BEAVER LIFT

BY WILLIS PETERSON

PHOTOGRAPHS BY THE AUTHOR

"Dang me! Thought you were smart, didn't you? What do you say now, you big, fat, sassy squaw!"

The outburst, so alien in the peaceful sylvan atmosphere along the creek, made us jump. We couldn't help it. We had tried to lose ourselves in the remote vastness of the Apache National Forest to study and photograph wildlife. Our meager two weeks' vacation suddenly became more insignificant when these human sounds assailed our ears. It seemed as though we were not going to get away from human presence.

Cautiously parting the undergrowth along the creek bank, we beheld a wiry, muscular man bent over a captive beaver enclosed in a wire mesh trap. At a glance, we noticed the animal was held in a device used by trappers to catch animals alive without injury.

Though he carefully and gently lifted the trapped animal, the fellow began to deliver more mule-skinning oaths, and charged the creature with innumerable sins. As he dragged the trap from a shallow part of the creek, our intruder caught sight of us.

"Hello," we called cheerfully, edging nearer. At the same time we tried not to slip into the mire from our uncertain footing on the slippery hummocks along the stream.

At first, he did not seem too happy to see us. "I'm Howard Borneman, 'Barney' for short," the stranger grected us after we introduced ourselves. "I'm trapping beaver for the Arizona Game and Fish Commission," he returned inanswer to our question. He heaved the trap to the creek bank. The beaver clutched the wire disconsolately, his forepaws describing little circles between the meshes.

COLOR CLOSEUPS OF THE BEAVER

UPPER LEFT-Starting to work, the beaver slices out a few big chips at body height, then lowers his head and cuts again. With a jerk, he tears away the wood and bark between the cuts. This process is repeated until the tree falls. LOWER LEFT-The beaver sits for long periods of time in the sun and combs his luxuriant fur. His hind feet have comb-like devices which emit an oil when they stroke his coat.

UPPER RIGHT-Here the beaver, wet and dirty, digs up grass roots. When he has a supply he holds it against his breast with forepaws and waddles upright to the dare where he deposits it. CENTER RIGHTYoung beaver, called pups, play on the shore and in the pond in a game something like tag. In the autumn the parents put the pups to work gathering winter food supply. LOWER RIGHT-When the beaver dives, his nose valves close allowing him to stay under water for as long as ten minutes. Awkward on land, he is in his natural element in the water. He swims with speed, grace and precision.

The trapper took a deep breath, while fingering the beaver's long, lustrous, cinnamon-colored fur between the meshes. "Live trapping is one of the jobs of the wildlife management division of the game department," he informed us.

The creature turned in the trap to watch us better. Beaver are probably larger animals than most people realize, and Barney's catch was no exception. Mature males measure from 36 to 40 inches in length and weigh about forty pounds. Some beaver have weighed as much as seventy pounds. They are strictly vegetarian. Water-loving, deciduous tree bark is their main diet.

The North American beaver belong to the genus Caster Canadensis, the largest member of the rodent family in the Northern Hemisphere.

In early territorial days Arizona had a tremendous beaver population. Practically every stream from the San Pedro to the Colorado was populated by these industrious creatures. Altitude doesn't seem to make any difference. Beaver are found in the warm lowlands as well as in the cool mountains. Trappers, however, preferred the mountain beaver because of their longer, thicker fur.

Beaver pelts were used as a medium of exchange by hunters and settlers alike. Fantastic numbers were slaughtered for their luxuriant fur. Huge sums were received for pelts from style-conscious Europeans in the heyday of the tall beaver hat. The North American beaver became almost extinct from this over-trapping. Now, luckily, he is protected from promiscuous killing, and luckily, too, for his sake, styles have changed.

His smell and hearing are acute, but his eyes are small and not so keen. His important equipment consists of webbed hind feet; paddle-like tail; four orange, inch-long, chisel-shaped front teeth; and nose valves for diving.

Barney explained that this trapped beaver and nine others would be transplanted across the mountains to the upper reaches of the South Fork of the Little Colorado.

We had studied, observed and photographed wildlife in natural habitats, but this was our first chance to see how our state game department operated its wildlife management division. While somewhat reluctant to talk at first, the trapper became voluble when he discovered we had definite interest in his work, and particularly in wildlife conservation.

We urged him to give us more details on the part that beaver play in the conservation of natural resources.

