by John Jefferson

On my first visit to meet new Minnesota in-laws in the eighties, Vicky led me one afternoon to a trail through the forest behind her mother’s house in a rural part of the state. Beautiful North Woods country!

We walked up on a place where the grass had been wallowed down by wildlife. Innocently, I asked if that had been done by hogs. She laughed and said — “No; Bears!”

BEARS?! I was temporarily terror stricken! My first thought was why hadn’t I brought my .45 Colt? It was locked in the car we had walked right by. But we had gone too far to go back. All I had for self-defense was a tripod and a telephoto lens.

I kept thinking about that as we arrived at a picturesque pond deep in the woods. Vicky had called it “The Beaver Pond,” and I wanted to see a beaver. We piled up some branches and sat behind them, hoping to see one. I hadn’t seen a beaver lodge on the pond, and kept thinking about bears.

It was a perfectly still afternoon. The water’s surface was as smooth as glass. Not a ripple. There was a perfect reflection of the tall pines. The only sound was an occasional mosquito. It was almost like a scene from “On Golden Pond.” I was glad I was there. But kept looking around for bears.

I still wished I had my pistol. As we sat in silence, my reverie was rudely interrupted by the sharp crack of a rifle – maybe a .243 – quite close by. I flinched and nearly kicked over the tripod. Then I detected movement on the water.

“There he is,” Vicky whispered. And there he was! I was amazed that a beaver could make thatgunshot sound with its flat tail slapping onto the flat water as it made a turn to head back in the other direction. It was HIS pond, and I still think he was telling us we were trespassing.

The scene was repeated about a dozen times as the beav kept swimming back and forth, slapping the water each time with its tail as it turned, staring at us as he did it.

I have since seen beaver dams and lodges on ponds in Colorado and have seen videos of beavers swimming and pushing twenty-foot saplings ahead of them. They may be the most industrious construction critters God ever created.

Fishing a creek flowing into Lake Travis 20-plus years ago, we noticed where some small trees had been gnawed down in several areas. A tree or two were on the ground. A few were missing. Vicky said a beaver had done it. We later found the beginning of a lodge under construction.

I’m surprised the Austin City Council hadn’t required a permit!

Lake Travis ebbs and flows after each drought, usually filling in a couple of days after sudden rainstorms. After the next big rise on the lake, sadly, we never saw the lodge again.

Nor any bears!

JJ