Something’s Out There

On a recent afternoon, I crunched through fallen leaves and pockets of old snow down to the water’s edge. Marsh stubble poked through the ice, pale under the winter sun. The silence was broken by a sudden, toothy, rasping. I scanned the woods and marsh. Nothing moved. Barely breathing, I took step. The sound stopped. I froze. After a few moments, the invisible gnawing resumed. As quietly as I could, I tiptoed back to the trail. The sound stopped again as soon as I moved. A couple of days later, I found this freshly chiseled hemlock, just a few feet from where I’d been standing.

Though their lodge is ice bound, the beavers have been busy. They need to swim several hundred feet under the ice to find a patch of open water.