Mama is admittedly a tough act to follow but I'll share a few thoughts from behind the scenes.

As an avid hiker and trail runner I was often surprised by the diverse wildlife inhabiting my urban surroundings. Like many, I was on the lookout for uncommon species while giving little thought to those all around us. Squirrels bury nuts. Turtles sun on logs. Raccoons raid trash cans. What more is there to really know? They only attract our attention when an individual differs from our perception of the species. The aggressive duck. The clever squirrel. The tame groundhog. Even then we easily resolve the dissonance with environmental rationale — the duck is aggressive because humans fed it. Consequently, I was simply observing species and their normative traits, never taking the time to appreciate the individual. Then came my fortuitous encounter with a beaver.

In retrospect, the intrigue of beavers seems self-evident. Even without appreciation of their critical role as a keystone species, or knowledge of their historical significance in shaping a continent, we are drawn to beavers' ability to alter landscapes in ways exceeded only by ourselves. Beavers are industrious, adaptable, persistent, nurturing, loyal – all attributes to which we aspire. And one must admit they look a bit odd out of water with their chubby bodies, webbed feet, and large multi-tool tails. So when a beaver unexpectedly crossed the path before me in the spring of 2018, it may have been any combination of factors that summoned my return.

First, I would learn a lesson in punctuality. I arrived the next day at an earlier hour and searched the nearby pond for signs of life. No lodge. No dam. No fallen trees. I returned to the site of the crossing and waited. Still nothing. Then at 6:32 p.m., precisely the time of our prior day's encounter, a beaver emerged from the wetland, paused to assess my presence, then crossed the trail not more than five feet ahead. A path led to the water where I would lose sight in the dense vegetation. Minutes later, two more beavers crossed, then silence. This pattern would continue day after day, their crossings varying by mere minutes. Surely they couldn't be going far I thought. But all I had to work with was an apparent one-way trail and three uniquely sized beavers adhering to a strict timetable. I, too, was intrigued.

In the coming weeks, after some bushwhacking and with the aid of satellite imagery, I would locate their lodge and routes. I began to discern individual beavers by physical attributes and behavior. Mama was the largest and probably oldest. While others would curiously approach me or detour around me, Mama rarely even acknowledged my existence. Her actions seemed so purposeful — always taking the direct route, feeding and grooming in the same spots, never backtracking, and rarely stopping to appraise surroundings. Her kits first emerged from the lodge in July but as summer progressed their waking hours shifted almost entirely to darkness.

Now acutely aware of beaver activity, I began to spot them in ponds, creeks, and rivers all around the city. I was particularly intrigued by the wide variety of habitats and their required adaptations. They've lodged in an urban canal with steep banks, making a nightly three-mile swim to feed. They've dug their own canals to minimize overland travel when crossing levees. They've dredged lengthy channels across marshland to achieve sustainable water depth. Where dispersal opportunities are limited, they've built a series of shared extended family lodges. They've even built dams in tidal marshes that fully submerge at high tide. And this is all in Philadelphia. Elsewhere they must contend with harsh winters, droughts, and numerous predators, not to mention territorial matters with their own kind.

I further observed that beaver behavior varies widely even within a common habitat. Some build the classic free-standing lodge while others opt for a subtle bank burrow. Popular in urban creeks is a cross of the two – a “bank lodge” that begins as a burrow but with a living chamber constructed above ground. Many conveniently locate their lodges where water depth is sufficient and a typical dam is not required. However, even these opportunistic beavers may build dams upstream to extend navigable waters and feeding potential. Some families fell hundreds of trees while others forage almost exclusively on aquatic and riparian vegetation. Many build extensive food caches for winter while others evidently make limited preparations in our temperate climate. Then there is the matter of my presence. Some seemingly refuse to leave the perimeter of their lodge, pacing and tail slapping until I depart. Conversely, I've enjoyed dozens of hours at close range with Mama’s family without a single slap of the tail.

Since my first encounter two years ago, I've now spent more than 150 evenings observing beavers at nearly 50 locations in and around the city. I’ve often felt excitement discovering beaver habitats both new and old and surveying their dams, lodges, canals, trails, and resource usage. But the most meaningful experiences have been observing the beavers' interactions among one another and with the ecosystem they help create. Their lives are not a textbook. Each has a story to tell if we take the time to listen. I hope that these photos inspire and resources educate so that we may all live in harmony with the humble beaver.

Eagerly yours,

Chris
June 2020