"Intelligence."

A dam nuisance.

DECEMBER 14—Nearly two decades in the making and more than a hundred feet long, the beaver dam on Ashpohtag Road, Norfolk, Connecticut, is in every sense of the word a marvel. Made of intricately woven twigs and packed with mud, it meanders gracefully through the landscape. Behind the dam, a now well-established wetland offers shelter and forage to countless birds, amphibians, and ground mammals—including a bull moose I recently spotted wading in its shallow water.

Consummate engineers, the beavers are assiduous in their care of the dam, working tirelessly to ensure that a consistent level of water is maintained. One large section is left permeable, allowing Wood Creek, which feeds the pond, to flow over and through it. Just downstream, a culvert funnels rushing water beneath the asphalt surface of Ashpohtag Road. Until a few days ago, there was a delicate and fragile equilibrium between pond, creek and culvert. And then the road crew showed up.

The culvert is the site of a longstanding feud between man and beaver, one I’ve been watching with not-disinterested interest. The beavers, I’ve been told by the town crew, frequently dam the culvert in a quest for increased aquatic real estate—and clever of them. On the other side of the battle, our frustrated road crew is tasked with keeping the culvert clear to prevent flooding on the road.

The conflict of interests fuels a tension that ebbs and flows with the seasons and increases dramatically with precipitation. During periods of heavy rain, or rapid freeze-and-thaw cycles, the grate placed over the culvert requires frequent, sometimes weekly clearing. Each cleaning necessitates use of a backhoe to lift the heavy grate. The task, though quickly accomplished, takes two crew members and is clearly an effort and expense.

Having watched this drama with great curiosity—rooting for the beavers, while sympathizing with the town workers—it is no longer clear to me where the problem resides. In a move that seems strategically ill-conceived, if not intentionally malicious, the road crew periodically uses the backhoe to breech the dam upstream from the culvert. Doing so releases a large volume of water that sweeps downstream, undermining and eroding the banks of the creek and draining the wetland in a matter of minutes.

The beavers, being extraordinarily intelligent, have figured out that the quickest way to restore the level of the pond—an urgent priority each time it is breeched—is not to repair the dam, but to dam the culvert.

I find myself wondering: Between these two—man and beaver—where does the greater intelligence lie and which is the nuisance animal?