Necklace of colorful beads attracts trout, marten

I must admit to having superstitious tendencies. In high school track, I ran with a penny tucked into my shoe. I have kept every four-leaf clover I've ever stumbled upon, and I stick close to home on any Fridays that land on the 13th of the month.

So it didn't take me long this summer to conclude that I had a lucky fishing necklace on my hands. I just happened to be wearing the colorful string of tiny beads when I landed my first king salmon. After years and years of no-luck king salmon fishing, I didn't believe for a minute that it was good timing or any improvement in my skills. I thought of everything I had with me, and realized the necklace was the only addition to my normal fishing attire.

Later in the season, I tested my theory by wearing the beads during a fishing trip on Willow Creek. I quickly caught the only trout of the morning. Halibut fishing out of Homer, the necklace held its charm, and again while shore fishing near Seward and while going after cohos in local streams.

At the end of each fishing trip, I would hang the necklace carefully on a hook on the wall. I refused to wear it at any other time, in case the luck should wear out with overuse. By summer's end, I had had one of my best fishing seasons ever, and I owed it all to the necklace.

I thought it would be a long winter before I wore the string of beads again. But then I set out my first trap line.

As I prepared to check my line for the first time since opening day, I wondered if fish luck transferred to marten luck. Just in case, I fastened the necklace at my throat before I threw on my wool jacket.

The drive north up the highway seemed longer than ever, not just because of the snowy roads but also because of my excitement. All week long I had gone over in my mind the handful of sets I had built on opening day and worried if I had secured the pole well enough and placed the trap correctly.

I knew from the fresh tracks crisscrossing my trail on opening weekend that there were marten about. What I didn't know is if I had the skill to catch them, but at least I had a bit of luck with me.

At the beginning of the trail, I strapped on my snowshoes and shouldered my pack full of bait and traps. The first set wasn't far and I practically ran to it. Nothing. Hardly pausing, I rushed down the trail to the next set. Again, nothing.

Perhaps it was asking too much for a necklace to be a good luck charm year-round. Maybe it was just plain silly to be wearing a rainbow of beads while checking traps.

But then I came to the next set, and like they say, the third time is the charm. There, hanging like a textbook example of how a pole set should work, was my first marten. It was frozen solid and its beautiful brown fur was slightly frosted. I released its leg, set it in a nearby tree and reset the trap.

Right there I would have been content to turn around and drive home with my first catch. But I still had another four sets to check, and I planned to build a few more.

I walked at a slightly slower pace and was still thinking about my first marten when I rounded a tree and saw my second catch of the day. This marten was even bigger than the first and nearly touched the ground with its front legs where it hung from my trap. And while my husband had built the last set the week before trapping season to teach me how, this one was all my own.

I couldn't believe it. It was a lucky trapping necklace after all.

But where one marten left me content, two made me greedy, and I was soon imagining returning home with more than I could carry at once.

After all, I had another three sets to check.

Greed, however, never brings good luck. The rest of my sets were untouched, and I noticed few fresh marten tracks.

I spent the rest of the day pushing my trail farther into the big spruce trees, watching for more sign, axing poles for new sets and wiring bait to trees. Spurred on by my newfound success, I wanted to get as many traps out as I could manage.

When I had extended my line to nearly a dozen sets, I turned around and headed home with my two marten.

After all, I wouldn't want to have a 13-trap line.

Eowyn LeMay Ivey covers outdoors and education for the Frontiersman.