Column by Dan Geddings: A polar plunge

Something was different. Some of the sticks that were blocking the ditch were knocked over, and some were missing. The trap was gone. Looking around, I could see the thin wire that connected the trap to a nearby tree was stretched taut. The wire disappeared into the deeper, darker water. "Maybe we have caught another beaver," I said out loud to myself.

We've had tough luck with the beaver trapping on my Clarendon property. Several traps have been sprung with no catches. I was beginning to think that we must have a pack of super beavers that could avoid traps. I thought that maybe they were just too smart for us, and I was beginning to think that our efforts were fruitless. My patience was wearing thin, then success!

About a week ago, we put a new trap in an area where a small tree had been chewed down and in a few days caught a large male beaver. I changed my mind. Maybe these weren't super beavers after all, and I expected more success.

So, I was very optimistic when I saw the trap site that had been disturbed. I needed to get across the ditch to get to the tree that anchored the wire to the trap. I walked back down the ditch, looking for a spot that was narrow enough to jump over. I could have walked back to the spillway and crossed there easily, but I was much too anxious to see what we had.

I found a spot that I thought I could jump. The ditch bank there was not very high or steep. I stood and studied the situation carefully. There was a small tree on the other side that would offer a good handle if I needed it. I'm not a stranger to jumping ditches. I've jumped hundreds, maybe thousands in a lifetime spent outdoors. It's almost second nature to me. I backed up a step and fixed my concentration on a spot of the far bank. Then took that step and leaped.

It was cold that day, and everything was wet from all the rain we've had lately. I cleared the ditch easily but landed a little unsteadily. I realized that I was leaning backward too much and reached out to grab the little tree. It was moss covered, wet and slick. I could not hold on and realized that I was losing my balance, and my hand hold was slipping from the tree.

You can hit a time when you know that something is going to happen, but you know that there's nothing you can do about it. It's a sick feeling. I knew that I was going to fall over backward into that ditch of very cold water. It seemed like time was in slow motion now. I turned to one side as I fell and landed mostly on the slope of the bank with my lower body in the water. My face, head and upper body slammed into a small log on the bank.

My legs were wet up to my thighs, my boots were full of water, and I thought my nose was broken. I sat up as quickly as I could and started checking for injuries. My face was covered in mud and bark, but nothing was broken. Now, I could feel foolish with a sigh of relief. I stood up, brushed the wet leaves and mud away and went over to the tree with the wire.

We did have a critter in the trap. At least that was a positive. I took a picture and texted Shannon about our catch. I walked the ditch back to the spillway and crossed on dry ground. The walk back to the truck was very long, and I still had other traps to check, but at least I had my outdoorsman's polar plunge out of the way.

Email Dan Geddings at cdgeddings@gmail.com.