This is the first chapter of my memoir of watching beavers and otters. I am slowly writing it and putting other chapters on my blog at Memoir of Three Valleys
Otters Dig Through Beaver History
Beavers are
shaped like the history they make, like their ponds, triple oblongs:
head, body, tail. It may be true that no man is an island unto
himself, but don't pin that on a beaver. Otters are shaped like their
dream, like the fish they chase. Get a long line of otters together
and you might fairly say you have a river with fish running through.
Otters on the shore of the Big Pond
Beavers and
otters are about the same size, say a yardstick long including tail
with the small end of the otter's tail exceeding that limit. Neither
is that type of furry animal which impresses you with how light they
are when you pick one up. They don't fluff out in a show. Their fur
is the nonpareil. When such things mattered scientists rated the
durability of furs. Otter fur rated 100, the standard for all others,
beaver fur 90, everything else hardly bumped 50, mink and skunk made
70. So they are heavy animals for their size which attests to their
strength of their muscles.
They have
muscles where we and most other animals don't; muscles that make
their tails blur not just wag. Since the fall of 1997 I have taken
videos of beavers. Their usual reaction to my being there is to slap
their tail. Almost every time they do that, the camcorder jerks.
Their pancake shaped tail is hinged to their body the better to
thwack the water with always surprising force.
A beaver prepares to slap its tail
No mammal's
tail is more a part of the body than the otter's cone shaped tail
and in that respect it is almost as fearsome as an alligator's. Yes,
it can wag in the air when an otter dives but its the motive whip and
rudder when the undulating otter swims underwater. In the relatively
shortened spaces of a beaver pond it is clear that thanks to its
strong tail there is no corner of it that an otter cannot get to
almost instantly.
An otter's tail catches up to the wake it made
Beavers are
fast swimmers too but their tail is for steering. Their two large
webbed hind feet propel them through the water.
Both animals can stay under water 10 minutes at a time easily. Both animals are equally adapted to operating under water using their mouth and fore paws to catch and eat fish or dig and cut roots.
Both animals can stay under water 10 minutes at a time easily. Both animals are equally adapted to operating under water using their mouth and fore paws to catch and eat fish or dig and cut roots.
Both have
sensitive whiskers that extra sense humans can't begin to fathom
especially since beavers and otters use that sense under water. Otter
whiskers sense bullheads sleeping in the muddy bottom. As well as for
finding roots under water, I think beavers use their whiskers when
they're gnawing almost to the middle of the trunk of a tree 30 feet
taller than they are. At the twitch of a whisker dancing on the wood,
get your head out!
a beaver's whiskers
The fallen
trees around a beaver pond attest to the strength of a beaver's jaws
and teeth. When they aren't gnawing deeply into the trunks of trees,
beavers are rather modest about the strongest part of their body.
They have a receding lower jaw and contrary to all the cartoons of
them, their four large front incisors also recede and are half
covered with flab. You almost never see their teeth even when they are
eating. But you hear their gnawing even if you're at the next pond up or down from the pond where they are dining.
A beaver skull
The bullet
shape of an otter's head keeps their jaws and show of teeth from
being as obvious as a snarling dog's. But they communicate the strength of
their jaws and teeth in two ways. When eating a fish they often hold
their head ups and gnash the fish with their teeth in full view.
When they do that you can hear the attention grabbing crack of fish bones. A literal translation of one Indian word for otter is bone-cruncher. Yes, the sentimental depictions of them are also true. They can loll on their back, hold a fish in their front paws and more daintily pick at the meat but in some 16 years of watching them, I saw that once.
When they do that you can hear the attention grabbing crack of fish bones. A literal translation of one Indian word for otter is bone-cruncher. Yes, the sentimental depictions of them are also true. They can loll on their back, hold a fish in their front paws and more daintily pick at the meat but in some 16 years of watching them, I saw that once.
Like most
animals they both have good hearing, but they are soft spoken. The beavers
“hmmmm”; the otters “huuuuuh.” The beaver's angry hiss is
scarcely audible and my usual reaction to the screech of a vexed
otter is you got to be kidding. (Otters do have a call almost as loud
as that from hungry cattle about to be fed but that call is meant
only for other otters or God in heaven. It is at once that insistent
and ethereal.)
Both are
awkward on land. The beaver's gallop is a bit of a thump – that big flat tail!
