Beavers

Hot day. Much too hot to stay indoors, especially in the afternoon. We figured the art gallery would still be there tomorrow (okay, we called and checked), and around 4:30 loaded up the canoe and a picnic supper and sallied forth for Burnaby and Still Creek. I think it was Still Creek. I'm never too clear on these details.

Much nicer on the water. Cool breezes, very gentle current, lots of dragonflies playing tag with carp and swallows complaining loudly and persistently about the quality of their lives ever since mammals followed them out of the ocean and onto land (I speak swallow. It's a curse.), and, as we rounded the first bend, beavers.

Somewhat short-sighted, the Noble Animal can be crept up on if one is very, very still and sitting in a canoe with an expert in silent paddling (that would be Nola. I'm an expert in taking direction and not much else.). We stalked at least six of them, most of them twice, paddling upstream and then on our return. It's hard not to laugh, watching one stodgily (for such sleek creatures, they incorporate an amazing amount of stodginess in everything they do) munch on tall grasses near the bank, utterly unaware of our steady approach, then suddenly the chewing stops, the eyes turn slowly canoe-ward, the light, in short, dawns.

WHAP! In a trice, we're covered with creek water and the beaver has submerged to the depths. Often, if we waited a bit, we'd see the debris near the bank shake and then its head rise, periscope-like, for a quick reality check. How they manage to convey so much bewildered outrage through all that wet fur, I don't know. Were each a Maj. Brumble (ret.), a nasty letter would soon be speeding its way to the Times.

Tomorrow's supposed to be cooler. It's already feeling that way. Yay!