night-journey for the Mesa Verde, where I intended next morning to
greet an old gnarled cedar which grew on its summit. When I arrived at
the top of the Mesa, I looked back and saw a pyramid of golden flame
standing out in the darkness.
The Beaver and his Works
I have never been able to decide which I love best, birds or trees,
but as these are really comrades it does not matter, for they can take
first place together. But when it comes to second place in my
affection for wild things, this, I am sure, is filled by the beaver.
The beaver has so many interesting ways, and is altogether so useful,
so thrifty, so busy, so skillful, and so picturesque, that I believe
his life and his deeds deserve a larger place in literature and a
better place in our hearts. His engineering works are of great value
to man. They not only help to distribute the waters and beneficially
control the flow of the streams, but they also catch and save from
loss enormous quantities of the earth's best plant-food. In helping to
do these two things,--governing the rivers and fixing the soil,--he
plays an important part, and if he and the forest had their way with
the water-supply, floods would be prevented, streams would never run
dry, and a comparatively even flow of water would be maintained in
the rivers every day of the year.
A number of beaver establishing a colony made one of the most
interesting exhibitions of constructive work that I have ever watched.
The work went on for several weeks, and I spent hours and days in
observing operations. My hiding-place on a granite crag allowed me a
good view of the work,--the cutting and transportation of the little
logs, the dam-building, and the house-raising. I was close to the
trees that were felled. Occasionally, during the construction work of
this colony, I saw several beaver at one time cutting trees near one
another. Upon one occasion, one was squatted on a fallen tree, another
on the limb of a live one, and a third upon a boulder, each busy
cutting down his tree. In every case, the tail was used for a
combination stool and brace. While cutting, the beaver sat upright and
clasped the willow with fore paws or put his hands against the tree,
usually tilting his head to one side. The average diameter of the
trees cut was about four inches, and a tree of this size was cut down
quickly and without a pause.
When the tree was almost cut off, the cutter usually thumped with his
tail, at which signal all other cutters near by scampered away. But
this warning signal was not always given, and in one instance an
unwarned cutter had a narrow escape from a tree falling perilously
close to him.
Before cutting a tree, a beaver usually paused and appeared to look at
its surroundings as if choosing a place to squat or sit while cutting
it down; but so far as I could tell, he gave no thought as to the
direction in which the tree was going to fall. This is true of every
beaver which I have seen begin cutting, and I have seen scores. But
beavers have individuality, and occasionally I noticed one with marked
skill or decision. It may be, therefore, that some beaver try to fell
trees on a particular place. In fact, I remember having seen in two
localities stumps which suggested that the beaver who cut down the
trees had planned just how they were to fall. In the first locality,
I could judge only from the record left by the stumps; but the quarter
on which the main notch had been made, together with the fact that the
notch had in two instances been made on a quarter of the tree where
it was inconvenient for the cutter to work, seemed to indicate a plan
to fell the tree in a particular direction. In the other locality,
I knew the attitude of the trees before they were cut, and in this
instance the evidence was so complete and conclusive that I must
believe the beaver that cut down these trees endeavored to get them to
fall in a definite direction. In each of these cases, however, judging
chiefly from the teeth-marks, I think the cuttings were done by the
same beaver. Many observations induce me to believe, however, that the
majority of beaver do not plan how the trees are to fall.
Once a large tree is on the ground, the limbs are trimmed off and the
trunk is cut into sections sufficiently small to be dragged, rolled,
or pushed to the water, where transportation is easy.
The young beaver that I have seen cutting trees have worked in
leisurely manner, in contrast with the work of the old ones. After
giving a few bites, they usually stop to eat a piece of the bark, or
to stare listlessly around for a time. As workers, young beaver appear
at their best and liveliest when taking a limb from the hillside to
the house in the pond. A young beaver will catch a limb by one end in
his teeth, and, throwing it over his shoulder in the attitude of a
puppy racing with a rope or a rag, make off to the pond. Once in the
water, he throws up his head and swims to the house or the dam with
the limb held trailing out over his back.
