The beavers, whose daily engineering of ways to block a main overflow pipe, have been elusive. We've repeatedly run a 30' ramrod through the pipe to unclog it. Next, we thought we could outsmart them by covering the pipe intake with mesh. That stroke of genius has set us back weeks... we can't even get to the intake anymore, it's so deeply buried in mud, sticks and rising waters.
My new plan: erect a floating work platform.
So, that only worked marginally. 45 minutes of stabbing a shovel around to break up the dam around the pipe and water began to flow through at a trickle.
Infuriated, I told Chester we were setting out in the marshlands to find the beaver lodge and personally issue an eviction notice. With a shovel acting as paddle and pole and potential sheriff.
Chester isn't the water dog we thought he was. No nerves of steel here.
The wetland area has never had this much water in it, navigation like this hasn't been possible in a flat bottom boat since my tenure. We'd made an attempt to find the lodge in kayaks earlier in the year, but had turned back.
First mate and I persevered. No snakes jumping out of trees made it easier!
For three years, I've wanted to see the interior of this area. I take pride in knowing every nook and cranny of this plantation, but this one had remained a mystery. Now it was unfolding in front of me.
Exploring with my first mate. Unexpected adventures are the spice of life.
90 minutes of scouting every well used water channel and I find bumpkis. Stealthy little rodents are out there--- somewhere.
Don't worry, Chester, I won't let you starve!