Barney leaned over the trap. While thoughtfully scratching the docile creature's ears, he explained, "Agriculture benefits immensely from the work of the beaver. People just don't realize how important they are. Beaver

THE BEAVER DAM

On walking up the trail from the fence at Sawmill Springs, near Mormon Lake, one first sees one, then two more beaver dams. They are probably some of the best examples of beaver construction that anyone can find. In the middle of the pond there is an oval-shaped lodge, perhaps ten feet across. It is interesting to see that there isn't any moss in the pond, but below the dam, quite a bit collects. Beaver were planted in this area by the state game department in 1946. Photographed at Sawmill Springs, 3¼x4½ Speed Graphic with an Ektar f-4.7 lens. ½ second at f-32, Ektachrome film.

They check erosion, reduce flood damage, store water, sustain stream flow, and provide fishing areas.

"Of course," he resumed, "the beaver do all these things in the little mountain streams on our watersheds; and the average person just doesn't think anything about it. Just suppose there weren't any dams here." Barney pointed to the beaver dams up and down the creek. "Why, the water would rage through here so fast during the spring thaws that half of the meadow's top soil would be washed away. But who would know about it? Maybe you and I."

He shrugged his shoulders. "There would be just another wash, or canyon, on a map in a couple years.

"When beaver build a dam across a watercourse, water backs up and spreads over the surrounding terrain, bringing up the watertable. The adjacent soil holds enough moisture to maintain lush pasturage even without rain for a long time." We could certainly attest to that. We had had to jump from hummock to hummock to reach the stream."

"Their very industry is their downfall at times," Barney mused. "An irrigation ditch can be dammed as easily as a mountain stream, and some beaver have lost caste by doing this. That's why we have to watch over them and move them occasionally."

"Some ranchers," the wiry trapper continued, "not as charitable as they might be, forget to notify us when the beaver cause an obstruction and shoot them on sight. Beaver can do harm, but their good work on our watersheds far outweighs any problem they might cause. That's one of our big problems, trying to get others to understand an overall conservation picture."

Barney pointed to the nearest dam, less than a quarter of a mile upstream from us, and motioned for us to follow. On approaching, we could see it was not a straight line or profuse amalgamation of sticks and mud, but a symmetrical arc. The loosely knit dam of boughs projected farther upstream in the middle of the current than at the banks. It curved in much the same manner as Hoover Dam. By some mysterious instinct the beaver had used a physical law, that a curved dam will withstand greater water pressure than a straight one.

When a beaver chooses a dam site, an underwater foundation must be started. For the foundation he uses mud, stones, short water-logged sticks, and plant roots, anything that will stay in place against the water's current after being weighted down.

dation must be started. For the foundation he uses mud, stones, short water-logged sticks, and plant roots, anything that will stay in place against the water's current after being weighted down.

Then he collects sticks, poles, driftwood, and branches from two to five feet, even six feet long. These are laid closely together, side by side on the downstream face of the dam foundation, parallel to the water's current. This material is also weighted down and fixed into place with mud, stones, masses of water plants, and grass roots. The beaver continuespillway. So the beaver let the stream flow normally, but diffuse the flow so there is no strain or rush of water on any one part of the dam.

Actually, the dam is never finished. They continually work on it, enlarging it as well as lengthening the structure. Succeeding generations of beaver maintain it until it becomes large and complex. When food is exhausted in one locality, they abandon their hard-won site and begin anew.

In the middle of the pond we observed an oval-shaped mass with sticks and small logs protruding from it. This is the beaver lodge, and sometimes it becomes a very mansion in proportion. It can be erected on the stream bank, island, or floating marsh, but it is usually built in water. When erected in water, the beaver must build an artificial island or foundation again. As the dam keeps the flooding water at a constant height, the top of the house footing is never over a few inches above the pond.

The beaver drags sticks and brush together to form a crude circle on his newly built home site. Stones, boughs, and small logs form the wall and roof. One or more passageways, leading underneath to the water, are made by gnawing and adjusting the sticks. As the shell arises to the builder's desired height-two or three feet-he builds inwardly, and over his head. Finally the structure is roofed over.

At completion, the lodge looks like a great dome of peeled logs. As long as the home is occupied, the beaver maintains it, and continues to add to its size and strength by dragging on more boughs, chewed-off logs, and heaping on more mud. Its size varies, according to its age. Some have been known to be seven feet high and twenty or thirty feet in diameter. There is only one room in the beaver apartment, usually one to three feet in height.