The typical beaver-house seen in the Rockies at the present time
stands in the upper edge of the pond which the beaver-dam has made,
near where the brook enters it. Its foundation is about eight feet
across, and it stands from five to ten feet in height, a rude cone in
form. Most houses are made of sticks and mud, and are apparently put
up with little thought for the living-room, which is later dug or
gnawed from the interior. The entrance to the house is below
water-level, and commonly on the bottom of the lake. Late each autumn,
the house is plastered on the outside with mud, and I am inclined to
believe that this plaster is not so much to increase the warmth of
the house as to give it, when the mud is frozen, a strong protective
armor, an armor which will prevent the winter enemies of the beaver
from breaking into the house.
Each autumn beaver pile up near by the house, a large brush-heap of
green trunks and limbs, mostly of aspen, willow, cottonwood, or alder.
This is their granary, and during the winter they feed upon the green
bark, supplementing this with the roots of water-plants, which they
drag from the bottom of the pond.
Along in May five baby beaver appear, and a little later these explore
the pond and race, wrestle, and splash water in it as merrily as boys.
Occasionally they sun themselves on a fallen log, or play together
there, trying to push one another off into the water. Often they
play in the canals that lead between ponds or from them, or on the
"slides." Toward the close of summer, they have their lessons in
cutting and dam-building.
[Illustration: A BEAVER-HOUSE
Supply of winter food piled on the right]
A beaver appears awkward as he works on land. In use of arms and hands
he reminds one of a monkey, while his clumsy and usually slow-moving
body will often suggest the hippopotamus. By using head, hands, teeth,
tail, and webbed feet the beaver accomplishes much. The tail of a
beaver is a useful and much-used appendage; it serves as a rudder, a
stool, and a ramming or signal club. The beaver _may_ use his tail
for a trowel, but I have never seen him so use it. His four front teeth
are excellent edge-tools for his logging and woodwork; his webbed feet
are most useful in his deep-waterway transportation, and his hands in
house-building and especially in dam-building. It is in dam-building
that the beaver shows his greatest skill and his best headwork; for I
confess to the belief that a beaver reasons. I have so often seen him
change his plans so wisely and meet emergencies so promptly and well
that I can think of him only as a reasoner.
I have often wondered if beaver make a preliminary survey of a place
before beginning to build a dam. I have seen them prowling
suggestively along brooks just prior to beaver-dam building operations
there, and circumstantial evidence would credit them with making
preliminary surveys. But of this there is no proof. I have noticed a
few things that seem to have been considered by beaver before
beginning dam-building,--the supply of food and of dam-building
material, for instance, and the location of the dam so as to require
the minimum amount of material and insure the creation of the largest
reservoir. In making the dam, the beaver usually takes advantage of
boulders, willow-clumps, and surface irregularities. But he often
makes errors of judgment. I have seen him abandon dams both before and
after completion. The apparent reasons were that the dam either had
failed or would fail to flood the area which he needed or desired
flooded. His endeavors are not always successful. About twenty years
ago, near Helena, Montana, a number of beaver made an audacious
attempt to dam the Missouri River. After long and persistent effort,
however, they gave it up. The beaver may be credited with errors,
failures, and successes. He has forethought. If a colony of beaver be
turned loose upon a three-mile tree-lined brook in the wilds and left
undisturbed for a season, or until they have had time to select a site
and locate themselves to best advantage, it is probable that the
location chosen will indicate that they have examined the entire
brook and then selected the best place.
As soon as the beaver's brush dam is completed, it begins to
accumulate trash and mud. In a little while, usually, it is covered
with a mass of soil, shrubs of willow begin to grow upon it, and after
a few years it is a strong, earthy, willow-covered dam. The dams vary
in length from a few feet to several hundred feet. I measured one on
the South Platte River that was eleven hundred feet long.
The influence of a beaver-dam is astounding. As soon as completed, it
becomes a highway for the folk of the wild. It is used day and night.
