Monthly Archives: August 2022

Beaver Spread

This looked like just another pond made by the floods a few years ago, which you can see from the severe erosion on the far bank. But it’s not.

The beaver is a creature few people dislike. Many think they’re cute. They’re clever – making their dams and their lodges with such craftbeavership, that anyone who’s played with sand on the beach is impressed.

I’ve been trying to spot beavers for almost thirty years, since I spent a summer in Colorado and had a pond up the road. I visited it, and later others in Massachusetts and New Hampshire while I lived there for 7 years.

Always, I was disappointed to find the builders hidden from view in their lodges.

The ponds, though, like this one, were always full of other life: birds and dragonflies, fish and pond skaters. And I saw a whole lot of muskrats, which are pretty cool in their own right, I have to say.

In Pamplona I’ve seen their signs in the River Arga. But despite photos in the paper of brazen beavers crossing bridges, I’d never seen a ripple I could deem a rodent from the banks and bridges I lingered on.

But this summer I found that a pair of beavers have set up home on a very small (usually…) river very close to our village, and right beside the road, to boot, making it possible to spot them without hardly a trek, and since they’re used to the road noise, they don’t spook too easily.

When I first cycled past, I assumed this had been made by some local humans who’d wanted to keep the pond for swimming in our hot May before the pools open, because it was so perfectly straight!

I’d spotted the pond, but just assumed it was a deep gouge created by the huge floods a few years ago (we’d been swimming ourselves in these during the summer of Covid restrictions..) and this year of drought and very little flow, had been kept from drying by someone with time on their hands making a dam…

When I’d realised what the pond actually was, I was back next morning, but saw no beavers – though I did see their lodge entrance – built into the bank rather than in the middle of the pond, like I’d seen in North America.

The beaver swimming out from the lodge, which entrance is clearly marked by the sticks.

I’d been told that European beavers don’t make dams, but that’s clearly not true. Perhaps those seen so far in Spain had not because they’ve been on large rivers – there’s no need for a dam on the Arga, I can tell you, though the beavers have been actively felling fairly large trees there (several older trees along the river park are now protected by chickenwire to dissuade them from taking away the perambulator’s shade!).

This was taken with my phone as the low light made my other camera refuse to take the shot with the zoom. Just 4m away, though, so in real life it was very exciting!

Which brings me to the title of this post – Beaver Spread.

Beavers are spreading.

These two are descendants of eighteen animals that were illegally released in the Ebro near the Aragon tributary, back in 2003. They’ve been moving up the rivers since then. With mostly no reaction, as most folk don’t notice them – until they started eating large trees in the middle of Pamplona (though that didn’t make anyone call for their removal, as far as I know.) There were some complaints, and, in fact, some animals were removed by the local governments, though, strictly speaking that was illegal, as once reestablished, they should be considered a protected species under EU law.

Anyway, they’ve spread now to smaller rivers, where their positive effects should be a lot clearer. At least to me in this particular brook, it’s plain as day.

This river drains a long valley which is usually very dry in summer, but gets a fair few heavy storms (our house was flooded just from rainfall in the field above us), one of which gouged out that bank in the first photo. Above this pond a bridge was washed out because it got clogged with trees and stones during the flood, and below it, the local town was devastated with huge economic losses when the river flooded houses and businesses within minutes of the storm.

At the time of the flood there were calls for better drainage – in the way of cutting the poplars and other trees along the bank – to let the water flow without slowing down at all. This came from farmers, and I have to say it’s either in ignorance or apathy of the effects it would have had on the town if that bridge and the trees and culverts had not led the water to spread out across their fields and slow its pace…. it would have washed away houses rather than just fill them with mud, and cars would have gone down like corks in the flow – and a lot more people would have died than did, without time to get out of harm’s way.

We all know that it’s cheaper to compensate a farmer for loss of a crop than a whole town for all their broken windows and destroyed merchandise etc…

But here, despite what I see as large erosion problem, they still dig drains into the fields so they can get the heavy machinery in after the rains they often (more often nowadays of course) wait (and possibly pray) for.

Which brings us to the drought.

We had a forest fire upstream of this pond this spring, and there are worries that the next storm (still waiting on rain) might wash down huge amounts of ashes and soil that’s no longer held in place by vegetation.

But meanwhile the river is down to a trickle. And it’s ponds like this one that are keeping the river alive. While I sat there waiting on the beavers to emerge I was entertained by a plethora of dragonflies, pond skaters, ducks, a heron, and even a nightjar that came down to drink before setting off to hunt. I can’t see, but I assume there are some fish in the murky water, too. And crayfish – European ones – are in that river, as well as European mink.

There is nothing but benefit to beavers – they keep the river alive in drought and they stop the river washing away everything in flood.

What’s not to like?

In Britain they have been reintroduced in a few places, with positive reaction in general. They’ve sorted out flooding in the places they’ve made home, and you’ve probably already heard of these cases.

