One September day I saw a number of beaver at work upon a
half-finished house. One part of the house had been carried up about
two feet above the water, and against this were leaned numerous
sticks, which stood upon the top of the foundation just above
water-level. After these sticks were arranged, they were covered with
turf and mud which the beaver scooped from the bottom of the pond. In
bringing this earth covering up, the beaver invariably came out of the
water at a given point, and over a short slide worn on the side of the
house climbed up to the height where they were to deposit their load,
which was carried in the fore paws. Then they edged round and put the
mud-ball upon the house. From this point they descended directly to
the water, but when they emerged with the next handful, they came out
at the bottom of the slide, and again climbed up it.
The beaver often does a large amount of work in a short time. A small
dam may be built up in a few nights, or a number of trees felled, or
possibly a long burrow or tunnel clawed in the earth during a brief
period. In most cases, however, beaver works of magnitude are
monuments of old days, and have required a long time to construct,
being probably the work of more than one generation. It is rare for a
large dam or canal to be constructed in one season. A thousand feet of
dam is the accumulated work of years. An aged beaver may have lived
all his life in one locality, born in the house in which his parents
were born, and he might rise upon the thousand-foot dam which held his
pond and say, "My grandparents half a dozen centuries ago commenced
this dam, and I do not know which one of my ancestors completed it."
Although the beaver is a tireless and an effective worker, he does not
work unless there is need to do so. Usually his summer is a rambling
vacation spent away from home. His longest period of labor is during
September and October, when the harvest is gathered and general
preparations made for the long winter. Baby beavers take part in the
harvest-getting, though probably without accomplishing very much.
During most winters he has weeks of routine in the house and ponds
with nothing urgent to do except sleep and eat.
He works not only tooth and nail, but tooth and tail. The tail is one
of the most conspicuous organs of the beaver. Volumes have been
written concerning it. It is nearly flat, is black in color, and is a
convenient and much-used appendage. It serves for a rudder, a stool, a
prop, a scull, and a signal club. It may be used for a trowel, but I
have never seen it so used. It serves one purpose that apparently has
not been discussed in print; on a few occasions I have seen a beaver
carry a small daub of mud or some sticks clasped between the tail and
the belly. It gives this awkward animal increased awkwardness and even
an uncouth appearance to see him humped up, with tail tucked between
his legs, in order to clasp something between it and his belly.
He is accomplished in the use of arms and hands. With hands he is able
to hold sticks and handle them with great dexterity. Like any clawing
animal he uses his hands or fore paws, to dig holes or tunnels and to
excavate burrows and water-basins. His hind feet are the chief
propelling power in swimming, although the tail, which may be turned
almost on edge and is capable of diagonal movement, is sometimes
brought into play as a scull when the beaver is at his swiftest. In
the water beaver move about freely and apparently with the greatest
enjoyment. They are delightfully swift and agile swimmers, in decided
contrast with their awkward slowness upon the ground. They can swim
two hundred yards under water without once coming to the surface, and
have the ability to remain under water from five to ten minutes. On
one occasion a beaver remained under water longer than eleven minutes,
and came to the top none the worse, apparently, for this long period
of suspended breathing.
It is in standing erect that the beaver is at his best. In this
attitude the awkwardness and the dull appearance of all-fours are
absent, and he is a statue of alertness. With feet parallel and in
line, tail at right angles to the body and resting horizontally on the
ground, and hands held against the breast, he has the happy and
childish eagerness of a standing chipmunk, and the alert and
capable attitude of an erect and listening grizzly bear.
[Illustration: A YOUNG BEAVER ON THE SIDE OF A BEAVER HOUSE]
The beaver is larger than most people imagine. Mature male specimens
are about thirty-eight inches in length and weigh about thirty-eight
pounds, but occasionally one is found that weighs seventy or more
pounds. Ten mature males which I measured in the Rocky Mountains
showed an average length of forty inches, with an average weight of
forty-seven pounds. The tails of these ten averaged ten inches in
length, four and a half inches in width across the centre, and one
inch in thickness. Behind the shoulders the average circumference was
twenty-one inches, and around the abdomen twenty-eight. Ten mature
females which I measured were only a trifle smaller.