Mice and porcupines, bears and rabbits, lions and wolves, make a
bridge of it. From it, in the evening, the graceful deer cast their
reflections in the quiet pond. Over it dash pursuer and pursued; and
on it take place battles and courtships. It is often torn by hoof and
claw of animals locked in death-struggles, and often, very often, it
is stained with blood. Many a drama, picturesque, fierce, and wild, is
staged upon a beaver-dam.
An interesting and valuable book could be written concerning the
earth as modified and benefited by beaver action, and I have long
thought that the beaver deserved at least a chapter in Marsh's
masterly book, "The Earth as modified by Human Action." To "work like
a beaver" is an almost universal expression for energetic persistence,
but who realizes that the beaver has accomplished anything? Almost
unread of and unknown are his monumental works.
The instant a beaver-dam is completed, it has a decided influence on
the flow of the water, and especially on the quantity of sediment
which the passing water carries. The sediment, instead of going down
to fill the channel below, or to clog the river's mouth, fill the
harbor, and do damage a thousand miles away, is accumulated in the
pond behind the dam, and a level deposit is formed over the entire
area of the lake. By and by this deposit is so great that the lake is
filled with sediment, but before this happens, both lake and dam check
and delay so much flood-water that floods are diminished in volume,
and the water thus delayed is in part added to the flow of the
streams at the time of low water, the result being a more even
stream-flow at all times.
The regulation of stream-flow is important. There are only a few rainy
days each year, and all the water that flows down the rivers falls
on these few rainy days. The instant the water reaches the earth, it
is hurried away toward the sea, and unless some agency delays the
run-off, the rivers would naturally contain water only on the rainy
days and a little while after. The fact that some rivers contain water
at all times is but evidence that something has held in check a
portion of the water which fell during these rainy days.
[Illustration: A BEAVER-DAM IN WINTER]
Among the agencies which best perform this service of keeping the
streams ever-flowing, are the forests and the works of the beaver.
Rainfall accumulates in the brooks. The brooks conduct the water to
the rivers. If across a river there be a beaver-dam, the pond formed
by it will be a reservoir which will catch and retain some of the
water coming into it during rainy days, and will thus delay the
passage of all water which flows through it. Beaver-reservoirs are
leaky ones, and if they are stored full during rainy days, the
leaking helps to maintain the stream-flow in dry weather. A beaver-dam
thus tends to distribute to the streams below it a moderate quantity
of water each day. In other words, it spreads out or distributes the
water of the few rainy days through all the days of the year. A river
which flows steadily throughout the year is of inestimable value to
mankind. If floods sweep a river, they do damage. If low water comes,
the wheels of steamers and of manufactories cease to move, and damage
or death may result. In maintaining a medium between the extremes of
high and low water, the beaver's work is of profound importance. In
helping beneficially to control a river, the beaver would render
enormous service if allowed to construct his works at its source.
During times of heavy rainfall, the water-flow carries with it,
especially in unforested sections, great quantities of soil and
sediment. Beaver-dams catch much of the material eroded from the
hillsides above, and also prevent much erosion along the streams which
they govern. They thus catch and deposit in place much valuable soil,
the cream of the earth, that otherwise would be washed away and
lost,--washed away into the rivers and harbors, impeding navigation
and increasing river and harbor bills.
There is an old Indian legend which says that after the Creator
separated the land from the water he employed gigantic beavers to
smooth it down and prepare it for the abode of man. This is
appreciative and suggestive. Beaver-dams have had much to do with the
shaping and creating of a great deal of the richest agricultural land
in America. To-day there are many peaceful and productive valleys the
soil of which has been accumulated and fixed in place by ages of
engineering activities on the part of the beaver before the white man
came. On both mountain and plain you may still see much of this good
work accomplished by them. In the mountains, deep and almost useless
gulches have been filled by beaver-dams with sediment, and in course
of time changed to meadows. So far as I know, the upper course of
every river in the Rockies is through a number of beaver-meadows,
some of them acres in extent.