However on ice and going down snow covered slopes the otter is faster then any mammal except the mink. (That much smaller mammal of the same mustelidae family can give the illusion of sliding uphill in the snow – at least to me and I can't explain it.) The beaver doesn't slide in the snow or ice.
A beaver runs toward a hole in the Big Pond's ice
The otter's gallop
is more like a dance but a bit clumsy.However on ice and going down snow covered slopes the otter is faster then any mammal except the mink. (That much smaller mammal of the same mustelidae family can give the illusion of sliding uphill in the snow – at least to me and I can't explain it.) The beaver doesn't slide in the snow or ice.
So the
interesting thing about the co-evolution of beavers and otters is
that they are evenly matched. But since the more agile otter eats flesh, the general assumption is that a beaver should be
careful around an otter, especially in the winter.
Beaver well exposed in East Trail Pond March 2003
Not
to worry,
beavers are the champion co-evolvers. The ponds they make are
welcoming habitat for otters, minks, muskrats, snapping turtles, any
kind of turtle but the snapper is the one to look out for, snakes,
frogs, herons, common terns, I've even seen cormorants in beaver
ponds, etc. Ecologists designate beavers as a keystone species
because so many other species depend on beaver ponds. If that wasn't
credit enough, the "hydrological-beaver- paradigm" credits beaver dams
for retaining water in a way the restores watersheds and even fights
climate change.
However,
I am
not qualified to write much about co-evolution and hydrological
paradigms. This book is a
history. I take co-evolution and beneficent paradigms as short-hand for
problems solved. You
put two different species together in a pond and you assume that
since they've co-existed for a few million years there's no problem.
Both have been dealt genes to allow them to survive and their habitat to
sustain itself.
History
is a bit of that too but also the ups and downs of muddling through
which at the end can leave you asking what the hell happened. To be
sure, in this history I did most of the muddling. Beaver can make mud
dance to any tune they want. Beavers write their history on the land
more legibly
than any other animal other than man which is why after 19 years
sporadically hiking on the western end of Wellesley Island I knew
something about the beavers there even though I had never seen one.
Although I did
fall on my face trying to follow 5 otters, I got up and went up to
the Big Pond where I saw two of the otters fishing. One otter
“hrummphed a lot” seemingly at me. But even though I noted it in
my journal, I didn't have any sense that I was
seeing history. I assumed otters using the pond was twas-ever-thus
stuff and no need to put it on a timeline.
When I first
got a measure of them, my sense of how beavers made history could be
a bit blunt. Just before moving up to the island, I noticed that
beaver dam flooding the road that came down from the private land to South
Bay. A year later in April 1995 while watching the beavers in the pond behind that
dam, I heard two ATVs roar around the South Bay trail, turn up toward the
flooded road, stop, and deflate into an impatient putt-putt. I heard
one driver yell “Damn Beavers!” They turned and roared away. I
thought the beaver in the pond gave me a knowing look.
But as I
continued to watch beavers, continued to bother beavers, I soon came
to the conclusion that they see right through us, actually hardly see
us at all. Their eyes discern shadows showing them where to direct
their nose and ears. They put up with the terror we inflicted on
them. What saved them from extinction was not flooding roads but
finding the heart of the swamp and lying low. What had them making
history again was not their effort to contest our control of the
island but a pursuit of their own idea of perfection. If that sounds
like sweetened hogwash, than you've never seen several acres of water
brimming a long beaver dam.
Otter Hole Pond dam
The
Lost Swamp Pond dam was the pinnacle of beaver engineering but the dam
pictured above, a double S-curve of mud and logs afforded me my most
pleasurable 230 feet of walking and pondering from the ridge beside it.
If the pink granite plateau was my top of the world, this dam created a
new world.
If beavers wrote their history with their dam, otters entered that history in March 1996. They dug a hole through the middle of the long dam that in what I began calling Otter Hole Pond. I wasn't an eyewitness to history, to the actual breach. That took place under about 6 inches of ice and a foot of snow. But I should have been on the banks to hear the gnawing.
Before moving I anticipated that our winters would primarily be an attempt to steal exercise from the challenging weather. We all got cross country skis. I followed the beavers as closely as I could until the ponds all froze over in early December. The Christmas before we moved up Leslie gave me Hope Ryden's Lily Pond, an excellent four year study of a family of beavers in the Catskills. I took a page from Hope Ryden's book and said goodbye to the beavers like she did and got out my skis. I assumed the beavers would stay under the pond ice eating the bark of branches they sank in front of the lodge thus assuring their safety against coyotes. I didn't expect to see them again until March. A week later I saw them and continued to see them throughout the winter because they made holes in the ice and continued to forage up the wooded ridge for trees.
