So I am out on the Satsop river in the southern portion of the Olympic Peninsula trying to take a nice video of the landscape. A beautiful early cool morning. It was a bit of a hike down to the spot. Through brush, over an embankment or two and down a slope of Alder and Hemlock trees to the water.
The river system is typical of most valley watersheds in the Olympic Peninsula, fed by hundreds, if not thousands of little streams, brooks, creeks, and moving water with no name.
It was one such tributary that I had hiked up.
After setting up my equipment and waiting for the fog to lift, I started hearing scratching noises behind me. If you have ever heard a dog scratching at a door, it was a similar sound.
Turning around, about 8 feet behind me was the largest beaver I have ever seen. And I have seen some big Beavers! Ok, they were in zoos, but that isn’t the point. It was a big buck toothed mean looking hillbilly beaver.
The Beaver wasn’t happy.
I looked at him. He looked at me. We both started screaming. Like two scared little girls.
After composing myself, I tried, really I did. I tried to turn the video camera around but it just took too long. The Beaver did a hippy-hop to a large rock on the edge of the stream. Stopped, looked at me again. Started screaming again, and dove off the bank like an olympic swimmer and was gone.
The photographer in me was extremely disappointed, the sacred little girl, that until that moment I was unaware lived inside of me, was glad.
I turned my attention to the tree he was gnawing on and took a quick picture. My only memento of coming face to face with the wild killer beavers of the Olympic Peninsula.