For some time now its been clear our kit-yearlings are living on their own in a kind of “Island of the Blue Dolphins” beaver limbo. Their dam attempts are clearly not guided with the help of an adult, and they appear to be learning on the job the best they can. This makes sense as I read for the first time recently that dam building doesn’t really start in earnest until a beaver’s second year. Which is now.
We actually hadn’t seen much of GQ or dad before the washout in March, but Bob’s video clearly showed Dad swimming along near the footbridge. After that we didn’t spot him again. Cheryl photographed GQ coming back with a bundle of willow one morning, but he clearly didn’t stay. The best proof we have that our kits are ‘home alone-ing it’ is the shape of their dams, which, to be kind, appear somewhat fanciful.
How could the adults just leave? I have some thoughts about that. One comes from Bob Arnebeck who told me that the only beavers he’d ever seen leave a site after a washout and NOT rebuild was when there were new kits on the way. I figured it was possible dad found a mate and brought her to better grounds, and our three chose not to follow. I do think that our colony was destabilized significantly by the loss of mom last year. Our kits spent their first summer sleeping halftime at Dad’s house, half time with GQ. They were joint custody beavers, and the psychologist in me wants to say that much of their attachment was to a sense of place, rather than a sense of family. My theory is that’s why they came back to the lodge even when it had washed out, and didn’t follow the adults wherever they went.
As I read more of Enos Mills I began to expect that, even if Dad was gone, he wasn’t far. And we’d likely see him again. Mills describes seeing the male beavers take off for a period in the summer and explore new territories, then return in the fall when there was work to be done. He said this proved useful later when it was time for the colony to relocate, which they did in groups, and they’d know which areas had good willow and water. Honestly. There’s a stunning passage at the end of the book where a fire completely wipes out the woods all around the 8 families living in a series of ponds, and the next morning he sees a beaver exodus. 30-40 beavers marching in search of a better life. I’d be incredulous if he were not such a respected voice, and so consistent in describing beaver migration several times throughout the book. I can’t imagine such a thing happening here, but it comforts me to think they’d be together. I do remember that news report of the seven beavers killed crossing the road in a single morning, could that have been a migration?
Thursday morning when I saw the otters, I saw something else. A sneaky beaver appear from nowhere and slowly swim across the stream. When I saw it I half said to myself, Dad? Because his coloring was different, peach/orange/tan, and his face was so craggy and muscled. I shook my head and dismissed it as my imagination, and went on watching otters snake around the creek. When I got home and looked at the footage closely I was more convinced it was Dad because of the bumpy face but then distracted by something else – or a possible something else. There appeared to be a wound on his left flank, like a gash from something metal, a propeller or fence post or something.
Cheryl and Lory went down Thursday night and saw one looking well and I staggered down before dawn Friday morning to make sure our kits were both okay. I got a good look at both of them and was relieved that they weren’t hurt. I spent time fiddling with the footage to see the wound better, and see the face better. I am pretty sure that there is a gash, but I am even more sure it is Dad.
Dad’s ‘hair’ looks different in these pictures, but look closely at the gnarled structure of his skull and face. Even GQ’s face was sleek and adult looking, and our kit-yearlings, even though they are getting so big, still have smooth baby faces.
I’m eager to see him again and see if its really a wound, I went down again at 5 butt I saw nothing this morning, – except an air tight primary dam – oh and without a single reed.