If beavers wrote their history with their dam, otters entered that history in March 1996. They dug a hole through the middle of the long dam that in what I began calling Otter Hole Pond. I wasn't an eyewitness to history, to the actual breach. That took place under about 6 inches of ice and a foot of snow. But I should have been on the banks to hear the gnawing.
Before moving I anticipated that our winters would primarily be an attempt to steal exercise from the challenging weather. We all got cross country skis. I followed the beavers as closely as I could until the ponds all froze over in early December. The Christmas before we moved up Leslie gave me Hope Ryden's Lily Pond, an excellent four year study of a family of beavers in the Catskills. I took a page from Hope Ryden's book and said goodbye to the beavers like she did and got out my skis. I assumed the beavers would stay under the pond ice eating the bark of branches they sank in front of the lodge thus assuring their safety against coyotes. I didn't expect to see them again until March. A week later I saw them and continued to see them throughout the winter because they made holes in the ice and continued to forage up the wooded ridge for trees.
The beavers' hole in the ice and path up the ridge
When
we moved up
to the island I assumed that the animals I would see were fairly well
understood. I pictured myself finding the music of their lives,
the vibrations arising from their well understood behavior. Voila!
seeing the beavers not go by the book was just the music I was looking
for, a special
adaptation to a relatively warm winter in a pond where the bank lodge
the beavers wintered in was built too late to be well provided with
food.
And
we learned to keep an eye on the swamps during winter and not just try
to keep our knuckles from getting white on the state park ski trails.
Next winter, 1995-96, I got the hang of tracking otters in the snow and following their tracks kept me walking across several ponds. Just as the Lowest Pond beavers did, I noticed other beavers in other ponds came out from under the ice to forage for trees. In mid-February I even noticed that there was a small hole in the top of soon to be Otter Hole Pond dam that had lowered the pond water level about a foot. The slides on the dam convinced me that otters made the small hole. There were also several holes in the pond ice. I got into the habit of walking on the ice and looking into every hole noticing how wide the gap was between the pond water and the ice. Then for good reasons I lost track of what was happening.
A week before I saw the big hole in the dam, I reported a trapper illegally trapping beavers on state land. He trapped the Big Pond and Lost Swamp Pond, both partially on private land. He came from a bump in the road 5 miles south of the river called Omar and had the land owner's permission but crossed the property line. He also trapped in the small pond just below the Big Pond where I discovered his traps. I saw two sticks coming out of a hole in the ice. I stopped following otter slides and just made sure there were no foot prints or ATV trails on the ponds.
On Saturday March 10 walking up to the ponds from the South Bay trail we saw a guy standing on the ice behind the dam. Fearing he was a trapper we hurried up and met a photographer who had just taken photos of a beaver swimming in a large pool of open water behind the dam. We didn't see the beaver but we saw a hole three feet in diameter in the middle of the dam. The photographer had no idea how it got there. I saw fresh otter slides and large black scats, unmistakably from the fish-eating otters, all around the hole.
Next winter, 1995-96, I got the hang of tracking otters in the snow and following their tracks kept me walking across several ponds. Just as the Lowest Pond beavers did, I noticed other beavers in other ponds came out from under the ice to forage for trees. In mid-February I even noticed that there was a small hole in the top of soon to be Otter Hole Pond dam that had lowered the pond water level about a foot. The slides on the dam convinced me that otters made the small hole. There were also several holes in the pond ice. I got into the habit of walking on the ice and looking into every hole noticing how wide the gap was between the pond water and the ice. Then for good reasons I lost track of what was happening.
A week before I saw the big hole in the dam, I reported a trapper illegally trapping beavers on state land. He trapped the Big Pond and Lost Swamp Pond, both partially on private land. He came from a bump in the road 5 miles south of the river called Omar and had the land owner's permission but crossed the property line. He also trapped in the small pond just below the Big Pond where I discovered his traps. I saw two sticks coming out of a hole in the ice. I stopped following otter slides and just made sure there were no foot prints or ATV trails on the ponds.
