THE BEAVER
When the bison struggled over the land bridge into America, he encountered a huge misshapen creature that was in many ways the opposite of himself. The bison was large in front, slight in the rear, while the native animal was very large in the rear and slight in front. The bison was a land animal; the other lived mostly in water. The beast weighed some three hundred and fifty pounds as it slouched along, and its appearance was fearsome, for its conspicuous front teeth were formidable and as sharp as chisels. Fortunately, it was not carnivorous; it used its teeth only to cut down trees, for this giant animal was a beaver.
It had developed in North America but would spread in desultory fashion throughout much of Europe; its residence in the streams of Colorado would prove especially lucrative, bringing great wealth to those Indians and Frenchmen who mastered the trick of getting its pelt.
The first beavers were too massive to prosper in the competition that developed among the animals of America; they required too much water for their lodges and too many forests for their food. But over the millennia a somewhat smaller collateral strain became dominant, with smaller teeth and softer pelts, and they developed into one of the most lovable and stubborn of animals.
One spring the mother and father beavers in a lodge on a small creek west of the twin pillars made it clear to their two-year-old daughter that she could no longer stay with them. She must fend for herself, find a mate and with him build her own lodge. She was not happy to leave the security in which she had spent her first two years; henceforth she would be without the protection of her hardworking parents and the noisy companionship of the five kits, a year younger than herself, with whom she had played along the banks of the stream and in its deep waters.
Her greatest problem would be to find a young male beaver, for there simply were none in that part of the creek. And so she must leave, or in the end her parents would have to kill her because the space she occupied inside the lodge was needed for future babies.
So with apprehension but with hope, this young female left her family for the last time, turned away from the playful kits and swam down the tunnel leading to the exit. Gingerly, as she had been taught, she surfaced, poked her small brown nose toward the shore and sniffed for signs of enemies. Finding none, she gave a strong flip of her webbed hind feet, curling her little paws beneath her chin, and started downstream. There was no use going upstream, for there the building of a dam was easier and all the good locations would be taken.
One flap of her hind feet was sufficient to send her cruising along the surface for a considerable distance, and as she went she kept moving her head from side to side, looking for three things: saplings in case she needed food, likely spots to build a dam and its accompanying lodge, and any male beaver that might be in the vicinity.
Her first quest was disappointing, for although she spotted quite a few cottonwoods, which beavers could eat if need be, she found no aspen or birch alders, which were her preferred foods. She already knew how to girdle a small tree, strip its bark and fell it so that she could feed on the upper limbs. She also knew how to build a dam and lay the groundwork for a lodge. In fact, she was a skilled housekeeper, and she would be a good mother, too, when the chance presented itself.
She had gone downstream about a mile when there on the shore, preening himself, was a handsome young male. She studied him for a moment without his seeing her, and she judged correctly that he had chosen this spot for his dam. She surveyed the site and knew intuitively that he would have been wiser to build it a little farther upstream, where there were strong banks to which it could be attached. She swam toward him, but she had taken only a few powerful strokes of her hind feet when from a spot she had not noticed, a young female beaver splashed into the water, slapped her tail twice and came directly at the intruder, intending to do battle. It had taken her a long time to find a mate, and she had no intention of allowing anything to disrupt what promised to be a happy family life.
The male on shore watched indifferently as his female approached the stranger, bared her powerful front teeth and prepared to attack. The stranger backed away and returned to the middle of the stream, and the victorious female slapped the water twice with her tail, then swam in triumph back to her unconcerned mate, who continued preening himself and grooming his silky coat.
The wandering beaver saw only one other male that day, a very old fellow who showed no interest in her. She ignored him as he passed, and she kept drifting with no set purpose.
As late afternoon came on and she faced her first night away from home, she became nervous and hungry. She climbed ashore and started gnawing desultorily at a cottonwood, but her attention was not focused on the food, which was fortunate because as she perched there, her scaly tail stretched out behind her, she heard a movement behind a larger tree and looked up in time to spot a bear moving swiftly toward her.
Running in a broken line, as she had been taught, she evaded the first swipe of the slashing paw, but she knew that if she continued running toward the creek, the bear would intercept her. She therefore surprised him by running parallel to the creek for a short distance, and before he could adjust his lunge to this new direction, she had dived to safety.
She went deep into the water, and since she could stay submerged for eight or nine minutes, this gave her time to swim far from where the bear waited—even from the bank a bear could launch a powerful swipe that might lift a beaver right onto the bank. When she surfaced, he was far behind her.
Night fell, the time when her family had customarily played together and gone on short excursions, and she was lonely. She missed the kits and their noisy frolicking, and as night deepened she missed the comfort of diving deep into the water and finding the tunnel that would carry her to the warm security of the lodge.
Where would she sleep? She surveyed both banks and selected a spot that offered some protection, and there she curled up as close to the water as she could. It was a miserable substitute for a proper lodge, and she knew it.
