âItâs been freshly cut.â Beside it, in a pile of chips, lay the trunk of a giant cottonwood. âThey must be close by.â
âAre beavers dangerous?â asked Michiko.
âNo, they will hide until we pass,â he said. âThey know human smell.â
âWhy did they chew down a whole tree?â
âThey have to get at the leaves for food,â he answered. âThen they use the rest for their home.â
âCan we look for their home?â Michiko glancedalong the bank, picturing a small log cabin with a round door and smoking chimney.
âWeâll probably pass it in the boat,â Ted said.
They stepped through a patch of bushes, to the water, as the morning breeze pushed the clouds down river. The small beach of firm, damp sand sparkled like a glazed mud pie.
Jutting sideways from the bank was a giant, mottled trunk. The
Apple
nodded under an archway of bent willow branches. Ted walked along the trunk and tossed his tackle box and rods into the boat. Then he returned and took the
furoshiki
from Michiko.
She clutched his hand as she climbed onto the trunk. The branches swayed in the muddy water. She didnât like this part. What if she slipped into the cold water below?
The croak of an old bullfrog and the chip, chip, chipping sound of a red-winged blackbird drifted across the water. Soon they were gliding past wooden shores strewn with bluebells. Lush grass flanking the banks waved in the breeze, and cedars whispered as they floated by. Michiko trailed her hand in the clear, cold mountain water. She could see right to the bottom. The sparkle of the sun on the ripples made her dreamy.
âLook,â Ted whispered. âThereâs where the beavers live.â He pointed to the small stream that led away from the river.
Michiko scanned the water. âI canât see any house,â she said, cupping her hand over her eyes. All she could see was a large muddy mound of sticks and branches.
âThey live behind that bridge of branches,â Ted told her.
âWhere is the door?â she asked. âHow do they get in and out?â
âThey dive in the water and come up through a door in the floor of their house.â
âLike a secret passage?â
âJust like a secret passage,â he said with a nod.
A sudden sharp whistle startled them both. Clarence, standing on the grassy bank, waved. âHey, Millie,â he called out. Then he cupped his hands to his mouth and yelled, âCatch anything?â
âWhat is that boy saying?â Ted asked.
âHeâs from my school,â Michiko told him. She ignored the fact that he had called her Millie. âHe wants to know if we caught anything.â
Ted rowed to where the green turf sloped down to the edge and whistled in answer.
There was a rustle, and Clarenceâs flaming red head peered down at them. âNice boat,â he called down, âmy favourite colour.â His face broke into a wide grin.
âClarence,â Michiko said politely, âIâd like you to meet my Uncle Ted.â
Clarence saluted, and the string hanging from the end of the long stick he carried over his shoulder bounced. Michiko spotted a half-opened safety pin and a red and white wooden bobber dangling at his knees.
âYou know any good fishing spots?â Ted asked.
âThereâs a place not far downstream,â Clarence told them. He pointed with his rod and said, âPlenty of birds around.â
âWhere there are birds, thereâs fish,â Ted responded.âDo you want to come along?â
âSure,â responded Clarence enthusiastically. He scrambled down the side, balanced on a thick root and stepped in.
As the morning sun moved west, they spotted a pair of loons and a great blue heron. Ted replaced Clarenceâs safety pin with a hook and showed him how to swing his rod high across his shoulder, then with a snapping stroke, whip it