THE LAND NORTH of SUPERIOR<o:p></o:p>

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June is the mosquito month in Ontario.  However once the second and third weeks are gone a person can, and should, enjoy the land north of Superior in all its aspects.

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We had had a wet June.  The mosquitoes had been the size of B52’s and carried better ordinance.  Now however the populations had lessened markedly and an after dark walk to the bridge with our two dogs seemed like the right thing to do.  The western sky was still deep indigo with some slashes of blood red.  There was a light breeze and tomorrow promised to be another great summer day.  I hoped my wife would have a good drive out, without meeting too many pulpers.  The dogs and myself had been here for two days already and the fishing was great.

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The dogs, once the door opened, disappeared into the gathering dark.  Once they had made their run around the camper they would be waiting for me, tails wagging and wondering where we were going at this unexpected hour of the day.  With the big beam light in my hand I turned to my left and headed down the short road, which would bring us to the main road.  There was no need to turn the light on as the ¾ moon gave good visibility.  The dogs, noses to the ground, were into the brush on either side of the path.  Every time one would come back to the road it would stop, look back, and check to make sure I was still coming.  I think they liked the fact that I couldn’t keep up with them, it gave them more time to sniff the scents of oh so many things.

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When the dogs got to the main road they were torn between where they wanted to search and where I might be going.  They weren’t going to leave.  As I turned to the left the dogs took off, bellies close to the ground, across the bridge.  The black shapes disappeared instantly into the murky nighttime bushes.  I could hear them as they prowled about making sure nothing got near their territory without them knowing all about it.

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Lifting one foot onto the side beam of the bridge I leaned on the guardrail.  The 4X6 beam was smooth from years of every weather known in the north.  My nightcap, in a tall mug, sat by my elbow.  As I fired up a smoke, the dogs swarmed around my legs and darted off to the near side of the bridge; there would be no restless dogs that night.  Just then a large beaver surfaced up stream from the bridge.  Moments later there were five more as they set out on their evenings forage.  The dogs took instant note of these intruders and both launched into the river.  Their splashes almost coincided with a beaver tail danger warning, all the beavers disappeared.  Mystified as to the sudden departure of the intruders both returned to shore and scampered to either side of me and  shock vigorously.  Tails wagging they looked up to for approval at having made their territory safe again shock. 

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The beavers started to reappear.  The dog's chorus and clamour as they sprinted down the bank made the beavers splash and dive before the pair of black bodies again launched into the river.  Confusion reigned as the dogs, sure they had been quick enough, found no swimmers in the water.  As the current swept them under the bridge I could almost sense their bewilderment.  By the time they had scrambled up to me they were scanning the river surface.  The shake came as expected, one on either side.  Again the water dimpled and beavers were swimming about, they were late and hungry, they had no time to waste.

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Missy and Major must have worn a trail down that riverbank as they did what dogs do, keep ‘their territory�?clear of unwanted critters.  The disappearances didn’t affect the quality of their work as each time they put every effort into keeping these strange animals away.  They had no time to check out the swarms of bats that criss crossed the bridge and the river feeding on the insects that were still about.  They came very close as they fed continuously, each attack deadly, as they darted about.

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Far off in the distance a wolf howled.  Near or far my neck hairs would always ‘stand up�?  The dogs took note, freezing into position, tails straight out and noses working furiously.  When no second call came they turned their attention back to those pesky beavers.  They didn’t forget that forlorn howl though.  One or the other would suddenly stop and point nose and ears trying to find the source of that one lonely call.

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Back in the trailer both dogs, curled up on the rough blanket we kept for them, were sleeping before I got into my own bed and pulled the sleeping bag to my neck.  I wondered as I lay there how long they would have kept up their beaver game if I hadn’t come back.  I also knew that first thing in the morning, probably before I was really ready to get up both would be up on my bed nuzzling me to let them out so they could investigate the strangers from the night before.

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My wet vest and jeans hung from a drying line we had put in every camper we had owned. Knowing that the two dogs, though sound asleep, would tell me instantly if anyone or anything came too close to the camper I drifted off to sleep.  We were all very happy in the land north of Superior.