Green River Morning

A sudden slap in the water near the distant shore with expanding circles of ripples revealing the location. 

The Green river slipped silently below the bank where we perched. Inching down the far canyon walls the rising sun cast a warm light. Where the river ran over its rough bottom it rippled  mimicking the ridged sandbar it rode past.  The river, now shadowed, with a mist just rising from its mirrored surface and small eddies and riffles betraying the current. 

A fish rising perhaps. But wait there is something in the water. A duck perhaps. Too far to tell and no camera or field glasses here, just hot porridge and coffee. There is a sandy ramp on that shore and I wonder, perhaps a beaver slide. 

I walk back to the truck for the camera and resume my perch. The water retains its glassy reserve, the sun inches closer to the far shore. 

Mollie is in her alert zen-dog pose.  Sitting uncomfortably close to the brink of the mud cliff she watches the same shore. Soon she stiffens and begins a low almost inaudible growl. She sees or hear something. I ready the camera and watch where she is looking intently.

Shortly there appears a beaver descending the beaver slide with a long bundle of fresh willow it has cut. It slides into the water and carries the willow a short way downstream and begins noisily munching its breakfast. 

Mollie has taken all this in and does not know what to think. The low growls rise and fall in intensity. Her short little tail standing straight up quivering with excitement. 

I manage a few photos and some shaky handheld video. I decide to go back for the tripod. I leave Mollie and soon after she begins full-on barking. Freaked perhaps that I am not there to protect her. 

I return and the beaver has been disturbed by Mollie’s ruckus and is swimming out to a nearby sandbar. I quiet Mollie, the beaver moves downstream and returns to shore then disappears. Somewhat disappointed we resume our watch but the beaver fails to make a new appearance. 

It was fascinating to watch a beaver on a large river. It cannot dam the river and did not seem to have any conventional lodge. It lived on a willow and grass choked sandbar on the edge of the river. (That is green wedge protruding from the left of the top photo.)

From the cliff above you could make out the regular tracks the beavers must have made. Having no conventional lodge it felt safer dragging its food to shore where it could swim from any threat like coyote or mountain lion. The sandy island would have been a good sanctuary. 

There are evident burrows in the shore where the beavers must reside and raise their young. The slap I heard was the classic beaver warning slap of its tail to alert others to a threat. 

A small but fascinating drama this morning.