There are twenty teeth; in each jaw there are eight molars and
two incisors. The four front teeth of the beaver are large,
orange-colored, strong, and have a self-sharpening edge of enamel. The
ears are very short and rounded. The sense of smell appears to be the
most highly developed of the beaver's senses. Next to this, that of
hearing appears to be the most informational. The eyes are weak. The
hind feet are large and webbed, and resemble those of a goose. The
second claw of each hind foot is double, and is used in combing the
fur and in dislodging the parasites from the skin. The fore paws of
the beaver are handlike, and have long, strong claws. They are used
very much after the fashion in which monkeys use their hands, and
serve a number of purposes.
The color of the beaver is a reddish brown, sometimes shading into a
very dark brown. Occasional specimens are white or black. The beaver
is not a handsome animal, and when in action on the land he is
awkward. The black skin which covers his tail appears to be covered
with scales; the skin merely has this form and appearance, the scales
do not exist. The tail somewhat resembles the end of an oar.
The all-important tools of this workman are his four orange-colored
front teeth. These are edge-tools that are adaptable and
self-sharpening. They are set in strong jaws and operated by powerful
muscles. Thus equipped, he can easily cut wood. These teeth grow with
surprising rapidity. If accident befalls them, so that the upper and
the lower fail to bear and wear, they will grow by each other and in a
short time become of an uncanny length. I have found several dead
beaver who had apparently died of starvation; their teeth overlapped
with jaws wide open and thus prevented their procuring food. For a
time I possessed an overgrown tooth that was crescent-shaped and a
trifle more than six inches long.
Pounds considered, the beaver is a powerful animal, and over a rough
trail will drag objects of twice his own weight or roll a log-section
of gigantic size. Up a strong current he will tow an eighty- or
one-hundred-pound sapling without apparent effort. Three or four have
rolled a one-hundred-and-twenty-pound boulder into place in the dam.
Commonly he does things at opportune times and in the easiest way. His
energy is not wasted in building a dam where one is not needed nor in
constructive work in times of high water. He accepts deep water as a
matter of fact and constructs dams to make shallow places deep.
Beaver food is largely inner bark of deciduous or broad-leaved trees.
Foremost among these trees which they use for food is the aspen,
although the cottonwood and willow are eaten almost as freely. The
bark of the birch, alder, maple, box-elder, and a number of other
trees is also used. Except in times of dire emergency the beaver will
not eat the bark of the pine, spruce, or fir tree. It is fortunate
that the trees which the beaver fell and use for food or building
purposes are water-loving trees, which not only sprout from both stump
and root, but grow with exceeding rapidity. Among other lesser foods
used are berries, mushrooms, sedge, grass, and the leaves and stalks
of a number of plants. In winter dried grass and leaves are sometimes
used, and in this season the rootstocks of the pond-lily and the roots
of the willow, alder, birch, and other water-loving trees that may be
got from the bottom of the pond. Beaver are vegetarians; they do not
eat fish or flesh.
Apparently beaver prefer to cut trees that are less than six inches in
diameter, and where slender poles abound it is rare for anything to be
cut of more than four inches. But it is not uncommon to see trees
felled that are from twelve to fifteen inches in diameter. In my
possession are three beaver-cut stumps each of which has a greater
diameter than eighteen inches, the largest being thirty-four inches.
The largest beaver-cut stump that I have ever measured was on the
Jefferson River in Montana, near the mouth of Pipestone Creek. This
was three feet six inches in diameter.
The beaver sits upright with fore paws against the tree, or clasping
it; half squatting on his hind legs, with tail either extending behind
as a prop or folded beneath him as a seat, he tilts his head from side
to side and makes deep bites into the tree about sixteen inches above
the ground. In the overwhelming majority of beaver-cut trees that I
have seen, most of the cutting was done from one side,--from one seat
as it were. Though the notch taken out was rudely done, it was after
the fashion of the axe-man. The beaver bites above and below, then,
driving his teeth behind the piece thus cut off, will wedge, pry, or
pull out the chip. Ofttimes in doing this he appears to use his jaw
as a lever. With the aspen, or with other trees equally soft, about
one hour is required to gnaw down a four-inch sapling. With one bite
he will snip off a limb from half to three quarters of an inch in
diameter.