Three more nights she spent in this wretched condition. The season was passing and she was doing nothing about the building of a dam. This bothered her, as if some great purpose for which she had been bred was going unfulfilled.
But the next day two wonderful things happened, the first having no lasting consequences. Early in the morning she ventured into a part of the creek she had not seen before, and as she moved she became aware of a strong and reassuring scent. If it was serious, and not an accident, it would be repeated at the proper intervals, so she swam slowly and in some agitation in the four compass directions, and as she had anticipated, the keen smell was repeated as it should have been. A male beaver, and young at that, had marked out a territory and she was apparently the first female to invade it.
Moving to the middle of the stream, she slapped her tail, and to her joy a fine-looking young beaver appeared on the bank of the creek and looked down into the water. The slapping could have meant that another male had arrived to contest his territory and he was prepared to fight, but when he saw that his visitor was the kind he had hoped to attract, he gave a little bark of pleasure and dived into the stream to welcome her.
With strong sweeps of his webbed feet he darted through the water and came up to her, nudging her nose with his. He was highly pleased with what he found and swam twice around her as if appraising her. Then he dived, inviting her to follow him, and she dived after him, deep into the bottom of the creek. He was showing her where he intended building his lodge, once he found a female to help.
They returned to the surface and he went ashore to fetch some edible bark, which he placed before her. When beavers mated, it was for life, and he was following an established pattern of courtship. The female was eager to indicate her interest, when she noticed that his gaze had shifted from her to something else.
He was looking upstream, where one of the most beautiful young beavers he had ever seen was about to enter his territory. This female had a shimmering coat
and glowing eyes, and she swam gracefully, one kick sending her to the corners of his areas, where she checked the markers he had left. Assured that she was in the presence of a serious suitor, she moved languidly to the center of the area and signaled with her tail.
The young male left his first visitor and with lightning strokes sped to this newcomer, who indicated that she was interested in the segment of the creek he had laid out for himself and was willing to move in permanently. In this brief space of time their destiny was determined.
What now to do with the first visitor? When the new female saw her she apprehended immediately what had happened, so she and the male came to where the young beaver waited and started to shove her out of the delineated area. But she had got there first and intended to stay, so she dived at the intruding female and started to assault her. However, the male knew what he wanted and had no desire to settle for second best, so he joined the newcomer and together they forced the unwanted intruder downstream; as she disappeared, chattering in rage, they slapped their tails at her and, making joyous noises, prepared to build their dam.
The outcast drifted aimlessly and wondered whether she would ever find a mate. How could she build a home? How could she have kits of her own? Bitterly she sought the next miserable place to spend a night.
As she explored the bank she became aware of a soft sound behind her and was certain it must be an otter, the most fearful of her enemies. She dived deep and headed for any cranny within the bank that might afford protection, and as she flattened herself against the mud she saw flashing through the waters not far distant the sleek, compacted fur of an otter on the prowl.
She hoped that his first sweep would carry him downstream, but his sharp eye had detected what could have been a beaver hiding against the bank, so he turned in a graceful dipping circle and started back. She was trapped and, in her anxiety, fought for any avenue of escape. As she probed along the bottom of the bank she came upon an opening that led upward. It could well be some dead end from which there was no escape, but whatever it was, it could be no worse than what she now faced, for the otter was returning and she could not swim fast enough to escape him.
She ducked into the tunnel and with one powerful kick sent herself upward. She moved so swiftly that she catapulted through the surface and saw for the first time the secret cave that had formed in the limestone, with a chimney that admitted air and a security that few animals ever found. Soon her eyes became accustomed to the dim light that filtered in from above and she perceived what a marvelous spot this was, safe from otters and bears and prowling wolves. If she built her dam slightly below the cave and constructed her lodge in the body of the creek, attaching it by a tunnel to this secret place, and if she then widened the chimney upward and masked its exit so that no stranger could detect it, she would have a perfect home. To add to her delight she found inside the cave and above the water level a comfortable ledge on which she could sleep that night.
Before dawn she was at work. Moving to the prominent places on the shore and to the ledges in the creek, she stopped at each and grabbed a handful of mud. With her other paw she reached to the opening of her body where two large sacs protruded, and from these she extracted a viscous yellow liquid that would become famous throughout the West as castoreum, valued for having one of the most pleasant odors in the natural world.
Kneading the castoreum into the mud and mixing in a few grasses to make the cake adhere, she placed it carefully so that its odor would penetrate in all directions, and when she had set out nine of these she stopped and tested the results of her labors. She swam upstream and down, and wherever she went she reassured herself that she had established a clear signal that this stretch of water belonged to a beaver who intended holding it.
