Williamstown Trapper Responds to Critics: Trapping Is Science, Not Savagery

In a letter to the editor, Mike Covey of Williamstown offered a forceful defense of trapping, responding to what he described as the annual, consistent efforts of anti-hunting activists to misrepresent the practice. Covey, identifying himself as part of the trapping community, argued that foothold traps are designed to hold, not injure, and that Vermont operates under the most stringent trapping requirements in North America. He pointed to state laws that require trappers to report non-target catches, establish welfare standards for captured animals, and direct by statute how animals must be dispatched once they are caught. Covey said these legal safeguards ensure, to the highest degree possible, that animals are not injured in foothold traps. He rejected the claim that trapped animals commonly suffer broken bones, calling it both inaccurate and contrary to a trapper’s practical interests. “An animal with broken bones from a trap is far more likely to escape the trap, so both practicality and humanity dictate that trappers don’t want this outcome,” he wrote. Covey accused activists of refusing to absorb new information and of continuing to rely on a perspective of trapping mechanisms that has been antiquated for decades. “Nothing new for this set of activists,” he added. The letter appears to be part of an ongoing annual debate in Vermont over the ethics and legality of trapping, a practice that supporters view as a legitimate wildlife management tool and critics view as inherently cruel. Covey’s opening argument is intended to challenge the emotional images that often dominate these discussions. He maintains that if activists were genuinely concerned about animal welfare, they would take the time to understand how modern foothold traps function and how strictly Vermont regulates their use. He also suggests that the state’s legal framework is not an accident but a reflection of careful study and public input. For Covey, the gap between what activists claim and what trappers actually do is not a minor misunderstanding; it is a fundamental failure to engage with reality. The letter is written not by a professional lobbyist but by a Williamstown resident who identifies with the people he is defending, and that personal voice is central to the argument’s credibility.

Covey’s case goes beyond the mechanics of individual traps to the scientific foundation behind them. He described trapping as a science and noted that more than $40 million and 30 years of research were devoted to developing the Best Management Practices, or BMPs, that Vermont has now written into law. These practices, Covey said, were designed to ensure to the highest degree possible that animals are not injured in foothold traps. The research effort behind the BMPs involved wildlife biologists, trappers, and state agencies, and it represents one of the most extensive studies of trapping methods ever conducted. Covey’s reference to BMPs is important because it positions trapping not as an unregulated pastime but as a profession governed by evidence-based standards. In Vermont, these standards are not optional; they are part of the legal framework that trappers must follow. Covey acknowledged that he could write an entire dissertation on how traps are made selective, meaning they are designed to capture target species while minimizing the risk to non-target wildlife. He mentioned factors such as trap size, pan tension, location, and lure selection, all of which can be adjusted to make a set more selective. But he chose not to go into that level of detail in the letter. Instead, he emphasized the broader point: modern trapping equipment and techniques are intentionally designed to avoid injury, and the state has legal mechanisms to enforce their use. According to Covey, the activists’ portrayal of foothold traps as bone-breaking devices is contradicted by decades of field research. “Contemplate that for a minute,” he wrote, urging readers to consider the scale and duration of the research that supports Vermont’s trapping laws. For Covey, the $40 million investment is proof that trapping is a serious, scientifically grounded enterprise. The fact that Vermont has adopted the strictest standards in North America, he suggests, should give even skeptical readers pause before they accept the claims of anti-trapping activists. He also implies that the dissemination of false information about trapping is not simply an intellectual error but a harmful act that undermines public trust in wildlife management. By foregrounding the science behind trapping, Covey tries to move the debate away from sentiment and toward evidence.

Covey also made a practical public-policy argument in favor of trapping, one that centers on the relationship between trappers and the Vermont Fish and Wildlife Department. He wrote that trappers have a unique ability to provide the department with biological sampling of the state’s fur-bearing species. By collecting animals from the landscape, trappers generate data that wildlife managers can use to monitor the health and population status of 13 species. This information can be gathered at the local, regional, or statewide level, depending on where trappers are active. Covey then raised a series of pointed logistical questions. How would the state replace approximately 600 trappers who are dispersed across Vermont and equipped to collect this information? How many new employees would the Fish and Wildlife Department need to hire, train, and deploy to do the same work? Who would pay for those employees? The implied answer is that no state agency has the budget or the staffing capacity to replace the trappers, and that the state would lose an enormous amount of data if trapping were eliminated. This argument reframes trapping as a collaborative conservation effort rather than a recreational activity. The samples collected by trappers can include tissue, blood, teeth, and other biological material, all of which help biologists assess the age structure, nutrition, reproduction, and disease status of wildlife populations. Without this network of licensed trappers, Covey argues, the state would be flying blind when it comes to managing fur-bearers. He also suggests that the economic value of this free labor is significant, though he does not put a dollar figure on it. By making trapping a source of essential information for state wildlife managers, Covey gives it a public purpose that extends well beyond the individual trapper’s interest in fur. This is one of the strongest parts of his letter, as it invites readers to consider what would be lost, not only in terms of tradition or recreation, but in terms of the state’s ability to make informed decisions about wildlife conservation. It also turns the ethical question around: if trapping is eliminated, who will pay for the data that the state still needs? For Covey, the answer is obvious, and it makes trapping indispensable.