When the beaver does his plastering, he grasps a double armful of mud, leaves, and grasses between his forepaws and brown furry chest. Walking upright on his webbed feet, and steadying himself with his flat tail, he takes short firm steps, and waddles up a previously built mud incline or slide to the top of his house. This roughly built ramp facilitates his carrying plastering materials, and provides a quick getaway exit in case of danger. His short, stubby legs might stumble and trip on protruding sticks. He takes no chances. When atop his lodge, he drops his load like a hod carrier. With forepaws, and with assistance from his nose, he pushes and pats the mortar into place between the sticks.

The entrances are from beneath, and therefore the beaver has to dive to enter. The passageways act as waterlevel indicators. He can tell instantly when something has happened to his dam by the retreating water. If the water level falls rapidly, he swims out immediately to survey the damage, and make hasty repairs.

Half-buried sticks absorb the moisture and make the floor quite dry, even though the house is surrounded by water. For beds, the beaver carry in their own wood shavings. These are preferred instead of softer materials such as mosses, leaves or grasses. The beaver, being good housekeepers, probably find that the softer materials harbor parasites, and make the nests harder to keep clean. When asleep, their tails double back against their round, firm bodies.

Here Mama and Papa raise their family. The pups are born in the spring, usually in April. Four pups are an average litter. At the age of two or three weeks they accompany their mother into the water. Here she teaches her little charges the arts of diving, joys of swimming, and always to be alert to danger signals.

The young beaver frolic, and box each other among the meadow flowers, but they never stray far from water. Driftwood and fallen logs make natural hazards as they dive and chase one another, banging their little tails on the water in play. So much strenuous exercise tires the little creatures, and afterwards they sit for long periods motionless in the sunshine. Serious life begins in late summer and early fall when their parents teach them the selection Of choice bark for winter food. A beaver is full grown at three years.

To protect her young, a beaver mother will feign injury to draw attention from her babies. When frightened, a young beaver will give a shrill cry, and whimper, not unlike a child. If the young for some reason become orphaned, another beaver mother will sometimes raise them with her own children. We had slowly ambled around the pond while Barney kept telling us about their life, when seemingly right under our noses, "kerplunk," a noise such as a man might make by hitting the water with the flat side of an oar, interrupted Barney's narration. A beaver had been sunning himself on his castle, unobserved by us, until we had gotten too close. The swat of his flat, scaly, paddle-like tail was a warning to his family, and all others that might be close enough to hear.

The beaver's tail is not a mere appendage, but a miraculous device, very important in his daily life. In an instant, it can become a rudder while swimming; a brace when gnawing a tree; a stool when working on his dam or eating; a signal gun when in danger. And, it also can pack a smacking wallop in his defense. As all forest creatures, the beaver is cautious not to attract an enemy. His natural enemies are otter, mountain lion, the dreaded weasel, occasionally a bear, and the wolverine, although there are none of the latter in Arizona. Hawks and the great horned owls, silently gliding overhead, give the mother fits of anxiety when her young are playing on the shore.

Beaver spend a lot of time sunning themselves and primping. They have a comb-like device on their back feet, and with this they comb their fur for hours. The combing releases oil from a gland on their hind feet which lubricates their fur, and keeps it in condition for continual water use. An expert diver, the creature can stay under water as long as ten minutes. Nose valves close automatically, while body organs absorb oxygen for prolonged underwater stays. He has no difficulty eating under water.

We walked onto the dam, and squatted down cowboy fashion. Little bubbles came to the surface around the edges of our shoe soles. The dam was not so solid that it did not give with our weight, but its very tenacity gave it more strength.

From our position, Barney pushed a good ten-foot pole into the water to indicate its depth. Although he had thrust the stick into the pond at an angle, the pole still showed that the water was over six feet deep. A constant depth is needed to protect the beaver's precious winter food supply which he has so painstakingly gathered.

He begins in the late summer, with his family, to search for choice trees to cut. Lengths of saplings with their prized tender bark are cached away in the mud bottom of the pond, carefully weighted down by rocks.

The beaver does not hibernate like many forest denizens, and therefore his watery larder must be deep enough not to freeze solid. As he dives to his fresh food locker every day, the lodge passageways also must be kept free of ice.

Seldom does he miscalculate the quantity of his provisions, but when it happens, he must gnaw a hole through the ice, and look for a suitable tree to cut. Barney showed us a gnawed aspen stump almost seven feet above the ground. The beaver had stood on a snowbank to fell the tree.