The limestone cavern became not only a place of refuge but also a satisfactory home. She built three secret escape hatches, one leading a good twenty feet inland from the bank of the creek, so that if a bear or wolf did take her by surprise, she could dive into it and make her way back to her home before the predator knew where she had gone.
The cycle of her life, however, was still incomplete. By herself she would not build a dam or a lodge, for they were needed primarily for the rearing of young. She could survive in the limestone cave, but without a lodge and a mate, she was still an outcast.
This did not prevent her from grooming herself as carefully as ever. Each day, when the sun was low, she perched on the bank overlooking her domain and preened. She did this by using the two peculiar toes on each of her hind legs; the nails on these toes were split so as to form small combs, and these she dragged through her pelt until even the slightest tangle was removed. Then she took oil from her body and carefully applied it to each part of her coat, combing it in deeply until her fur glistened in shimmering loveliness. No one saw or applauded this grooming, but it was impossible for her to go to bed until she had completed it.
And then, in early autumn, when she had given up hope of finding a mate, a beaver seven years old who had lost his family in some catastrophe wandered down the river and turned by chance into her creek. He was by no means a handsome creature; a long gash ran down the left side of his face and he had lost the two toes on his left hind leg that he needed for cleaning himself, so that he looked disreputable.
As he moved up the creek he detected the markers and realized immediately that a mistake had been made. The creek spot looked inviting, but any flood from the river would wash it away. He looked about for the family that occupied it to warn them of the danger they faced, and after a while he saw the head of the owner breaking through the surface. She swam out to him cautiously and looked for his mate, while he looked for hers. There was a period of motionless silence.
They stared at each other for a very long time, and each knew all there was to know. There would be no illusions, no chicanery.
It was he who broke the silence. By the way he looked and moved his tail he indicated that this spot was no place to build a dam.
With a fierce toss of her head she let him know that this was where she would live. And she led him underwater to the entrance of her secret cave and showed him the escape hatches and how she planned to link it to the lodge and the dam. But he was still not satisfied, and when they surfaced, he started to swim to a much safer spot, and she followed, chattering and slamming her tail, then halting in disgust as he left her premises.
In the morning he swam back and indicated hesitantly that she was welcome to accompany him if she would consent to build their dam at a proper site.
Again she protested furiously and snapped at him, driving him away. That afternoon he came back quietly with a length of aspen in his teeth, and diving to the bottom of the creek, he fastened it to the floor with mud, the first structure in their new home.
It was then September, and they set to work with a passion. They labored all night, dragging trees and branches into the stream, weighting them with mud and gradually building the whole construction high enough to check the flow of water. Again and again as they worked he almost betrayed his doubt that the dam they were building would hold, but she worked with such fervor that he withheld his misgivings.
When the two beavers were satisfied that the dam would impound the water necessary for their establishment, she began tying branches and tree lengths into the bottom, weighting them with rocks and mud and other trees, and it was now that she realized that in the building of the dam she had done most of the work. He was great on starting things and showed considerable enthusiasm during the first days, but when it came time for doing the hard, backbreaking work, he was usually absent.
She had to acknowledge that she had accepted a lazy mate, one who could not be cured of indolence, but instead of infuriating her, this merely spurred her to greater efforts. She worked as few beavers, an industrious lot, had ever worked, lugging huge trunks of trees and slapping mud until her paws ached. She did both the planning and the execution, and when the pile from which their lodge would be construc
ted was nearly finished, and she was eleven pounds lighter than she was when she started, he indicated for the final time that when the floods came, this would all vanish. She made no response, for she knew that just as she had done most of the building this time, she would have to do it again if floods ever came.
When the pile in the middle of the small lake behind the dam was completed, they dived to the bottom and began the gratifying task of cutting entrances into it and providing sleeping levels above the waterline as well as places for kits, and digging connecting runways to the secret chamber. At planning he was a master, for he had built lodges before.
Only a few days remained before the freeze, and they spent this period in a burst of superenergy, stripping bark and storing it for their winter’s food. Where eating was concerned, he was willing to work, and in the end they had a better lodge than any other on the creek, and better provisioned, too.
In the early days of winter, when they were frozen in, they mated, and in spring, after she gave birth to four lovely babies, the river produced a flood that washed away the dam and most of the lodge. She rescued the babies and took them to higher ground, where a fox ate one.
As soon as the floods had receded, she began to rebuild the dam, and when it was finished, she taught the kits how to help rebuild the lodge, which took less effort.
They then enjoyed four good years in the tight little domain, but in the fifth, sixth and seventh years there were floods, the last of such magnitude that the whole establishment was erased. He had had enough, and he spent considerable time upstream looking for a better site, but when he found one, she refused to move. He found her marking the corners of her estate with castoreum and teaching her children how to start erecting a higher and better dam.
He halted at the edge of her territory and watched as this stubborn little creature proceeded with her engineering, making the same mistakes, dooming her dam to the same destruction.