THE SECRET WEAPON OF DISTASTE

Now that the story of beavers is being told on a broader scale, it is more common than ever to cross paths with new believers who are staunch advocates of relocation. If beavers are causing problems in one place why not just move them to another place where they can do some good? Problem solved, right?

And since I am allegedly a staunch defender of the beaver I should be the biggest fan of that argument. Theoretically. So our biggest fight with CDFW should be over the RIGHT to relocate beavers. Shouldn’t it? California is the only western state that never allows it. So shouldn’t that be the front where all our battle equipment is directed?

I say no. And before your sensibilities are offended hear me out.

Aside from the fact that beaver relocation is a complicated and risky process that even when it works, and is only likely to produce temporary relief for the landowner, aside from the fact that beavers don’t obediently stay put after we move them, aside from the fact that it is never a guarantee lives will be saved, aside from all that…

Beaver relocation removes our most powerful weapon in the fight against beaver ignorance. The deadly weapon of distaste.

This recently crystalized in my mind when I was talking to a very high powered individual about beavers. It would be fair to say I talk about beavers a lot. A lot. I talk about beavers to people who are staunch believers. people who read Ben’s book and are ‘beaver-curious’, people who have just learned about the good things they do and people who have never in their life had more than a 2 minute conversation about wildlife in general. When I talk about depredation my dearest wish is that they would realize what a wasted resource a dead beaver is, a missed opportunity for biodiversity and water storage in a state that desperately needs both.

But if I’m lucky, the biggest reaction I invariably get is “DISTASTE”.

People don’t like the idea of killing beavers. Mothers and CEOs and Firemen and shop clerks share the same aversion. Killing beavers is icky. Not as bad as drowning puppies or clubbing baby seals but it leaves a bad flavor on one’s tongue and if there was a way to get rid of the problem and NOT have the bad taste they’d much rather do that.

And that’s what give me the space to  talk about flow devices or culvert fences or wrapping trees. That little “Ew” is what makes the entire conversation possible. It turns out “Ew” is our best friend. It is the pause that allows solutions to be considered. It is a speed bump on the convenience highway which slows down  traffic enough that people don’t just kill their way our of every problem without a second thought.

(Which is not to say that there aren’t people without any speed bumps whatsoever, or where killing beavers causes zero distaste or is even god forbid pleasant, but there is little hope for these types and I don’t spend a lot of time thinking about them.)

I focus more energy on the casual beaver beholders, folks who only have a little bit of time for the subject before they move on to something much more important, like the grocery list or profit margins or EIR reports, folks who don’t really care about beavers but who don’t like the idea of killing them because its “ookey”.

That moment of DISTASTE is the ticking doorway which is begrudgingly opened through which I can carry flow devices or arguments and ecological discussions. Like the windmill hole in miniature golf its a fast moving opening. One of those revolving monstrosities in big city department stores. Or a portcullis dropping down to seal a caste. Time is limited. Tick Tick Tick. And if you’re lucky you can just block the doorway as  closes with something DISTASTEFUL.

Like a dead beaver.

And If that wasn’t there – if the average person didn’t have to be even slightly uncomfortable with the idea of killing to get rid of an inconvenience – if the  band-aid of relocation could be carelessly placed over every bump and contusion – if a dead beaver never even cluttered their busy thoughts, there would be no way to slow the door at all. Which means no reason to think about beaver benefits. Or lost opportunities for biodiversity or climate change.

There would be No story of Martinez and no joyful discovery of all the wildlife we saw in our urban creek.

And shh, don’t tell anyone, if I were the cigar smoking, boots on the desk head of CDFW and I really wanted to keep beavers out of public awareness, I would dearly want  relocation. Because even if I secretly hated beavers, it would mostly still be lethal anyway and it would keep people from complaining about them all the time. Because preventing distaste and letting them get what they want without ever considering that beavers matter might just be safer in the long run than forcing them to really consider what we have lost every time a beaver family is removed and what CDFW permits have allowed to be stolen from our state for the past century.

But for now, we have DISTASTE. And it’s not enough to stop a train or turn the tide. But it’s not without its value, It’s the only precious brake we have on the out-of-control vehicle of unstoppable progress and rampant greed.  It’s woefully inadequate, But it’s more powerful than we realize.

So this moment in time, uniquely flawed and inadequate, a moment where people are starting to learn why beavers matter and it is still slightly distasteful to get rid of them is a strike-while-the-iron-is-hot moment. It’s our best possible chance to make as much of an impact as we can and teach our state about flow devices and how they work and why beaver are worth the trouble. It might be out only between-a-rock and a hard-place stage where we can promote long term solutions.

And we should make the most of it.