The beaver pond is not merely a swimming hole. It is his channel to transport logs for winter rations. He surrounds himself with water and it becomes a moat around his home. Water is his protection. On land he is slow and awkward, in danger of his enemies. Water is his avenue of travel, and if his food dwindles in one location, he must make another waterway to a new source of supplies. Water is his natural element-in water he has no peer.

A crash of thunder warned us that the inevitable afternoon mountain shower was at hand. As we strode back

to Barney's trapped beaver, we examined where the industrious creatures had felled aspen saplings. Some, though, could not be called saplings. The trees were between one and one and one-half feet in diameter. Beaver can cut an aspen, over five inches thick, in three minutes. They have been known to down a tree 110 feet high with a trunk five feet seven inches thick. Sometimes two or three beaver work together, but usually one works alone. Selecting a tree, the beaver stands up on his hind feet, and braces himself on his wide tail. Cutting a notch at body height, he lowers his head, and slices out a similar notch three or four inches below. Then, with a twisting wrench, he tears out the wood in between the two cuts. Cutting is all done with the lower incisors. The upper teeth merely guide and hold onto the wood while the lower teeth chisel upward. Soon the ground around the foot of the tree becomes littered with chips. As the tree begins to creak, and fall, the logger and the rest of the family rush to safety and scoot into the water, or disappear into the brush. They cock their heads cautiously, and listen intently for alien sounds. The crashing tree may have attracted an enemy. If a member of the family hears or smells anything suspicious-"kerplunk," his broad tail slaps the water, warning all his brethren within hearing of the loud danger signal. If everything remains serene, the animals return to their logging camp, and proceed to cut the tree into convenient lengths for hauling. The trunk and limbs larger than five or six inches in diameter are left lying where they fall. The choice tender and savory bark is usually eaten on the spot.

The beaver seizes a log with his teeth and drags it in hunching lurches over the ground to the water's edge. When the log is maneuvered into the water, transporting is easier. Swimming alongside, the beaver quickly tows the log across the pond. By this time, great drops from the daily mountain shower began splattering our shoulders and heads. We raced back to the trapped beaver. Along the creek bank, and up the canyon, the giant ponderosas moaned dismally, shaking their great crowns in the wind. Ominous black clouds had boiled over Mt. Baldy, a few miles to the southwest, and were scudding before us, beginning to soak our clothes with an intermittent downpour. Barney began to gather the wire mesh traps. Each trap had been baited with foot-long sticks of one-inch diameter quaking aspen. The trap works almost on the same principle as a mouse trap. But, as it springs, the mesh simply encloses the animal. As we helped Barney carry the beaver to the panel truck, he was saying, "Yes, boys, I've spent most of my fifty-one years among wildlife, fourteen years with the game department and rangers of Arizona." He pointed out that the department transplants other wildlife, such as buffalo, deer, elk, antelope, wild turkey, quail, and many others. "But the beaver are the only ones that return work for our efforts," he said, and clucked at the gentle creature. We watched with fascination while Barney carefully opened the trap and literally poured the "sassy, old, fat squaw" into the flat cage standing beside the panel truck.

Winking at us, he admitted with a laugh that for working purposes he called all beaver "squaws." Although he wore heavy leather gloves for protection, he had never been bitten. Our voluntary wildlife instructor realized we were deeply interested in the beaver "lift," and casually called after us as we were leaving. "If you boys want to be on hand early in the morning when we take these beaver, you can come with us. I'm camped at the junction of the South Fork and the Little Colorado.

"Oh, by the way," he added as an afterthought, "I suppose both of you can ride. We have to pack the 'squaws' over the mountain on horseback. It is too rugged even for a jeep."

That was all right with us. "We'll be in there pitching," we yelled back through the rain. We had set up our camp near Greer. We joined Barney the next morning. He introduced us to the three men who would make up the beaver "lift:" John Crosby, a rancher at Greer, who furnished saddle and pack horses for our party; Clyde Sellers, state game ranger; and Fred Burke, cowboy, and guide for Reed's Lodge.

Ten full-grown beaver had been selected as immigrants to establish new frontiers in conservation. Barney dropped each beaver into a gunny sack, and laid the sacks on the ground so that the loads could be distributed, five beaver per pack horse. Instantly the sacks became animated, and jumped crazily about our feet. Each of the two pack horses carried almost two hundred pounds of beaver.

