My feet splash in the stream while icy water pours over my ankles. I trudge across logs and between rocks. My feet grow numb. How much farther? Will I find them? Another bend and a pile of sticks block the channel.
I scramble onto the bank, stumble through the dense, whippy willows and crash into a tree. It’s an aspen in a grove of aspen. And it bears the wedge-shaped notch carved by strong orange teeth.
I’m so close! I press into the willows and squirm my way to a glassy-still pond. That pile of sticks that I dodged is the dam. I hunker down and wait.
A ripple. A pair of ripples. A V-shape.
At the very front of the tiny, silent wave, a brown nose slices through the water.
I found them.
Mamma beaver and her three kits clamber onto the dam. I hold my breath in awe.
