Beavers rarely get out from below the ice in
winter. But the couple of warm spells we've had this month have
given them a chance to poke their way out near shore. Wednesday
morning we saw a hole in the ice about 30 centimetres across,
in water that was just over 30 centimetres deep.
There was not even a skim of ice in the hole,
and the snow was pushed back all around it. Sure enough, there
were beaver tracks leading up the hill in a couple of pathways
from the lake.
They had to be fresh tracks, as the snow had
just ended early that morning, and there was no new snow
covering them. I decided I wanted to see the beaver, so I went
back later in the afternoon.
At 4:30 pm, I dressed warmly, packed my
notebook and a thermal pad to sit on the snow. I strapped on
the snowshoes for the trek across the lake.
It was a noisy walk, crunch, crunch, crunch
over the crisp snow. While it was noisy for me, I hoped, and
expected that the beavers would not hear as I got closer. They
after all, were tucked into a very thick stick house, in total
darkness and almost no sound from the outside world.
I checked the wind, climbed a little way up
the hill above the place of the hole, and sat down to wait. I
leaned against a big red pine for comfort,
where I could keep an easy eye on the hole in
the ice. It began to snow.
I watched a beautiful twirl of white near the
far shore - as the wind gathered the snow and danced with it
across the lake. I listened to the wind in the trees, and
burrowed deeply into my warm down coat.
A little copse of alder lay between the hole
in the ice and me. If there was any movement there, I could see
it clearly. I watched as the clouds began to break up, and bits
of pale blue sky shone through. The wind did not seem strong,
but it was cold.
Across the lake in the distance, a wide
shimmering white line was moving toward me. Just a few
centimetres above the surface of the ice, loose snow particles
had gathered in the wind, giving visual definition the gusts of
wind.
I tucked more deeply into the warmth of my
coat, and pulled my hands back into the sleeves. My toes were
getting cold. I hadn't expected the wind.
I thought maybe it would die down as the
daylight faded, but it seemed to pick up instead.
The thin snow blew along the surface of the
ice in ever changing patterns. The ghostly beauty absorbed me.
The sun had long since disappeared
below the hill, yet the light lingered. The
splendour of the scene made waiting for the beaver a worthwhile
endeavour.
I thought of the beaver, and wondered if it
would appear. I imagined how cold it would be, emerging from
the frigid water under the ice - and stepping into the wind. I
was warm and dry inside my coat.
When the first star appeared in a break in
the clouds, I decided the beaver was not going to show.
Probably it would wait until dawn. Probably it
would rather move about in growing daylight,
instead of the fading dusk.
Maybe I would get up early - and wait again
for it to appear from the watery hole in the lake.
Viki Mather lives by a lake near Sudbury.