On the upper course of Grand River in Colorado, I once made an
extensive examination of some old beaver-works. Series of beaver-dams
had been extended along this stream for several miles, as many as
twenty dams to the mile. Each succeeding dam had backed water to the
one above it. These had accumulated soil and formed a series of
terraces, which, with the moderate slope of the valley, had in time
formed an extensive and comparatively level meadow for a great
distance along the river. The beaver settlement on this river was
long ago almost entirely destroyed, and the year before my arrival
a cloudburst had fallen upon the mountain-slope above, and the
down-rushing flood had, in places, eroded deeply into the deposits
formed by the beaver-works. At one place the water had cut down
twenty-two feet, and had brought to light the fact that the deposit
had been formed by a series of dams one above the other, a new dam
having been built or the old one increased in height when the deposit
of sediment had filled, or nearly filled, the pond. This is only one
instance. There are thousands of similar places in the Rockies where
beaver-dams have accumulated deposits of greater or less extent than
those on the Grand River.
Only a few beaver remain, and though much of their work will endure
to serve mankind, in many places their old work is gone or is going
to ruin for the want of attention. We are paying dearly for the
thoughtless and almost complete destruction of this animal. A live
beaver is far more valuable to us than a dead one. Soil is eroding
away, river-channels are filling, and most of the streams in the
United States fluctuate between flood and low water. A beaver colony
at the source of every stream would moderate these extremes and add to
the picturesqueness and beauty of many scenes that are now growing
ugly with erosion. We need to coöperate with the beaver. He would
assist the work of reclamation, and be of great service in maintaining
the deep-waterways. I trust he will be assisted in colonizing our
National Forests, and allowed to cut timber there without a permit.
The beaver is the Abou-ben-Adhem of the wild. May his tribe increase.
The Wilds without Firearms
Had I encountered the two gray wolves during my first unarmed
camping-trip into the wilds, the experience would hardly have
suggested to me that going without firearms is the best way to enjoy
wild nature. But I had made many unarmed excursions beyond the trail
before I had that adventure, and the habit of going without a gun was
so firmly fixed and so satisfactory that even a perilous wolf
encounter did not arouse any desire for firearms. The habit continued,
and to-day the only way I can enjoy the wilds is to leave guns behind.
On that autumn afternoon I was walking along slowly, reflectively, in
a deep forest. Not a breath of air moved, and even the aspen's golden
leaves stood still in the sunlight. All was calm and peaceful around
and within me, when I came to a little sunny frost-tanned grass-plot
surrounded by tall, crowding pines. I felt drawn to its warmth and
repose and stepped joyfully into it. Suddenly two gray wolves sprang
from almost beneath my feet and faced me defiantly. At a few feet
distance they made an impressive show of ferocity, standing ready
apparently to hurl themselves upon me.
Now the gray wolf is a powerful, savage beast, and directing his
strong jaws, tireless muscles, keen scent, and all-seeing eyes are
exceedingly nimble wits. He is well equipped to make the severe
struggle for existence which his present environment compels. In many
Western localities, despite the high price offered for his scalp, he
has managed not only to live, but to increase and multiply. I had seen
gray wolves pull down big game. On one occasion I had seen a vigorous
long-horned steer fall after a desperate struggle with two of these
fearfully fanged animals. Many times I had come across scattered bones
which told of their triumph; and altogether I was so impressed with
their deadliness that a glimpse of one of them usually gave me over
to a temporary dread.
The two wolves facing me seemed to have been asleep in the sun when
I disturbed them. I realized the danger and was alarmed, of course, but
my faculties were under control, were stimulated, indeed, to unusual
alertness, and I kept a bold front and faced them without flinching.
Their expression was one of mingled surprise and anger, together with
the apparent determination to sell their lives as dearly as possible.
I gave them all the attention which their appearance and their
reputation demanded. Not once did I take my eyes off them. I held them
at bay with my eyes. I still have a vivid picture of terribly gleaming
teeth, bristling backs, and bulging muscles in savage readiness.
