Every year, when the leaves begin to turn and the air grows crisp in Vermont, the same debate returns like a bad cold. Anti-hunting activists fill social media and letters to the editor with angry accusations about trapping, using words like “barbaric” and “cruel.” They post photos of animals in traps, they demand bans, and they speak as though trappers are heartless strangers. For Mike Covey, a trapper from Williamstown, this annual ritual is both exhausting and hurtful. He knows the activists are not describing his world. They are describing a world from decades ago, one that no longer reflects how trapping works, how trappers think, or how wildlife agencies regulate the practice. In his letter, Covey argues that these activists display a complete lack of understanding of what trapping actually is. They imagine that a foothold trap—a device built to hold an animal by the paw—is a medieval torture instrument. They do not realize that Vermont has some of the strictest trapping requirements in North America, designed to ensure the welfare of animals after capture. They do not know that trappers are required by law to report non-target catches, or that the law directs exactly how an animal must be dispatched once a trapper arrives. And they certainly do not know the people behind the traps. If they did, Covey suggests, they would see that trappers are not monsters. They are ordinary folks who care about wildlife, who spend long mornings in the cold, and who have chosen a difficult, misunderstood role in conservation. The problem, he says, is that activists seem unable to accept new information. They have repeated the same script for so long that they can no longer hear the truth.
The most stubborn myth is that foothold traps are designed to injure or mangle animals. This is exactly backwards. A trap that breaks a bone is far more likely to allow an animal to escape, pulling free in panic and running off with a wound that may become infected or fatal. No trapper wants that. An injured and escaped animal suffers terribly, and the trapper loses the animal. So both practicality and humanity point in the same direction: a trap should hold the animal gently but firmly, keeping it calm and unhurt until the trapper arrives. This is not a rationalization. It is basic engineering, tested and proven through decades of experience. Modern foothold traps are designed with offset jaws, padded components, and careful anchor systems. They are placed in specific sets, often with warning devices and biases that reduce the likelihood of catching non-target animals. The trapper’s goal is to arrive quickly, find a live and uninjured animal, and dispatch it in a clean, respectful way. This is emotionally difficult work. People who do not trap often forget that the trapper is the one who walks through the snow before dawn, checks every trap, and carries the responsibility for whatever happens. Nobody who has felt an animal’s heartbeat slow beneath their hand can dismiss trapping as cruelty. The activists who insist on old images of broken legs and desperate struggles are not looking at the real world. They are looking at a cartoon, a dated meme, or a story they have told themselves so often that it has become true in their minds. That is why they cannot digest new information. They have invested too much in the old story to let it go.
Beneath all of the emotion, there is a powerful body of science. Over the last thirty years, more than forty million dollars has been invested in the development of Best Management Practices for trapping. The goal was not to defend a tradition; it was to answer a difficult question: how can traps be made as humane and selective as possible? Researchers tested dozens of trap types. They measured injury rates, studied behavior, and analyzed outcomes. They consulted wildlife biologists, veterinarians, trappers, and animal welfare experts. They used cameras and tracking devices to see what happened after an animal was released. They examined how different triggers and baits could reduce the chance of catching species that were not the target. They studied the stress of capture and the fastest, most humane ways to dispatch an animal. The results were not guessed. They were measured, compared, and refined over years. Vermont has now written these Best Management Practices into law, meaning every trapper in the state is required to meet the highest standards in North America. This is a remarkable achievement, yet activists rarely mention it. The reason is simple: it complicates their narrative. If trapping were pure cruelty, there would be no need for millions of dollars and decades of research devoted to animal welfare. The very existence of Best Management Practices proves that trappers and wildlife professionals care deeply about how animals are treated. They did not protect old, flawed methods. They replaced them with better ones. But the activists cannot step off the stage long enough to look at the evidence. They do not want to understand how much effort, thought, and money has gone into making traps as humane as modern technology and human knowledge allow. To them, the trap is still a symbol. To trappers, it is a tool shaped by science, law, and a hard-earned ethical sense.
