Beaver: A Model Antagonist

by James M Jackson.

He’s back!

A mile and a half before we get to our northern home, we pass over Beaver Creek. It usually travels through a culvert under the road. As we approached the creek, we saw water flowing over the road. “Expletive deleted,” I said to Jan. “The beaver is back.”

I know this is not the same beaver as the one I battled many years ago for control over this same culvert, nor is it the one whose dam at our lake’s outlet raised the water level a foot. It’s not even the one who materially changed our view of the lake by removing a dozen mature white birch, red maple, and quaking aspen from in front of our house a few years back. This is probably a bachelor youngster recently booted from the family compound who is looking to make his way in the world. Let’s treat this beaver as a reincarnation of previous beavers, all of whom collectively have become my model antagonist.

My favorite antagonists to read about are those who have their own agendas. The antagonist’s conflict with the protagonist arises from the incompatibility of their competing objectives. Each character’s motivations should drive their goals, and their competing agendas should ratchet up the conflict between the parties.

Our young Mr. Beaver has three main objectives: Stay alive, which means preparing his world to make it harder for predators to kill and eat him. Eat enough food to prosper and grow. Attract Ms. Beaver and convince her to lodge up with him. (They form monogamous pairs.) Beaver are safer in water than on land, where they are more vulnerable to predation from various canines and bears. The deeper the water, the safer they are.

Raising the water level gives them more aquatic area from which to safely collect food and allows them to construct canals to more easily gather food and bring it back for storage. To a beaver, flowing water is wasted water.

A satisfactory antagonist shouldn’t be all negatives. A mix of good and bad makes him much more interesting. Our beaver has many good qualities—so many that we even have generalized descriptions we apply to certain humans who are busy as a beaver or eager beavers. The most effective antagonists share both positive and negative qualities with the protagonist—naturally in different amounts.

When it comes to our jointly utilized landscape, I have some objectives as well. I want unobstructed access to my property so I can reach grocery stores and the library and bring my provisions back home. I want to drive over Beaver Creek, not through it. And I don’t want parts of the road washed away by beaver-caused flooding. I want my dock to be a certain number of inches above the lake. I want a mix of trees on my property to provide shelter and food for birds and animals, shade during the summer, and to block the view of the neighbor across the lake. And I don’t want those trees to fall on my house.

Taken alone, the beaver’s wish list and mine each seem reasonable. Viewed together, conflict is inevitable.

A satisfactory antagonist must be persistent. They can’t fold at the first opposition; they regroup and try again.

Piles of "construction material" pulled from
the beaver's culvert blocking project

Last week, after unloading the car and making sure our off-grid systems are all working, I drive back to Beaver Creek, and using a pitchfork I clear the thin coating of sticks and mud the beaver has used to efficiently prevent any water flowing through the culvert. When I am done, water rushes through, overflowing its downside streambed, flooding the area below the road.

I am a veteran of culvert battles and know the beaver is not going to concede me total victory after his first setback. As soon as light arrives the next day, I drive to the culvert and find it blocked. Whereas the first blockage had been minimalistic, now under attack, the beaver has strengthened the blocking materials, weaving a mixture of flexible branches, chewed sticks as thick as two-inches in diameter, grass reeds, and mud into an impenetrable composite twice the thickness of the original plug. I work steadily for half an hour to clear the obstruction.

The beaver has exhibited another characteristic of strong antagonists: adjusting its methods to reach its objective and, relative to the protagonist (that would be me), it has upped the ante. If I am going to keep the culvert clear, I need to commit 45-minutes a day (including commutation time).

Protagonists should have flaws, and an interesting conflict often requires the protagonist to address and overcome his own shortcomings to reach his objective. I prefer to write first thing in the morning; it’s when I feel most productive. Yet, since the beaver works nocturnally, to minimize the damage done by his nightly construction, I need to deconstruct as early as possible to get the water flowing again. I commit to putting aside my writing needs (or at least desires) to defeat the beaver and prevent the road from washing out.

I post on Facebook about my battle with Mr. Beaver. One of my friends gets to the heart of the matter and asks, “Who will tire of their job first?”

Each night the beaver blocks the culvert, and each night he uses larger sticks, more fresh branches, all sealed with several inches of grass and mud. Each morning I undo the work. My back is beginning to object to the strain of pulling resistant material from below my feet to keep the culvert clean. I need to strategize my deconstruction to make sure that in the process I don’t allow any of the beaver’s work to slide into the culvert and cause a blockage someplace where I cannot reach it.

One of my personal shortcomings is a strong inclination to not ask for help. Several lake neighbors and I paid for this larger culvert when an earlier version installed by the local logging company proved insufficient for the task and the road continually washed out in spring runoff and after an earlier beaver attack. Two major logging companies now own much of the property nearby, and they have agreed for one to take primary responsibility for maintaining the road. I remember that there used to be a grate preventing the beaver from plugging the inside of the culvert. Even with the grate Mr. Beaver can still stop water from flowing, but having one eliminates my biggest concern of the culvert plugging somewhere in the middle. People can be seriously injured clearing those obstructions.

The logging company guy in charge of this area is glad to hear from me and agrees to install a new grate that day. He says he will check the culvert as well when he is in the area. By overcoming one of my personal issues, I have gained an ally.

Skip ahead to today (Thursday at my composing). This morning I inspected the culvert and found no beaver activity. If this is a short story, the beaver has decided to move on since Beaver Creek is not working out as a place for him to construct his life. And in that short story, I’ve learned my lesson and will ask for assistance sooner.

If this is a novel, the beaver moves on and takes up residence on my lake, the head of which is about 1,600 feet from the site of the culvert battle. Soon the lake level will rise and trees in front of my house will be under attack. Then I’ll need to face the more existential crisis of whether my rights as a human property owner are greater than his rights as North America’s largest rodent—and whether the battle can be resolved without involving the beaver’s death.

I’m hoping for the short-story ending.

[But as of the time of posting, this will be at least a novella. The beaver renewed his energies. On Thursday night he stopped the flow aided by 3" of rain had water running over the road. As of Saturday evening, I had drained enough water from the marsh to eliminate water coming over the road. Unfortunately, Mr. Beaver does not believe in resting on the Sabbath -- I'll let you know in the comments what I find Sunday morning. ~ Jim]