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Jack and I put on our voyageur berets this morning and went hunting for beavers in the wetlands of Canada. The morning air was frosty and a constant westerly wind bit at our cheeks as it blew past us. Conditions on the ground were challenging with large muddy areas lightly covered by a wafer thin sheet of snow and ice that easily buckled under the weight of the dog. We picked our way upstream with me slipping and sliding and Jack looking anxiously over his shoulder to  make sure I was still upright. We didn’t get too far though when the route became     clogged with tangled brush and reeds that ultimately forced us to retrace our steps in retreat. I think we were getting close to the lodge in this area. We found several gnawed trees and a whole patch of gnawed off saplings. At first, I thought the sapling patch would lead straight to the den, but nope. The beavers haven’t set up shop here, but I think they’re close by. Maybe tomorrow we’ll try the other bank of the river to see if we can get farther.