Barney did not take the trail with us. He had a complicated job estimating the present beaver population farther upstream from where we had met. He needed all his available time to survey the stream as closely as possible. As we mounted our horses, he wished us good luck, and with a smart slap on the lead horse's rump, the trapper turned the expedition over to the capable guidance of Ranger Sellers.

The "lift" was not long as miles go, but took us over difficult terrain. The trail varied from level in places to a sixty-degree slope.

The perspective we gained by climbing enabled us to absorb the beauty of the stream and its beaver ponds. Little mountain meadows sparkled at us from their dewy carpets. The dams in the valley below, with their backed-up water, looked as though an immense string of pearls had been broken upon a green carpet. Every pond had an infinite beauty of its own.

The aspens growing on the water's edge, quaking with incessant motion, with now and then a new flurry of rustling leaves, shimmered in the sunlight. Their white, slim trunks stood out against the dark green of the spruce like slender Grecian columns reflecting bright moonlight. It is this tender, white bark-so tender one can easily push one's thumb nail right into it-the beaver find so delicious. Cottonwood and willow are second choice.

We were not wrong about our early afternoon shower prediction. When we looked overhead, we saw fast-forming cumulus clouds had piled up over the peaks. In no time they were rolling from ridge to ridge across the backbone of the White Mountains. We were treated to a regular mountain storm. Gusty, furtive winds whipped at our slickers. The rancher scanned the sky. As the rain streaked down his face, he beamed happily at us, and considered every drop of moisture his own personal treasure. We tried desperately to shield the cameras under our raincoats. Just before we "topped-out," the rain slackened, but the slick, steep trail, with projecting rocks overhanging the ledge, became more treacherous. One was lucky to have a trail-wise horse. While our horses jogged and slid to the other side of the divide, the ten beaver, though uncomfortable, to say the least, in the bobbing pack saddles, did not show any ill effects from their ride at the end of the journey.

At last our trail emerged into a small flat, bisected by a brook. This was our destination. Sellers had already instructed the men to cut aspen saplings and willow brush. A pile of branches was pushed into the stream at a point where they would provide a "cornerstone" for a future beaver dam.

It seemed odd why it should be necessary for man to start a dam for beaver. Sellers recalled Barney's parting instructions that it would give the uprooted, bewildered creatures immediate cover. Later, when the animals had time to take stock of their surroundings, it would suggest a new home to them. The beaver made for the cover as soon as Sellers and Crosby opened the sacks against the heaped branches.

It was wildlife psychology. The rancher nodded at us with satisfaction. "They'll do a lot of good here," he assured us, while he squinted across at the meadow's dry edges. Even though the summer rains had tried to bring out the vitality of the grass, it still was yellow and withered a short distance from the creek. John Crosby had more than a casual interest in wildlife conservation. The Greer rancher had vision to see that the beaver would, in time, create mountain pasturage. The ponds would spread the water over a greater area in the flat than just along the narrow stream bed. Consequently, the whole meadow would benefit "We'll ride in, in a couple of months, and see how Barney's varmints are getting along," said Sellers with a smile of satisfaction, as he stood back and surveyed the day's work.

We could plainly see that this new cycle of plant life would furnish browse for deer and elk, food and cover for birds and small game. Ducks and wild turkeys would soon become abundant.

Even trout would start to spawn here. The beaver keep moss at a minimum, and therefore, unknown to themselves, work hand in hand with the Game and Fish Commission in their own peculiar method, to promote fishing areas.

Indeed, beaver become the very nucleus of wildlife conservation.

It wasn't hard for us to understand why the Greer rancher was so happy to have these industrious new settlers control the stream flow above his ranch.

After our two days of close study with the game trapper, and listening to his impromptu nature lectures, coupled with our own close observations of wildlife, it occurred to us how fortunate we were to have men like Barney, who study and maintain our wildlife twenty-four hours a day. And how fortunate we all are to have had farsighted men who had set aside preserves and sanctuaries, to stop encroaching civilization from gradually obliterating all natural wildlife.

On our next vacation, this new beaver colony is one spot we want to visit; to see for ourselves what these little animal engineers have accomplished in a year; and to prove that this dry mountain flat could be transformed into a lush green meadow. They cannot fail work as conservationists.

A supply of young trees is made ready for the beaver so when he is released in his new stamping grounds be soon feels at home.

Well! This place has interesting possibilities!

Here you are, little friend, in your new home.