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From my seat in the canoe I watched in amazement.
I was exploring a beaver pond and ventured into the flooded trees, a section the beavers had recently dammed around their lodge. The water was too shallow for even the canoe, but open trails through the floating weeds hinted at beaver trails leading to the lodge, and I knew they would provide deeper travel lanes.
I followed a trail to the lodge, skirted around the structure and traveled on another beaver trail that led toward the bank. A thick tangle of flooded trees and blueberry bushes forced me to alternately move limbs with one hand and paddle with the other.
Why did I keep trudging deeper into the thick, flooded landscape?
Simple.
It was the urge to explore.
And there’s no better way to do it than in a canoe, and there’s no place better than a beaver swamp.
As I neared the edge of the swamp, I spotted an object parting the still water on the surface.
It was an enormous beaver with a head like a concrete block. I was mesmerized at the stealth in which it maneuvered through the tangle of brush, trees and weeds.
The beaver was only several yards away and it was aware of my presence as it glided away from the edge of the swamp toward it’s lodge. The beaver swam in silence, parting the thick aquatic vegetation with ease, deftly curling its body to dive under a limb and, for a brief moment, climbing out of the water to cross a log.
Despite all of the obstacles and it’s enormous size, the beaver didn’t make a sound as it moved. It barely stirred the surface and, even though I was nearby, never slapped it’s tail. The beaver never disrupted the solitude of the swamp.
After watching for a few moments, I lost the beaver as it ventured farther into the swamp and closer to the safety of it’s lodge. After watching the beaver expertly swim through the swamp, I went back to my “clumsy” routine of pushing the canoe with an oar and moving face-slapping limbs out of the way.
The beaver isn’t the only creature that gets around a swamp with stealth. Turtles – both big and small, fare just as well.
When I launched the canoe, a large snapping turtle greeted me. Only the turtle’s head and the top of it’s carapace were visible above the surface, and as I pulled the canoe into the water it silently sunk to the bottom, much like a submarine submerging in the ocean.
Farther out on the water, painted turtles basked on a log. Their shells looked like dome-like growths spanning the surface of the log as they gleamed in the sun.
When the turtles spotted me, they quietly plopped off the log in unison and disappeared into the murky depths.
Later, near the shore, a great blue heron froze when I glided nearby. It had been stalking through the grass for the plentiful green frogs that inhabit the swamp, utilizing a silent approach that no other creature can master as well.
As I admired the large bird, it had enough of my stare and unfolded it’s long wings and lifted up out of the water.
And like the beaver, snapping turtle and painted turtles, the heron never made a sound.
Sure, a swamp can be a noisy place thanks to vocal frogs, boisterous songbirds and buzzing dragonflies.
But there are plenty of creatures who thrive in silence, agility and stealth no matter how big or small they are.