In Ireland, there are some calls to introduce the beaver to have these same positive effects there. I support this, even if the beaver was never actually officially a native species. Most of Ireland’s fauna was not native. At least this one does some good. We have feral goats allowed to graze the vegetation to nothing in many places simply because it was there for a few hundred years, for goodness sake.

The only problem I see is the same a for so many other species we’d like to see (back) on our island – there’s not enough trees. We need to let scrub grow instead of burn, and get forest cover back in the simplest way possible, and then we have habitat for trees, and then the ugly as feck drainage and flood schemes that beset our lovely towns and villages would not be half as necessary.

Meanwhile, this pair of beavers, and I hope their offspring, are one of those little glories we can enjoy while they last.

Humanity’s Mark

Been reading this book,

It’s pretty informative.

And it inspired the following poem…

Along with this little guy…

            Humanity’s Mark

.

My youngest child, holding his newest toy,

Up overhead, like a talisman: a soft doll

Sewn in the shape of a turbaned genie, 

Pronounced his wishes would the words

Only carry the power of the fable. 

.

“I would have Geniousious – its given name –

Kill Putin, and make it not be able

To have any animal in danger of extinction.”

A sad assertion for a six-year-old.

Which sunk my soul deeper into my bowels.

.

From reading an outline of human history

From the fall of the Roman Empire to 

The fall of the Third Reich, I could 

Summarise the centuries of papal succession

Crusaders and invaders swaying

To and fro, back and forth over the soil,

Staining with flesh and blood the Earth,

Sweeping millions to their massacres,

In thrusting, thirsting, for supremacy, 

In short sentences: shit happened 

That never should have, had we only

Stayed on the savannah with mere spears.

.

The bastard causing my son such sadness

And the statement bringing me to tears

Is just the latest in a long list, I insist:

He is not alone. Regardless of their tone

The rest of the pantheon are playing

As if the planet is actually replaceable 

Or simply a stepping-stone to the next

Star system they can subjugate.

.

Too late to save those of the second wish

From their fate: the genie would have to

Hold the secret of time, to travel back

To the time of tribes seeking new lands,

Stop seafaring, sledding, steel science…

.

The systems we created to control

Have slipped from our own, and seem

Destined to deliver us back our destiny:

We shall stumble, back to our beginnings

.

As just another species on a rock

Awash with water and organic molecules

Transforming from one shape to another

As all are eaten, even the ones with weapons,

.

Until our form of life dies out, along with lots

Of other sorts, and some others evolve, I surmise, 

We shall suffer, I am grieved to say, son, for

We are already, sliding, and, Jesus wept,

.

Seem inept at dodging, not just bullets aimed at us,

But oncoming steam engines of our own devising,

From far off with a blinding light beckoning at us.

.

We sleepwalked into a new disease creation,

Let it clutch enough of us so it shall cling on

Like a long list of poxes yet to appear, but near.

.

The heat waves and fires washing over white houses

Have had no effect on our behaviour any more

Than the waves of refugees fleeing from its results:

Even now the crisis erroneously seen as rideable 

Rather than a rising tide set to swamp. 

.

The swimmers so far stamped upon by standers, yet, 

Littering the sand, shall pile up like plastic:

Become numbers on an ever longer set of statistics,

Of deaths, in the desert resulting from our

Immoral immigration legislation, letting

.

Famine fell far more than the virus, multiples

Of anything we’ve seen over the millennia

Of Mongols and Huns and Hitler’s gas and guns.

.

The lessons of History seem serving only to

Prepare some for the suffering to come:

Send us into the trees yet green to gather up

The tiny glories all around us while we can;

Create a wealth of memories with one another which

Might help us weather better our dour destiny,

Hoping we’re able to die a natural death

From mere bad health before it all dissolves.

.

And if there’s a third wish left upon the table,

Let it be this: that my children stay off such lists,

And choose to spread ideas instead of seed:

Leave poems, not progeny, for words 

Do not suffer such as sentient beings shall.

July 2022.

I haven’t even finished reading the book…

This is the page I am on now – coincidentally in a chapter on the Spanish Civil War….

I read this headline today in my local newspaper. It translates to “the Navarra shop owners are against Sanchez’s measures to save energy. Some foresee insecurity if the shop windows have no lights after ten pm.”

The photo caption reads “Complaints about the heat in the market.”

This photo here is some storm clouds gathering over the dry dry (and, as you know, quite extensively burnt) landscape I stare out over every evening as I sit and write.

I’ve posted this photo because there is a fucking storm brewing. The actual storms come stronger than ever, and they do little to help the thirsty land compared to the rain we used to have in Spain.

But also, it’s very beautiful.

And soon enough we might only see beauty up above the landscape, because the landscape will cease to be beautiful by itself.

That newspaper headline tells us how quickly that might happen…

We can not even turn down the AC. We can’t even agree to turn off the lights, the ones that aren’t even being used… (I wrote a poem about that, actually, which I must post some time.)

And that’s to just lower energy use by 15% so we can help the rest of Europe, which will have a colder winter than we will in Spain.

In a war.

How can we hope to avoid the worst of Climate Change in light of this kind of stupidity?

I, as you can see from the poem, fail to have much hope at all.