So why should a person who has never trapped support trapping? The answer is not about nostalgia or animal rights. It is about real, practical conservation. In Vermont, there are about six hundred trappers who volunteer their time and expertise across the landscape. They provide the Fish and Wildlife Department with biological samples from thirteen different furbearing species. Those samples tell biologists how healthy the animals are, what diseases are moving through the population, how successful the breeding season was, and how changes in habitat are affecting different species. Without trappers, the state would have to hire, train, and deploy its own network of biologists to do the same work. How many employees would that take? How many vehicles, computers, field kits, and salaries would be required? Who would pay for the entire operation? The answer is obvious: the state could not match the work of volunteer trappers without dedicating enormous resources. This is not a small favor. It is an essential contribution to wildlife management. Trappers are often the first people to notice that a local fox population is collapsing, that mange has appeared in a new area, or that a species is migrating somewhere it had never been seen before. They are the eyes and ears of the agency, and they are unpaid. They file reports, attend education classes, follow complicated regulations, and send in valuable data, all because they love the land and the animals. They are not poachers hiding in the woods. They are licensed, visible, and accountable. Their work helps wildlife managers make better decisions, and that benefits everyone who cares about the natural world. The next time someone wonders why trapping exists, the answer is not just historical. Trapping is a form of citizen science. It is a gift from people who are willing to get up early, get cold, and get their hands dirty so that the rest of us can enjoy healthier wildlife populations.
Perhaps the most painful part of this debate is the tone. The activists do not simply disagree with trapping. They express virulence, hostility, and even hatred toward the entire hunting and trapping community. They write as though trappers are a lower kind of person, someone with no moral compass and no connection to human decency. This is a vicious distortion. Trappers are your neighbors. They are farmers, doctors, lawyers, ministers, teachers, and tradespeople. They are young and old, men and women, people of every race and background. They coach youth sports, serve on town boards, and volunteer at churches. They support their local communities in the same ways everyone else does. They hold the same values: responsibility, honesty, love of family, and a deep respect for nature. When an activist calls a trapper cruel, they are attacking a person who probably spent last weekend helping a friend fix a roof, raising money for a charity, or teaching a child how to fish. There is no way to have a genuine conversation when one side is defined by insults and the other is put in a position of defending its very existence. But that is exactly what happens every year. It is as if the activists believe their fury is a substitute for facts. They have decided that trappers are bad people, and no amount of research, regulation, or personal testimony can change their minds. That is not environmentalism. It is prejudice. It is the refusal to see other people as full human beings. And it hurts everyone because it prevents the kind of honest dialogue needed to manage wildlife in a complex, changing world. If we cannot sit down and talk about how animals die, how can we make wise choices about how animals live?
So who is the authority on trapping? The answer is clear. It is not the activist who has never walked a trap line, never felt the cold steel of a trap in their pocket, never attended a trapper education course, and never carried the weight of the responsibility that comes with taking an animal’s life. The authority is the trapper who has spent years learning the craft and the wildlife professionals who study the data and enforce the rules. Mike Covey extends an invitation to anyone who is curious. He points people to www.trappers.com, a place where they can explore the reality of trapping, its history, its ethics, and its contribution to conservation. There, they will not find a dark underworld of violence. They will find a community that takes its obligations seriously. They will find information about selective sets, trap sizes, dispatch methods, and the science behind Best Management Practices. They will find stories from people who have spent their lives outdoors. If a person truly wants to learn, that website is a good place to begin. If a person only wants to judge, no website and no evidence will ever be enough. But the invitation remains open. Walk with a trapper on a cold morning. Ask what the trap is supposed to do. Ask about the best and worst moments. Ask about the animals, not just the methods. If you listen, you will hear a mixture of respect, sorrow, gratitude, and humility. You will hear someone who understands that life and death are woven together in nature. That is the human reality behind the controversy. That is what the activists refuse to see. But it is true. The trappers are not going to disappear, and they are not ashamed of what they do. They are part of the landscape, just like the animals they manage. They ask only that the public meet them with honesty, fairness, and the willingness to learn before condemning. It is a simple request, and the trappers themselves are waiting, hopefully, for someone to accept it.