The Beaver (2/28/11)

With the weather too cold to fish, I thought I would share a story with you. A few years back I was spinner fishing a small creek not much wider than a single lane road. The day was warm and sunny. Dressed in shorts and a short sleeved shirt I thought about wet wading but quickly decided against it because, although not frequently, I have encountered a leach or two while fishing, and I HATE leaches! The damn things gross me out! Anyway, back to the story. I stepped into the small stream as big white billowy clouds wafted along overhead like big cotton balls caught in the air. They were almost too bright as the sun lit them making them almost luminescent against the bright blue sky. The stream cut through the forest momentarily separating the lush dark green vegetation. Everything was green… the pine trees extending towards the sky, the ferns that blanketed the ground, the grass that grew as tall as large weeds… everything was green and vibrant with life. The warm summer breeze moved the leaves on the trees and the hair on my arms. I rolled my waders down around my waist as a military jet cut the sky somewhere off in the distance. To say it was a perfect summer day would be an understatement.

The brook trout were eager to participate and smacked my spinner with reckless abandon. Brook trout after brook trout were brought to hand and I momentarily admired each one before releasing them back into the cold spring creek. Brook trout are the most beautiful trout after all.

I remember finding a half submerged section of a downed red pine tree along one of the banks. “What a perfect spot to take a break,” I thought. As I sat, I watched squirrels, chipmunks, deer and turkey move through the woods. You’re never really alone when you’re alone in the woods. The sun was setting and my time was coming to an end. I knew my wife and daughter would be waiting for me to return to the campground that was only a short walk away. A campfire, bratwurst and a Mike’s hard lemonade was the order of the evening, possibly followed by smore’s if my daughter had a say in the matter. My daughter, a lover of everything small and furry, would sit and listen as I told her about the animals I had encountered while fishing. Convincing myself that the walk back would take less than fifteen minutes I decided to make a few more casts in one last long deep bend.

I stood facing upstream. Knowing that the deepest part of the bend was the middle I cast my spinner as far upstream as I could. No longer able to see into the water, I slowly retrieved my spinner waiting for the violent strike that I was sure would come… nothing. “That’s odd,” I thought. “The fishing has been way to good not to get a hit, besides there are ALWAYS fish in this bend.” I cast again. This time while retrieving my spinner I felt a sudden weight. “Damn it!” I said. I had snagged a small log. Not wanting to spoil the hole, I tried to move the log… nothing… wait… it budged. I started to pull in earnest. The log was coming to me freely now. About four feet from me I was able to make out its silhouette. It was pretty big around and about three feet long… and it had a tail! Not moving I watched as a large beaver, with my spinner lodged into its head directly behind its ear, headed for the bank. “Not with my favorite spinner!” I thought. I applied as much pressure as I could and was able to cause the beaver to do a 180 where the spinner promptly popped off of its head. As I made my way out of the woods I thought, “Looks like I will have a really good story to tell my daughter tonight!”

Man I cannot wait for summer!