I heard from a couple friends north of us that their beavers have gone MIA in June. They are alternating between worrying in terror and calmly reminding themselves that the duties of childbirth probably account for their absence. I could offer little consolation because our beavers were always highly visible in June, along with their offspring. But we were probably living in an easier latitude. They should not despair in their Northern climes. Kits are coming.
Rusty in Napa saw 6 beavers last night, with two kits among them.
There’s a nice read from one such northern place, this from St Louis county in the upper east corner of Minnesota stretching from Duluth to Canada.
Learning to live with the beaver
In 1995, I received a copy of a book entitled “When Beaver Was Very Great: Stories to Live By,” a compendium of tales from Anishinaabeg storyteller Anne M. Dunn. As I prepared to write about my world surrounded by beaver, Dunn’s title story popped into my mind. She writes of an unspecified bygone age when beaver grew very large. Prehistoric skeletal fragments from the Ice Age indicate Castoroides grew to be eight feet tall and weigh three hundred pounds. Her story is about the competition between Beaver and Human over who would prevail as the world’s greatest landscape architects. I’m not convinced that this contest has ever ended!
Indeed. Beavers of course are the more selfless architects. Because they let others reside in what they painstakingly build without charging them rent. We would never do that.
They have changed over the years right along with the humans who live along their banks. These small rivulets often swell into wide tributaries of the Little Fork River, a main artery of the Rainy River Watershed. This relatively nondescript network of streams provides perfect habitat for the American Beaver, Castor Canadensis, the second largest rodent in the world. The same river system also became “perfect habitat” for early human settlers to this territory. They, too, saw the many benefits of homesteading beside flowing water. Rivers were “highways” before there were roads. Both beavers and humans know a good thing when they see it.
Yes they do. Here the author fails to mention that beavers make that good thing better, while humans too often make it worse, I guess that story is slow getting to Minnesota.
To locate the ideal place to build a lodge, beaver utilize a heightened sensitivity to subtle, ever-changing sounds of the flow and volume of moving water. And it must have abundant grass, brush, rocks, mud and mature timber, all materials needed in the construction of the lodge as well as the dams that will impede flowage, producing ponds large and deep enough to protect against intruders. As humans terrace hillsides, beavers “terrace” stream beds.
The dams are complex structures built to last. Just try tearing one apart and you’ll know what I mean! John and I have attempted to control flooding on our land many times by punching an opening in one of many nearby dams. With axes, adze and hoes, what might begin as a quick and easy fix soon becomes an extremely laborious undertaking.
I would say the author seems to have a kind of romantic idea of where and how beavers build dams. I’m sure they chose the best spot given their OPTIONS but I’ve surely seen lots of dams in unideal spots constructed with whatever materials they had on hand when the habitat is less ideal.
Hands down this is the best part of the article:
As the fur market declined, so did the number of trappers. Now, few remain in the area. For some, it’s a hobby. But others are contracted by county highway departments responsible for keeping beaver numbers down to prevent highway washouts. This spring, we were visited by three trappers asking to scout and remove beaver from our land. Before granting permission, we conducted a “cost-benefit analysis” of sorts. You see, these furry fellas don’t just make trouble, they make wonderful reservoirs that sustain life even in the driest times of summer — wildlife as well as our own.
We’re avid gardeners with a goal of growing and preserving enough produce to feed us year-round. When the bogs dry up, usually by mid-August, so does our creek. But not with beaver around! The beaver pond supplies a continuous source of water all summer long. For that reason, we thank our lucky stars that we’re still granted a say over their fate — whether to blow their dams or let them stay. We weigh the value of “many trees saved” against “many lives lost”. The pond is home to huge numbers of insects, birds, minnows, frogs, and waterfowl that bring us a lot of joy. They will most likely be sacrificed by trapping and then blasting the dam.
So that’s your final decision after your cost benefit analysis? Let them blow up the dam and see what happens?
A few days ago, we spotted wood ducks who’d relocated upstream. A bittern, unseen for years, was sighted not far from our culvert. The geese and cranes have stuck around despite the disappearance of our beloved beaver lake. So, let me close with this. Read Anne Dunn’s book. It can help us understand this ever-changing world in which we live while in no way diminishing its wonder!
Imagine what it would have been like i you let the engineers stick around. Making an expanding network of dams and canals that stretched like jewels across the marshy habitat. Imagine how many woodduck and frogs and trout would have enjoyed the real estate and improved its value more than a few measly trappers.
I have another book you should read. You’ll like it.
[wonderplugin_video iframe=”https://youtu.be/tTl9Gl9zwkA” lightbox=0 lightboxsize=1 lightboxwidth=960 lightboxheight=540 autoopen=0 autoopendelay=0 autoclose=0 lightboxtitle=”” lightboxgroup=”” lightboxshownavigation=0 showimage=”” lightboxoptions=”” videowidth=600 videoheight=400 keepaspectratio=1 autoplay=0 loop=0 videocss=”position:relative;display:block;background-color:#000;overflow:hidden;max-width:100%;margin:0 auto;” playbutton=”https://www.martinezbeavers.org/wordpress/wp-content/plugins/wonderplugin-video-embed/engine/playvideo-64-64-0.png”]