On Saturday March 10 walking up to the ponds from the South Bay trail we saw a guy standing on the ice behind the dam. Fearing he was a trapper we hurried up and met a photographer who had just taken photos of a beaver swimming in a large pool of open water behind the dam. We didn't see the beaver but we saw a hole three feet in diameter in the middle of the dam. The photographer had no idea how it got there. I saw fresh otter slides and large black scats, unmistakably from the fish-eating otters, all around the hole.
The otter-made hole it what I began calling Otter Hole Pond
I went back
twice the next week to check on the dam thinking that if I saw an
otter there it would be a confession. Then we had a bit of a thaw and
when we went back to check on the dam the Saturday after we saw the
huge hole, we saw what seemed like endless water rushing through the
hole making a deep stream straight through the snow and ice below. Deep and too wide, this was a thrilling and completely
unexpected anticipation of spring. Even watching a muskrat diving in
the water below the dam didn't keep me from having an uneasy feeling
that this wasn't right.
No one I talked
to would accept that otters put a huge hole in the dam, except Leslie
who saw the hole too. The initial reaction to a huge hole in a beaver
dam is that one of those high percentage of people “intolerant”
of beavers or a trapper must have done it.
Leslie behind the hole in the dam
Unfortunately I had just been made aware of
trappers and their ways. They don't cover their trails. The trapper I reported didn't put
any traps on the dams which is illegal, as is damaging a beaver dam
in any way. Ten days after the breach, I caught another trapper in
the park by tracking his prints in the snow. He lived on the island
and I was somewhat familiar with his small footprint. I saw no prints
before the breach.
There was no reason for the Nature Center staff to breach a dam to protect any trails. Bob Wakefield
had retired and his replacement ended the war with beavers by
changing the East Trail so it no longer crossed the wetlands. The new
trail was far from and never threatened by the breached dam. (We
missed Bob. He battled the beavers over excellent wetland trails.
With him gone, there were none in the park.) Talking with the DEC
officer, I was pleased to learn that in the State of New York beaver
dams are sacrosanct. Even if the state park people wanted to breach
the dam they would have needed a permit from DEC.
When I
mentioned the otters making a hole in the dam to Joe Lamendola in the
Watertown DEC office, I got a blank stare. Maybe he was worried that
since beaver dams were sacrosanct the hole had to be investigated.
I drew a blank when I looked Hope Ryden's Lily Pond and other books
for any mention of otters breaching beaver dams. I could see why. All
books about beavers celebrate the beavers' dams, the keystone in the
paradigm of the keystone species. Confidence in the permanence of
beaver dams has led scientists to speculate that in some cases beaver
engineering has endured for millenniums. Beavers abandon ponds
because they run out of food to forage not because otters harassed
them. What the beavers leave behind is a marvel too, a meadow of
exceptional fertility.
The dam builder paradigm is so convincing that a
scientific paper which
describes and all but proves that otters commonly breach beaver dams
takes pains not to tarnish the paradigm. Instead the paper suggests
that beavers are trapped in a paradigmical Catch 22. A Swedish study
had shown that beavers have a Pavlovian reaction to flowing water.
They have to stop it. They have to make the dams that are so
beneficial to so many species. But when otters breach dams in the
winter, the beavers living in a lodge packed with frozen mud and
swimming under the ice don't hear the water running. Hence they
momentarily lose the water in the pond. By fall and usually much
sooner, they repair the dam; the pond is restored; the paradigm
endures.
But
in my case, I was sure the beavers heard the water flowing. They
weren't fast a sleep and had their ears above the water and the ice.
They cut down a large tree near the dam and cut small trees just
below the dam. Meanwhile the water level below the ice was low enough
that the ice had collapsed in places. That must have inspired the otters
to dig the hole deeper down into and through the dam.
The beavers repaired the dam by April 4,
1996, twenty five days after I first saw the hole in it. They used their
characteristic engineering skill making a small dam below the
hole that backed up water into the hole so that their repairs
wouldn't be washed away. Then they pushed a large log into the hole
perpendicular to the dam and then filled the hole with small sticks
and mud. In a sense, the beavers wiped the historical slate clean.
Something happened but nothing changed.
Otter Hole Pond in the Spring after the Dam Was Repaired
But could
the beaver paradigm be so fragile? I hoped not.