Covey then addressed the tone of the debate, expressing frustration with what he called “virulence, hostility, even hate” toward the hunting and trapping community. He wrote that this hostility should merit a fact-check of the activists’ assertions, suggesting that opponents of trapping are not simply offering a different ethical perspective but are promoting false claims about the practice. Covey’s choice of words—“virulence” and “hate”—indicates that he sees the criticism of trapping as an attack on a way of life, not just a policy disagreement. He responded by humanizing trappers, describing them as neighbors who come from all walks of life. “We are farmers, doctors, lawyers, ministers, teachers, tradespeople,” he wrote. “We come from all walks of life, all ages, all races, and all genders.” The list is deliberate. By naming a range of professions and identities, Covey challenges the stereotype of a trapper as an isolated outsider or a fringe character. Instead, he presents trapping as an activity practiced by ordinary citizens who are deeply embedded in their communities. This rhetorical move is intended to make it harder for activists to demonize trappers as a group. The letter does not cite a specific incident or provide examples of the hostility he describes, but it clearly reflects a broader climate in which hunting and trapping have become contentious in public discourse. Covey suggests that the intensity of the opposition is disproportionate to the reality of a highly regulated activity. He also implies that the activists’ refusal to acknowledge the facts is itself a form of disrespect, one that makes honest conversation impossible. For Covey, the animus directed at trappers is not just unpleasant; it is a sign that opponents are operating from emotion rather than evidence. By calling for a fact-check, he invites readers to compare the claims of activists with the actual regulations, research, and practices that define trapping in Vermont. He also frames the debate as one between insiders who truly understand the field and outsiders who have no direct experience and no interest in learning.

Covey closed with a strong assertion of authority and an invitation for the public to educate itself from the proper sources. “We are the authority on trapping,” he wrote. “If you want to learn about it, we and the Department are the resources, not activists who can’t step away from denigrating our community to have an honest conversation and learn.” This statement does more than defend trapping; it flips the usual hierarchy of credibility in animal-welfare debates. Activists often claim moral high ground by speaking for animals, but Covey counters that the people who actually set traps, check them, and handle captured wildlife are the ones who truly understand what is involved. He explicitly directs readers to the Department of Fish and Wildlife as another trustworthy source, which is significant because it places trapping within the official framework of state wildlife management. He then points to the website of the Vermont Trappers Association, www.trappers.com, and urges readers to “explore” the information available there. This is a practical and constructive step: instead of merely complaining about activists, Covey offers a concrete resource for anyone who wants to learn more about trapping. The invitation to explore also signals confidence. Covey seems to believe that if people examine the research, the regulations, and the evidence from the field, they will come to see trapping as a legitimate, humane, and necessary practice. He does not ask readers to agree with everything trappers do, but he does ask them to seek out information from people who know what they are talking about. The closing message is educational rather than confrontational, though it repeats his earlier critique of activists who, in his view, are unwilling to listen or learn. For Covey, the conversation about trapping should be based on facts, not fear, and the facts are available to anyone who is willing to look. His confidence in the public record—Vermont’s trapping laws, the BMP research, and the department’s own practices—is central to his case.

Taken as a whole, Covey’s letter is a comprehensive defense of trapping that moves from trap design to scientific research, from wildlife management logistics to community identity, and finally to the question of who should be trusted to speak about trapping. It is a response to a longstanding and recurring debate, and it is clearly written with the goal of persuading not only trappers but also the general public. The letter’s emphasis on Vermont’s legal standards is central to its argument. Covey is not simply saying that trapping should be allowed because it is traditional; he is saying that it is heavily regulated, carefully researched, and conducted by people who have a direct interest in avoiding animal suffering. He also makes a pragmatic argument: trapping supplies valuable biological data to the state at almost no cost, and replacing the trappers’ network would be expensive, difficult, and probably impossible within current budget constraints. That argument may resonate with readers who do not hunt or trap but care about wildlife conservation. At the same time, Covey’s letter is unlikely to satisfy animal-rights advocates, many of whom oppose any use of foothold traps on principle, regardless of regulations. The letter does not attempt to address every ethical objection; it focuses instead on correcting what Covey sees as factual errors and unfair personal attacks. He calls for a fact-based conversation, and he offers himself and his community as the sources of that information. Whether his invitation will change minds is another matter. In an increasingly polarized debate, facts are often less persuasive than values, and the divide between trappers and anti-trapping activists is as much about ethics as about data. But Covey’s letter provides a clear statement of one side’s position, and it challenges the other side to respond with evidence rather than slogans. For Vermonters seeking to understand the arguments for trapping, his letter offers a starting point: a reminder that trapping is legal, scientific, regulated, and, according to those who practice it, an essential part of wildlife management. The final word belongs to Covey: if you want to know the truth about trapping, ask a trapper.