They made no move to attack. I was afraid to attack and I dared not
run away. I remembered that some trees I could almost reach behind me
had limbs that stretched out toward me, yet I felt that to wheel,
spring for a limb, and swing up beyond their reach could not be done
quickly enough to escape those fierce jaws.
Both sides were of the same mind, ready to fight, but not at all eager
to do so. Under these conditions our nearness was embarrassing, and
we faced each other for what seemed, to me at least, a long time. My
mind working like lightning, I thought of several possible ways of
escaping, I considered each at length, found it faulty, and dismissed
it. Meanwhile, not a sound had been made. I had not moved, but
something had to be done. Slowly I worked the small folding axe from
its sheath, and with the slowest of movements placed it in my right
coat-pocket with the handle up, ready for instant use. I did this with
studied deliberation, lest a sudden movement should release the
springs that held the wolves back. I kept on staring. Statues, almost,
we must have appeared to the "camp-bird" whose call from a near-by
limb told me we were observed, and whose nearness gave me courage.
Then, looking the nearer of the two wolves squarely in the eye, I said
to him, "Well, why don't you move?" as though we were playing checkers
instead of the game of life. He made no reply, but the spell was
broken. I believe that both sides had been bluffing. In attempting to
use my kodak while continuing the bluff, I brought matters to a
focus. "What a picture you fellows will make," I said aloud, as my
right hand slowly worked the kodak out of the case which hung under my
left arm. Still keeping up a steady fire of looks, I brought the kodak
in front of me ready to focus, and then touched the spring that
released the folding front. When the kodak mysteriously, suddenly
opened before the wolves, they fled for their lives. In an instant
they had cleared the grassy space and vanished into the woods. I did
not get their picture.
With a gun, the wolf encounter could not have ended more happily. At
any rate, I have not for a moment cared for a gun since I returned
enthusiastic from my first delightful trip into the wilds without one.
Out in the wilds with nature is one of the safest and most sanitary of
places. Bears are not seeking to devour, and the death-list from
lions, wolves, snakes, and all other bugbears combined does not equal
the death-list from fire, automobiles, street-cars, or banquets. Being
afraid of nature or a rainstorm is like being afraid of the dark.
The time of that first excursion was spent among scenes that I had
visited before, but the discoveries I made and the deeper feelings
it stirred within me, led me to think it more worth while than any
previous trip among the same delightful scenes. The first day,
especially, was excitingly crowded with new sights and sounds and
fancies. I fear that during the earlier trips the rifle had obscured
most of the scenes in which it could not figure, and as a result I
missed fairyland and most of the sunsets.
[Illustration: LAKE ODESSA]
When I arrived at the alpine lake by which I was to camp, evening's
long rays and shadows were romantically robing the picturesque wild
border of the lake. The crags, the temples, the flower-edged
snowdrifts, and the grass-plots of this wild garden seemed
half-unreal, as over them the long lights and torn shadows grouped
and changed, lingered and vanished, in the last moments of the sun.
The deep purple of evening was over all, and the ruined crag with
the broken pine on the ridge-top was black against the evening's
golden glow, when I hastened to make camp by a pine temple while
the beautiful world of sunset's hour slowly faded into the night.
The camp-fire was a glory-burst in the darkness, and the small
many-spired evergreen temple before me shone an illuminated cathedral
in the night. All that evening I believed in fairies, and by watching
the changing camp-fire kept my fancies frolicking in realms of mystery
where all the world was young. I lay down without a gun, and while the
fire changed and faded to black and gray the coyotes began to howl.
But their voices did not seem as lonely or menacing as when I had had
a rifle by my side. As I lay listening to them, I thought I detected
merriment in their tones, and in a little while their shouts rang as
merrily as though they were boys at play. Never before had I realized
that coyotes too had enjoyments, and I listened to their shouts with
pleasure. At last the illumination faded from the cathedral grove and
its templed top stood in charcoal against the clear heavens as I fell
asleep beneath the peaceful stars.