The swampy
shrubby scrubby lowlands that we had bulled and wiggled our way
through twice or thrice a year for 19 years to sunbathe on high
granite rocks had metamorphosed from an inchoate scribble into not
just a landscape but a panorama. I suppose we can blame the great
painters for making us think beautiful landscapes are eternal. Pick
your perspective on water rising in a series of ponds. Sitting beside
the dams afforded a view of the wooded ridges, spectacular in the
fall. Seen from the ridges the ponds reflected clouds of migrating
ducks that flew up when they heard a foot fall.
Lost Swamp Pond in October
I wanted the
officials in charge of naming geographical features to name the
bigger beaver ponds and put them on the map for good. Name the ponds
after the private landowner's grandchildren. The family would never hire a trapper again.
I had much to
learn about beaver ponds.
Beaver
ponds
conceal as much history as they make, especially Otter Hole Pond. A
drought in the spring and summer of 1999 allowed me to piece together
how the beaver made the
magnificent pond. To cross those suddenly exposed almost dried out
flats I had to look for any high ground to keep out of the mud. So I
discovered the old dams behind the long dam that the otters breached.
The creek that seeped through the
electrified dam that turned Wakefield's East Trail wetland into the
East Trail Pond joined the creek that seeped through the venerable
Second Swamp Pond. Beavers made Otter Hole Pond dam about 50 yards
below the confluence of the two creeks.
But before that they made two small dams below the Second Swamp Pond dam that were soon flooded over by water backed up by Otter Hole Pond dam.
Map I made in October 1997 of Otter Hole Pond
But before that they made two small dams below the Second Swamp Pond dam that were soon flooded over by water backed up by Otter Hole Pond dam.
The Second Pond
dam, my Mother of All Dams, was a classic dam taking advantage of two
granite outcrops on opposite sides of the valley. The outcrops
narrowed the valley by about a third of its width and left about 70
feet to dam. Below the dam the valley was twice as wide and flatter.
But the beavers managed to make little ponds below the big dam.
Dam just below Second Swamp Pond restored by beavers
The first was
behind a small dam off a slight bank on the north side of the
valley just below the big dam. If their main pond gets too deep,
beavers often build a small pond below to get at the cattail
rhizomes, that redolent word is apt for the thick roots of cattails growing in the wet ground below the dam. They also
built a small lodge beside the slight bank that anchored the dam.
The beavers did
the same thing below the Big Pond in the First Valley.
That valley narrows and dam-making all the way down to South Bay was
easy. The beaver that stood up before me in 1994 did so in a narrow
pond half way between the Big Pond and South Bay. (I called it Middle
Pond.)
Middle Pond dam in 1995
To dam farther
down the Second Valley was more difficult. The beavers made another
small dam anchored on a small granite outcrop on the south shore.
This dam flooded water back to the edge of the woods and they built a
more substantial lodge where the land began to inch up a bit higher.
Extending their first small dam would have mirrored the large dam
behind it. Extending this second small dam to span the valley's
widest point would have been pointless hard work since it would miss
damming the creek coming down from the East Trail Pond which flowed
about 100 feet below that second low dam.
Remnant of long dam below Second Swamp Pond during a drought
I could kick
myself for not seeing all these dams made, but I learned that it is
almost impossible to see long low dams being built. Unlike humans
beavers don't clear the area before they build. They work under the
cover of the tall grasses and low shrubs. In the late summer of 2010
I had vantage points both below and behind where they were building a
low and long dam in a wetland, the middle of Wakefield's East Trail
wetland to be exact. For a few weeks there was a progression of glubs
and water slowly rising behind a still invisible line.
I had to part the cattails and find firm ground to see the beginning of a long dam that I would soon be able to walk on.
Back to 1996: the Second
Valley narrows a bit where the creeks merged. The creek coming down
from the Mother of All Dams cuts lower and the beavers anchored what would
become a 230 foot long dam at the south end of a 10 foot high granite
cliff, the north face of the Second Ridge, which was about 60 feet
from the creek.
While it took me several years to piece together that history of the creation of Otter Hole Pond, the otters could have deduced it in a matter of minutes as they swam from Otter Hole Pond dam all the way up to the Second Swamp Pond dam. As they looked for fish otters could swim through the flooded over small dams between the two big dams. The beavers made trenches in the dams when the water from the big dam below backed over the smaller dams. If the otters didn't realize that beaver dams could be breached, beavers showed them that it was possible.
