Last night I stood at the dam with rapt attention trying to get an accurate, full-family count. There were no other watchers, and no one down in the beaver-illicit zone. How surprised was I to see a furry cat-sized shadow scramble up onto the bank. When it gnawed on the little willow close to me I realized what I was seeing. A very small kit on the shore about two feet away. He arched and reached and struggled for the best branch. Then he plopped back into the water and scuttled away.
I don’t think I breathed out the whole time he was on the bank.
I don’t know if its good luck when a beaver crosses your path, but it must indicate some kind of fortune. Certainly it says without out a doubt that tonight is not a night like any other, and declares itself unique.
As for the count, which I nearly forgot, I think we can safely say that the adults/yearlings are waking later and later. I saw my first kit at 7:15, but mom didn’t head over the dam for almost two more hours. Thanks to Jon who kayaked down hunting trash in the hot hot sun yesterday. And thanks to one kit who volunteered for a close encounter.
