When Beavers Attack!

 

Hi. My names Dave, and I…I’m…afraid of beavers.

Yes, that’s right. It’s hard for me to admit, but I, Dave Gray, locally world-famous outdoor adventurer, have been forced to retreat from nature’s plucky workman, the furry and loveable beaver.

I can hear you laughing. How could you be afraid of a beaver? They are small and cuddly, and they live on bark and woodchips.

Yeah. Well let me ask you, have you seen a beaver up close enough to smell its piney breath, pal? Or are the beavers you’re familiar with the ones that sing and tap-dance in animated films? Because I have looked this critter in the eye and gauged the depths of its soul. And I ran away.

I am familiar with beavers. The lake I like to fish best has a large beaver lodge near where I camp. I often see them swimming in the lake as I do camp chores, or I hear them loudly slapping their tails when they dive.

I like to fish from a contraption called a belly boat, which is sort of a glorified inner tube. You put on rubber pants, and flippers on your feet, and sit in the tube and paddle out to where the fish are. (Yes, we are aware of how this looks. If we were not aware of it, we would soon become aware of it courtesy of all the people who tell us how ridiculous we look.)

So, I am paddling away out there, minding my own business, when I see a beaver surface and start swimming my way. “Aha,” I think to myself, “a chance for some quiet observation of nature’s creatures.”

 Ker-PLUNKT! He dives and slaps his tail. I laugh, delighted. This is why I love the belly boat. I am at eye level with the water and its wonders.

 He swims toward me, and slaps the water again when he dives. He appears much larger than he did when observed from the shore of the lake -- like fifty pounds maybe. The size of a Labrador retriever.

 He surfaces, and begins to swim in a circle around me. Ker-PLUNKT! Ker-PLUNKT! Ker-PLUNKT!

 I realize it’s not a circle he is swimming, it’s a diminishing spiral. He’s getting closer each time. I can see his teeth. They appear…sharp.

 KER-PLUNKT!

 That one splashed water on my glasses. I figure he is mad because I am too close to his lodge. He probably has a wife and kids in there. I also realize that I REALLY don’t want him to dive and then surface in my lap. I begin to paddle, briskly, away from the lodge.

 Ker-PLUNKT!

 He’s following me. My legs feel naked and exposed. Every phobia I’ve ever had about suddenly being grabbed from underneath in the water surfaces in my head. I hear the theme from “Jaws.” I may never be able to use a flush toilet again.

 I paddle faster and faster. He follows. I try splashing at him with my flippers. I want to yell “go away” but I don’t want other campers to hear, and look over to see me frantically fleeing a harmless, furry, Disney character, so I make a strangled sound like “Harungganah git!” I am ashamed, because I know sound travels over water.

 He circles me a few more times, and then finally swims away. My flippers produce a wake like a motorboat as I paddle back to shore and collapse on the bank.

 As I am lying there, getting my breath back, I realize that I just ran away from a beaver. Well, paddled away.

 I hear splashing and yelling out on the lake. I look up and a man in a canoe is splashing at the beaver with his paddle. The beaver dives, and slaps his tail. I laugh out loud, the sound of a man who enjoys watching nature and its wonders.

 “What the hell is that?” the man yells, in a tone that indicates he is fighting back panic.

 “A beaver,” I yell back, a mountain man, educating the greenhorn. “He’s mad because you’re to close too close to his house.”

 “Well, I’ll move away, then.” He paddles off, looking over his shoulder at the beaver as he goes.

 “Damn tourists.” I think to myself. “At least I knew what it was.”