BigHornRam
Well-known member
Traps instill fear, kill indiscriminately
Thursday, March 5, 2009
By FILIP PANUSZ
I feel compelled to reply to a Feb. 19 guest column submitted by Dennis Schutz. In response, I propose that trapping on public lands is akin to terrorism.
For the first time in nearly two years, I returned to Rock Creek last week. Joining me were B謡, who came to us shortly after my boy Cupcake died on the banks of this God-forsaken creek two years earlier, and Kelli, who witnessed her best friend’s death on that fateful day. I could not bear to approach Valley of the Moon, so we continued down the road a bit. As I parked the car, I sat silently thinking ominous thoughts.
Although in years past I loved to meander through riparian zones in search of the wildlife that prefers them as well, I cannot now escape the sense of dread that will forever continue to haunt all creeks, streams and rivers. Particularly in wintertime, I am overcome by this fear of traps, and I wonder whether beaver and mink share in my fear.
The girls were clearly eager to get out, but I lingered, trying hard to figure out in my head what I knew was quite impossible to know: “Could there be coyote traps up there?” As we began our hike, we approached a creek crossing before beginning our ascent to (hopefully) safer ground above. Although the girls were only yards ahead, I called out to them desperately, corralling them close to me as I scanned the water’s edge for danger.
We made it to the cliffs and back, but as we drove toward home, tears finally welled up in my eyes. Unwelcome memories returned: of Cupcake’s cold and wet body and the smell of the wet, iron contraption still attached to his neck. Both appeared behind me in the car: soaked, heavy and stiff. Only moments ago, Cupcake was bouncing playfully around a serviceberry bush, fascinated by the chirping of a restless chickadee. Then, the awful snap, gasp and cry, and my boy looking into my eyes pleading for help, which I could not give.
Ever since my beloved dog died in my arms two years ago, a Conibear trap hanging from his neck, I have tried desperately to suppress anger, and have forever carried within me that irrational burden of guilt ... “Dad, why didn’t you save me?”
I cannot fathom how a person can question the veracity of another human being who has just suffered trauma, as Schutz recently did. I would like to assure him that I did not fabricate my story (nor did Steve Slocomb fabricate his), and if he has doubts, I can offer Cupcake’s ashes as partial proof. Nor can I fathom the heart that prefers scurrilous attacks to empathy. I suppose those prone to one kind of violence will see nothing wrong with another, but I am unable to understand such people, particularly when they are as “rational” as the FWP.
I realize that likening trapping to terrorism will be controversial, and I do not mean to equate one with the other. There is, however a similarity. Terrorism is the attempt to achieve political ends through inflicting indiscriminate suffering and instilling indiscriminate fear. Although trappers are not pursuing political ends, their traps do operate indiscriminately and thereby mete out fear equally on all users of public lands. Traps are thus a device that impinges upon the lives of others. If Schutz is angry with those who allegedly aim to destroy his way of life, he should therefore be equally outraged by his own traps. He forgets that people have the right to a way of life only insofar as their actions don’t infringe upon another person’s way of life.
In response to Schutz’s claim that “trappers are consumptive users of renewable natural resources,” I would like to add that I do not consider my wife’s suffering, or that of my dog, to be a renewable resource. I can also assure him that “six domestic dogs” would seem like six too many if one happened to be his.
And finally, if Schutz is inclined to blame victims for this “tiresome” debate, might I suggest that we put an end to it once and for all by disposing of its true source: the trap?
Filip Panusz writes from Missoula.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
By FILIP PANUSZ
I feel compelled to reply to a Feb. 19 guest column submitted by Dennis Schutz. In response, I propose that trapping on public lands is akin to terrorism.
For the first time in nearly two years, I returned to Rock Creek last week. Joining me were B謡, who came to us shortly after my boy Cupcake died on the banks of this God-forsaken creek two years earlier, and Kelli, who witnessed her best friend’s death on that fateful day. I could not bear to approach Valley of the Moon, so we continued down the road a bit. As I parked the car, I sat silently thinking ominous thoughts.
Although in years past I loved to meander through riparian zones in search of the wildlife that prefers them as well, I cannot now escape the sense of dread that will forever continue to haunt all creeks, streams and rivers. Particularly in wintertime, I am overcome by this fear of traps, and I wonder whether beaver and mink share in my fear.
The girls were clearly eager to get out, but I lingered, trying hard to figure out in my head what I knew was quite impossible to know: “Could there be coyote traps up there?” As we began our hike, we approached a creek crossing before beginning our ascent to (hopefully) safer ground above. Although the girls were only yards ahead, I called out to them desperately, corralling them close to me as I scanned the water’s edge for danger.
We made it to the cliffs and back, but as we drove toward home, tears finally welled up in my eyes. Unwelcome memories returned: of Cupcake’s cold and wet body and the smell of the wet, iron contraption still attached to his neck. Both appeared behind me in the car: soaked, heavy and stiff. Only moments ago, Cupcake was bouncing playfully around a serviceberry bush, fascinated by the chirping of a restless chickadee. Then, the awful snap, gasp and cry, and my boy looking into my eyes pleading for help, which I could not give.
Ever since my beloved dog died in my arms two years ago, a Conibear trap hanging from his neck, I have tried desperately to suppress anger, and have forever carried within me that irrational burden of guilt ... “Dad, why didn’t you save me?”
I cannot fathom how a person can question the veracity of another human being who has just suffered trauma, as Schutz recently did. I would like to assure him that I did not fabricate my story (nor did Steve Slocomb fabricate his), and if he has doubts, I can offer Cupcake’s ashes as partial proof. Nor can I fathom the heart that prefers scurrilous attacks to empathy. I suppose those prone to one kind of violence will see nothing wrong with another, but I am unable to understand such people, particularly when they are as “rational” as the FWP.
I realize that likening trapping to terrorism will be controversial, and I do not mean to equate one with the other. There is, however a similarity. Terrorism is the attempt to achieve political ends through inflicting indiscriminate suffering and instilling indiscriminate fear. Although trappers are not pursuing political ends, their traps do operate indiscriminately and thereby mete out fear equally on all users of public lands. Traps are thus a device that impinges upon the lives of others. If Schutz is angry with those who allegedly aim to destroy his way of life, he should therefore be equally outraged by his own traps. He forgets that people have the right to a way of life only insofar as their actions don’t infringe upon another person’s way of life.
In response to Schutz’s claim that “trappers are consumptive users of renewable natural resources,” I would like to add that I do not consider my wife’s suffering, or that of my dog, to be a renewable resource. I can also assure him that “six domestic dogs” would seem like six too many if one happened to be his.
And finally, if Schutz is inclined to blame victims for this “tiresome” debate, might I suggest that we put an end to it once and for all by disposing of its true source: the trap?
Filip Panusz writes from Missoula.