After a tree is felled on land, the limbs are cut off and the trunk is
gnawed into sections. The length of these sections appears to depend
upon the size of the tree-trunk and also the distance to the water,
the number of beaver to assist in its transportation, and the
character of the trail. Commonly a six- or eight-inch tree is cut into
lengths of about four to six feet. If the tree falls into the water of
the pond or the canal, it is, if the limbs are not too long,
transported butt foremost to the desired spot in its uncut, untrimmed
entirety. Ofttimes with a large tree the trunk is left and only the
limbs taken.
The green wood which the beaver uses for his winter's food-supply is
stored on the bottom of the pond. How does he sink it to the bottom?
There is an old and oft-repeated tale which says that the beaver sucks
the air from the green wood so as to sink it promptly. Another tale
has it that the beaver dives to the bottom carrying with him a green
stick which he thrusts into the mud and it is thus anchored.
Apparently the method is a simple one. The green wood stored is almost
as heavy as water, and once in the pond it becomes water-logged and
sinks in a short time; however, the first pieces stored are commonly
large, heavy chunks, which are forced to the bottom by piling others
on top of them. Frequently the first few pieces of the food-pile
consist of entire trees, limbs and all. These usually are placed in a
rude circle with butts inward and tops outward. This forms an
entangling foundation which holds in place the smaller stuff piled
thereon.
Most willows by beaver colonies are small and comparatively light.
These do not sink readily, are not easily managed, and are rarely used
in the bottom of the pile. Commonly, when these light cuttings are
gathered into the food-pile, they are laid on top, where numerous
up-thrusting limbs entangle and hold them. The foundation and larger
portion of the food-pile are formed of heavy pieces of aspen, alder,
or some other stream-side tree, which cannot be moved out of place by
an ordinary wind or water-current and which quickly sink to the
bottom.
Among enemies of this fur-clad fellow are the wolverine, the otter,
the lion, the lynx, the coyote, the wolf, and the bear. Hawks and owls
occasionally capture a young beaver. Beaver spend much time dressing
their fur and bathing, as they are harassed by lice and other
parasites. At rare intervals they are afflicted with disease. They
live from twelve to fifteen years and sometimes longer. Man is the
worst enemy of the beaver.
A thousand trappers unite to tell the same pitiable tale of a trapped
beaver's last moments. If the animal has not succeeded in drowning
himself or tearing off a foot and escaping, the trapper smashes the
beaver's head with his hatchet. The beaver, instead of trying to rend
the man with sharp cutting teeth, raises himself and with upraised
hand tries to ward off the death-blow. Instead of one blow, a young
trapper frequently has to give two or three, but the beaver receives
them without a struggle or a sound, and dies while vainly trying to
shield his head with both hands.
Justly renowned for his industry, the beaver is a master of the fine
art of rest. He has many a vacation and conserves his energies. He
keeps his fur clean and his house in a sanitary condition. Ever in
good condition, he is ready at all times for hard work and is capable
of efficient work over long periods. He is ready for emergencies.
As animal life goes, that of the beaver stands among the best. His
life is full of industry and is rich in repose. He is home-loving and
avoids fighting. His lot is cast in poetic places.
The beaver has a rich birthright, though born in a windowless hut of
mud. Close to the primeval place of his birth the wild folk of both
woods and water meet and often mingle. Around are the ever-changing
and never-ending scenes and silences of the water or the shore. Beaver
grow up with the many-sided wild, playing amid the brilliant flowers
and great boulders, in the piles of driftwood and among the fallen
logs on the forest's mysterious edge. They learn to swim and slide, to
dive quickly and deeply from sight, to sleep, and to rest moveless in
the sunshine; ever listening to the strong, harmonious stir of wind
and water, living with the stars in the sky and the stars in the pond;
beginning serious life when brilliant clouds of color enrich autumn's
hills; helping to harvest the trees that wear the robes of gold, while
the birds go by for the southland in the reflective autumn days. If
Mother Nature should ever call me to live upon another planet, I could
wish that I might be born a beaver, to inhabit a house in the water.