The beavers also built the dam at just that spot, north of a granite ridge, affording otters a place to den close to the new dam. There are two ways to look at granite. It's a cold round rock that diminishes through exfoliation caused by eons of freezing and thawing. It's also a slowly burning rock (very, very slowly burning!) that along the edges of ridges that aren't rounded can bear a striking resemblance to the grid of glowing embers on the last big log you put on a fire. Like the embers of that log, the granite breaks off in square chunks. If water half covers the granite chunks, otters often find a good place to den. Somewhere on all the islands there are fronts of granite that are slowly burning so otters are familiar with such venues for possible dens.
While it took me several years to piece together that history of the creation of Otter Hole Pond, the otters could have deduced it in a matter of minutes as they swam from Otter Hole Pond dam all the way up to the Second Swamp Pond dam. As they looked for fish otters could swim through the flooded over small dams between the two big dams. The beavers made trenches in the dams when the water from the big dam below backed over the smaller dams. If the otters didn't realize that beaver dams could be breached, beavers showed them that it was possible.
The beavers also built the dam at just that spot, north of a granite ridge, affording otters a place to den close to the new dam. There are two ways to look at granite. It's a cold round rock that diminishes through exfoliation caused by eons of freezing and thawing. It's also a slowly burning rock (very, very slowly burning!) that along the edges of ridges that aren't rounded can bear a striking resemblance to the grid of glowing embers on the last big log you put on a fire. Like the embers of that log, the granite breaks off in square chunks. If water half covers the granite chunks, otters often find a good place to den. Somewhere on all the islands there are fronts of granite that are slowly burning so otters are familiar with such venues for possible dens.
While beavers
make lodges to sleep in, otters look for spaces they can move into,
ideally with an underwater entrance and a dry bed above well
concealed from anything sniffing about on the shore. Beavers lodges
are perfect; rock dens work fine too. Otters denning in the rocks
beside Otter Hole Pond would sleep closer to the dam than the beavers
in their lodge.
It's
presumptuous to suggest that the beavers made a mistake. But I did
wonder how the beavers would react when otters came to the pond. So far I
had only seen otters in the fall and slides in the winter snow. I only
expected to see beavers in the summer and now and then I did see them. I
couldn't miss seeing their new dam building. Were they trying to
correct their mistakes or at least make any otter dam busting less
disruptive?
When water poured out of the hole in the dam it coursed through a small pond created by a dam the beavers built in the fall of 1995 about 70 yards farther down the valley where a
rounded granite outcrop divided the valley. They dammed the south
side of the outcrop just high enough to back water to the foot of
Otter Hole Pond dam flooding a stand of trees just the size beavers
can conveniently cut down.
After Otter Hole Pond dam was breached in March 1996, in the late summer they built a dam on the north side of the granite outcrop below Otter Hole Pond. I laughed when I first saw their small dam because the only water it held back was in the holes the beavers dredged to build up the dam.
2003 view of Beaver Point Pond dam from the granite knoll
After Otter Hole Pond dam was breached in March 1996, in the late summer they built a dam on the north side of the granite outcrop below Otter Hole Pond. I laughed when I first saw their small dam because the only water it held back was in the holes the beavers dredged to build up the dam.
The start of the north end of Beaver Point Pond dam
Usually I never saw what was coming until it
happened. Fall rains created a huge pond Otter Hole Pond. I noticed that the younger beavers rather
enjoyed the granite outcrop in the middle of the two small dams and I
began calling the pond Beaver Point Pond.
In September otters reappeared in the ponds or I should
I finally saw them. They were there. I just didn't know where to
look. I saw an otter
mother and two pups on September 14, and again on the 16th and 18th at
the Lost Swamp Pond and Second Swamp Pond. Finally our 9 year old son
saw an otter. That was a big deal. That summer he had played one of
the otters in a play that I wrote for kids about the animals in the
swamp.
But we didn't get a good look at the otter. The Second Swamp Pond was shallow and swimming otters were often concealed by grasses. The only good ridge to watch them from was on the north shore. Crossing the dam to get there would scare any otters in the pond. The Lost Swamp Pond's west shore was all ridges but the pond had a dog leg shape and was a football field long.
Then in mid-October he and I were at Otter Hole Pond and heard growling from the lodge. He thought it was a coyote, then a large otter got into the pond and swam below us. Otter Hole Pond had the best sight lines for seeing anything in it.
