed to the downturn in the industry, says Luthi. Warmer winters in Europe have also not helped fur prices.
A longtime director and former president of the Saskatchewan Trappers Association, an organization with about 400 members in the province, Luthi takes all the pressure in stride.
"If I thought this was cruel, I would not be doing it. The simple truth is that when a trapper harvests an area, he is helping maintain nature's balance."
If trappers do not help keep the balance, Mother Nature will, through starvation, disease or both, he says. In a professional trapper's set, an animal will either die instantly or within a few moments.
"That's a whole lot better for a coyote then getting mange and taking two months or longer to die a miserable death," he says.
Luthi was one of a number of professional trappers who worked with the Fur Institute of Canada in helping develop more humane traps for the industry.
From his small trailer Luthi works his line through much of the winter. Every couple of weeks, he makes the two-hour drive south to his farm at Punnichy.
After a couple of days at home, he'll make the trip back to his trailer for another spell of trapping. The crisp, clean Saskatchewan air, the ever-changing weather and the wide-open spaces give him a sense of freedom that is, well, addictive.
He doesn't know if he will ever quit trapping. His health is pretty good and his passion for the work is as keen as ever. If he does one last trip around his trapline and doesn't come back, searchers will find him with a gentle smile on his face. At least that's what his eldest daughter told him.
"How can you stop doing this? I'm surrounded by beauty, tranquility, peace and everything else in the world money can't buy."
http://www.canada.com/saskatoonstar....html?id=0fc615df-b472-451a-8d77-06196ae52fab
