Today’s guest post is from Ottawa beaver observer, Sylvie Sabourin. I know you’ll appreciate its heartfelt concern.
They say actions speak louder than words. For the beaver family that lived along the Great Trail, words were not even a concept, but actions showing trust certainly were. They trusted me. They trusted probably most humans, at least the ones who did not seem to pose a threat. And it is the story of that trust that ought to be told, rather than the one of the irreparable acts that broke it.
As the lodge was built and channels were dug into the muddy bottom of a stream, as mud was applied to channel the water, and cattails dragged into the lodge, as I stood there silent, day after day, sometimes just only for a few minutes, trust grew. The family of beavers was going on with its business, often smelling the human scent hanging in the air, making eye contact, ultimately learning there was nothing to fear from the human standing there. The adults deepened the channels, rerouted them, brought mud on the banks, rearranged branches on the lodge, cementing them with more mud. They grazed on the new grass growing on the muddy flats they created and chewed on birch branches but a few meters from me. They brought many leafy meals for the two generations of kits waiting to feed on them.
Under my eyes, the kits tried to dig and collect the mud, pulled small twigs, swam around. They explored the habitat and every day ventured a little bit further or did a little bit more to help upkeep the channels. They came close to where I was, as curious of me as I was of them, trusting I was no threat. Over time, I was afforded rare glimpses of the “secret life” of beavers.
One day, a grooming session between one adult and a young was starting as I arrived. They looked at me standing there, only a few meters away, and kept grooming each other until they were done. Another day, one of the smaller young ones in a playful mood went and swam around the huge adult who was montionless, resting maybe after hard word. It circled it, nudged it, swam right under its nose. Like all young mammals would to get the attention of a parent and play a little.
Another day, one of the adults set off on a small trail they had made heading to a grove of trees. It stopped, looked back, waited for the other adult to follow. Mom and Dad were going to fetch dinner, I thought. Indeed, they shortly came back with branches for their young. I gingerly, quietly, almost apologetically, went into that birch grove from the opposite end of it that was accessible on foot.
As Idiscovered a whole new side of the beaver’s habitat, I knew I was now truly in their territory. In my heart I gave thanks for being there, apologized for the intrusion, and slowly and lightly tread around, careful not to leave a mark, looking at all these felled trees and the chewing work with both awe and a deep humbling feeling. And among all the fully or partially cut trees, there was this birch, just felled, with bright autumn leaves still rustling in the breeze. Looking around and figuring the beavers would not show up, I decided to leave. “No, wait. Just one more minute. Just in case,” thought I. And from behind the cover of the freshly fallen foliage, a few seconds later I saw it. The larger beaver was walking right toward me, probably not seeing me at first, not smelling me since the wind was contrary. It stopped, chewed a branch at the far end of the tree, looked up at me, smelled the air and, unfazed, proceeded to get closer to me. As I was standing there, my heart missed a beat. Silly questions descended on me at once: are beavers aggressive on land? What do I do if it gets closer? Barely voiced in my mind already dismissed in the aura of trust and perfect serenity floating around.
The beaver was the biggest of the clan, the male probably. The biggest I have ever seen. I stood still and opened myself to that encounter. It came even closer, started chewing on a branch, merely a meter from me. In awe, I slowly raised my camera and took some photographs. The beaver stopped, looked up at me, made eye contact, smelled my presence… and resumed chewing. After cutting the branch, and dislodging it with an astonishing brute force, it proceeded to drag it toward the water about fifty meters away, where its kits were waiting for supper. Thanking silently and profusely Mother Nature for the privilege she had given me, I left the grove as I had come in, still in awe over what had just happened there: that was TRUST. Raw. Beautiful. Wordless. Unadulterated trust.
I so deeply wish this story of glimpses of the life for beavers had a beautiful ending, as beautiful as the trust that family of extraordinary creatures put in me all these months.
Unfortunately, suffice to say reeling with the shame of belonging to the same species than whomever did it, that the whole six of them, three generations of healthy beavers, were “disappeared” in the following days.
And ever since, it has been gnawing at me… that feeling of not having been able to prevent their fate, the feeling of broken trust, not by my actions, but by the mere belonging to the same species that did it.
So, in their memory, and in the memory of that beautiful trust they put in me, that other creature of Nature that I am, I just wanted to share these encounters and photographs.
I owe them that much, since I was powerless to save their life…
Sylvie Sabourin
Thank you Sylvie, and never doubt that you and other watchers like you are far less powerless than you think.