After a brief look at us, the otter dived and disappeared. We were standing on top of the ridge just behind the jumble of granite where otters might den. We heard a growling purr from the lodge and couldn't tell if it came from the other side of the lodge or the inside. Beavers don't growl or purr.
Truth be told, back then I was more eager to see otters than beavers. They make the heart beat faster. It was also more convenient to hike out looking for otters. I generally saw otters during the day even in the morning. Beavers came out toward evening. There are reasons for that. Brown bullheads, the otters' biggest meal in the ponds, were active at night. They were easier to catch in the day by swimming over them as they slept in the silt of the pond bottom. The otter's whiskers could sense where they were.
But we didn't get a good look at the otter. The Second Swamp Pond was shallow and swimming otters were often concealed by grasses. The only good ridge to watch them from was on the north shore. Crossing the dam to get there would scare any otters in the pond. The Lost Swamp Pond's west shore was all ridges but the pond had a dog leg shape and was a football field long.
A rough sketch map of the ponds
Then in mid-October he and I were at Otter Hole Pond and heard growling from the lodge. He thought it was a coyote, then a large otter got into the pond and swam below us. Otter Hole Pond had the best sight lines for seeing anything in it.
After a brief look at us, the otter dived and disappeared. We were standing on top of the ridge just behind the jumble of granite where otters might den. We heard a growling purr from the lodge and couldn't tell if it came from the other side of the lodge or the inside. Beavers don't growl or purr.
The beavers
were still in that lodge. They didn't make a lodge in Beaver Point
Pond despite the amount of time they spent down there.
Truth be told, back then I was more eager to see otters than beavers. They make the heart beat faster. It was also more convenient to hike out looking for otters. I generally saw otters during the day even in the morning. Beavers came out toward evening. There are reasons for that. Brown bullheads, the otters' biggest meal in the ponds, were active at night. They were easier to catch in the day by swimming over them as they slept in the silt of the pond bottom. The otter's whiskers could sense where they were.
Why beavers
generally come out when it is getting dark is a matter of
controversy. Since beavers hear and smell more acutely than they see,
they feel safer when winds are calmer. Trees release pollen at night and are
easier to smell. Also in felling trees, they
often cut a tree to a tipping point and wait for the stronger
daytime winds to blow it down.
When raising kits during the long summer days, they keep them in the lodge until it is dark and the winds calm down. Hence they grow up being comfortable in the dark. All that said, I often saw beavers out alone in the broad daylight, more on that later.
beavers gnaw to a point and let the wind do the rest
When raising kits during the long summer days, they keep them in the lodge until it is dark and the winds calm down. Hence they grow up being comfortable in the dark. All that said, I often saw beavers out alone in the broad daylight, more on that later.
But
one foggy
late afternoon in November 1996 when I hoped to see otters in Otter Hole
Pond, the beaver family was out instead and I was reminded of
how interesting it is watching them. “I was treated to a working
beaver family.” I am quoting my journal now which can serve as a
specimen of how I viewed beavers then. I only took our camera out
occasionally when the light was good, but I did have binoculars: "At
first I focused on a medium size beaver gnawing beside the lodge -
the side where I couldn't see him - then one large beaver swam out
and went over the dam. I lost him in the fog. A medium size beaver
swam out along the brush pile, looked over at me but did not see me
and instead climbed up on ice to nose around the brush pile up there.
Not very exciting."
Then I heard a crunch and crash below the dam which seemed to resolve itself into distant gnawing. It was still light enough for the binoculars to pierce the fog and "a big brown hulk in the fog" resolved into a beaver up on his hind legs making short work of a tree trunk about 6 inches in diameter. "He first gnawed from above and the side, then tucked his head under to gnaw the bottom of the limb. Once he cut it he grabbed the end of the trunk with his jaws and dragged it with powerful lunges two or three times and then went back to trim the branches holding it up. As he trimmed each branch, he lugged it up to the dam, over, and to the brush pile."
"Meanwhile a little beaver came out of the lodge floating like two segments of a tootsie roll." From my perch on the ridge, I was still condescending. But the little beaver was the only beaver that noticed me. He "uhuhed" at an adult but got no response. Then it dived and swam toward me. I followed its air bubbles and then it swam right under the ice in front of me. Evidently it made one fast grand circle before surfacing again at the lodge. When a working beaver came back with another branch, the baby whispered with authority and on his way back to the dam the big beaver glared in my direction but went back to work. I began to ease myself back up the ridge and the big beaver let out two tremendous tail thwacks near the lodge.
