Otter Slide

When a teenager, we trapped for several seasons for ready cash. We mostly caught muskrat along southern Berkshire's rivers and streams, with a smattering of raccoon, a rare beaver or two, once a mink, which we suspected had escaped from the local mink farm.

Over the half century since then, the Berkshires have reverted to forests in a big way. Beaver and coyote now are pests, and trapping has been banned by the good people in Boston, whose teens seem to get their ready cash some other way.

Winter always was a good time to scour the rivers and streams and woods for signs of trappable fur. A half foot of snow always helped; more made for much effort just to move about. With the snow, we easily could identify various sign, such as tracks, scat, rubbings, etc. Today, sign is far more plentiful than then, in large part because of the great increase in the number of fur animals returning to our wilderness.

Yesterday, on our daily short drive to the post office, we passed a venerable local mill pond and its dam. After we went by, something registered, taking me back 50 years. Backing up, we saw on the snow-covered bank between the stream and the top of the dam the most distinctive otter side we have seen in years. The tracks come up out of the stream and stop at the wall above, where the playful otter seized the moment to slide on the snow back into the stream.

I couldn't help but wonder - What's a large otter's pelt worth these days?