One of my favorite Bernie stories, and I don't think I've yet written about it yet, took place during the one full summer I lived in Sacramento. It's dry and warm there, not much water aside from the delta. I actually lived in Roseville, California, a suburb outside Sac, in a vast apartment complex. I've chronicled the catastrophic first few weeks Bernie and I lived in the complex, nuff said on that.
Anyway, aside from "old" Roseville, the town was newly developed in magnificent California style--row after row of houses that look exactly the same. However, right across the main road of the apartment complex was a big, huge park. I've written about this park. More than anything, it was city land that was simply untouched. Just vast Central Valley flatland, which really looks like a Midwest pasture in the midst of a long, hot summer. Tall grass, brown grass, and lots of dust.
Through this park ran a stream. It was maybe ten feet wide and generally didn't have a whole lot of water in it. However, down the way a bit there was a "fall", and at the bottom of this fall was a nice pool of water--say 10 x 20 and 3 feet deep. This is where Bernie danced, sang, and swam.
At some point, though, that pool started shrinking. It was suddenly all dammed up--big limbs and stuff blocking the water. The area above the damn was still shallow and meek, nothing for a dog to swim in really.
So like a good master, I started moving the dam, so my pooch could swim and cool off. It was a fun, and important, component of our play in the park, so sayeth me and the furry black dog.
Dam cleared, water pooled. Swimming dog. However, each day, the dam was back. It got bigger, more complex. A really intricate web of debris. I'm not sure how much I thought about it, but I couldn't figure it out: Daily, literally, a new dam would be present, but the creek water in no way was capable of carrying that much debris to any given spot.
So I'd take off my shoes--it felt good to me too--and would deconstruct, flooding the dog's pool. Happy dog, happy Chad.
As you hydrology experts know, water in California is a sticky wicket. Most creeks and a lot of other bodies are man-made, part of a complex system to control water and wring out all that's possbile from snow melt and storms, all for man. This creek was no different, and for a time, I wondered if Ranger Rick was stopping by daily and building this dam, lest the people of Los Angeles die of thirst or some such thing.
The dams were built, then deconstructed by me, for a month, maybe two. Daily. Then I read an article in the Sacramento Bee, not penned by Tom Bradford, that discussed many such creeks in the area, their importance, and a problem many of them were incurring: Beavers.
Turns out, Ranger Rick was more interested in deconstructing the dams.
The article explicity said, though, do not get in the water to deconstruct the dams, for beavers are fiercely protective of their turf and, of course, capable of gnawing a nice chuck out of your water-prone parts.
To that, I have two things to say. It is unbelievable how thick of wood these things can eat through and how fast they can do it, along with construct the dam. A crazy dam. Second, Bernie and I both felt really lucky that we each had all of our paws and limbs.
Beavers be damned, I continued to clear the dams from dry land and Bernie continued to swim, day after day after day. Oh to swim in Sacramento again.