Next time I went out with our camera but the beavers didn't come out. I did capture the image of a mink dancing on the ice.
Then I heard a crunch and crash below the dam which seemed to resolve itself into distant gnawing. It was still light enough for the binoculars to pierce the fog and "a big brown hulk in the fog" resolved into a beaver up on his hind legs making short work of a tree trunk about 6 inches in diameter. "He first gnawed from above and the side, then tucked his head under to gnaw the bottom of the limb. Once he cut it he grabbed the end of the trunk with his jaws and dragged it with powerful lunges two or three times and then went back to trim the branches holding it up. As he trimmed each branch, he lugged it up to the dam, over, and to the brush pile."
I
would see this a hundred times in the next twenty years and can't
explain the dumb excitement of seeing a beaver haul a branch into a
pond. Some branches he tucked up in the pile of branches over the ice
and with others he dived to sink them under the pile. He went promptly
back to the tree, tugged some more and then trimmed and brought the next
piece back. He dragged straight branches about 8 feet long up and over
and you could see where he trimmed the smaller branches. Such a display
of grit, sagacity, and virtue, yes, virtue. But none of the other
beavers helped. Then another beaver did come up and work on the same
tree alternating with the other beaver in dragging branches up.
"Meanwhile a little beaver came out of the lodge floating like two segments of a tootsie roll." From my perch on the ridge, I was still condescending. But the little beaver was the only beaver that noticed me. He "uhuhed" at an adult but got no response. Then it dived and swam toward me. I followed its air bubbles and then it swam right under the ice in front of me. Evidently it made one fast grand circle before surfacing again at the lodge. When a working beaver came back with another branch, the baby whispered with authority and on his way back to the dam the big beaver glared in my direction but went back to work. I began to ease myself back up the ridge and the big beaver let out two tremendous tail thwacks near the lodge.
Next time I went out with our camera but the beavers didn't come out. I did capture the image of a mink dancing on the ice.
Looking from Otter Hole Pond at expanding Beaver Point Pond below, and mink dancing in the ice
The twain met a few weeks later out in the half frozen pond. "As I came down to Otter Hole Pond a small beaver swam away, head up but empty mouthed, all the way back to the lodge, coasting the ice that still covered most of the pond. Then I heard big branches being pulled into the north shore of the pond. I walked quietly up to the little cliff overlooking the pond to hear and see up pond better. Then two small otters swam out from their den in the rock below me and looked up at me without reacting."
The beaver began to swim back toward me but then thought better of it and stayed by the lodge. "The two otters climbed up on the ice - tussled with each other then broke the ice and dived back into their den purposefully - finally seeing me or was it bedtime? At last a tail splash came from the other side of the pond."
It didn't cross
my mind that the otters might have been afraid of the beavers.
I
set
seeing otters slide in the snow as my goal for the winter. I achieved
that goal before Thanksgiving. The early freeze was a false start to
winter and the much of the ice behind Otter Hole Pond dam melted. I saw
three otters fishing between the lodge and the dam. They snorted when
they saw me but didn't hide. "About 50 yards up from the dam
they climbed out on the ice and did their slides! as well as played a
little. They nuzzle their chin down, pull up their front legs and
then push into a slide with their rear legs." Unfortunately they were
soon back in
the water."
While I didn't see the beavers do it, I did see the results of their preparations for winter: mud on their lodge for warmth and protection from coyotes, mud on their dams to keep them from leaking and capture more water before the final freeze, and more branches and logs to sink beside their lodge. They did the humdrum work of perfecting the paradigm assuring themselves, and other species that depended on them, of surviving a long winter under the ice of the pond.
Big Pond lodge in November - ready for winter
Praise them
from whom all blessings flow, but my red letter day during our third
winter on the island was January 29, 1997: “at Otter Hole Pond dam, yes!,
otter tracks with pooh on the dam and hole through the dam.
Pond level already down a foot or two.”
By
February
there were two large holes in the dam. By mid April both were
patched. I must be seeing history since history
repeats. But I didn't realize it was a history worth recounting and
analyzing until the next winter when otters didn't put a big hole
through the dam: do beavers take charge in Chapter Two?