Canada’s national symbol — the much-maligned beaver — turns 50 and gets a shiny new public makeover
Trail-cam video reveals Canada’s largest rodent in Six Mountains of North Cowichan
For months I searched for a beaver living alone in an isolated area of the Six Mountains of North Cowichan.
I’d heard stories and found evidence during forest walks, but an actual sighting remained out of reach.
Then one day I spot fresh wood shavings at the base of a red alder tree. What better place to deploy my new trail camera — with sound and night vision.
I attach the camera to a stump at the water’s edge 1.5 metres from the tree, and let it steep for a week.
During that time I am surprised to learn that the beaver is enjoying a national celebration; Monday marks the 50th anniversary of it becoming Canada’s official symbol.
The beaver already graces the Canadian nickel, and now gets a special silver coin with layered engraving being sold for $569.95 — the price of celebrity, it seems.
(Royal Canadian Mint)
“From the 17th to the mid-19th century, the beaver was more than just an animal. It was at the centre of the fur trade that was the economic engine of pre-Confederation Canada,” says the Royal Canadian Mint.
“Owing to its important role in this nation’s history and already a cultural icon, the beaver was proclaimed an official symbol of the sovereignty of Canada on March 24, 1975, when the National Symbol of Canada Act received royal assent.”
Today’s beaver is more than just a furry face and an endless source of double entendres.
It’s also got a shiny new public persona.
Beavers — the largest rodents in Canada — are viewed less as a public nuisance in terms of flooding and damage to public infrastructure and more as champions of biodiversity and climate resilience.
They create wetlands that serve as wildlife habitat, store flood waters, filter pollutants, and maintain surface flows and cooler temperatures during droughts. “Beaver dams function as speed bumps for streams,” says the Nature Conservancy of Canada. “By slowing down the speed of moving water they create deeper water that can provide important habitat for fish during times of drought.”
Geoff Smart is a biologist with Delta-based EBB Environmental Consulting Ltd. who has studied beavers for almost 20 years. “The perspective has really changed,” he says. “There’s a value in the species that people maybe haven’t seen in the past.”
Smart increasingly works with municipalities not to trap and remove beavers, but to find ways for beavers and people to coexist in urban environments. That includes the use of flexible pond levellers to create permanent leaks in dams, and beaver-proofing trees with wire mesh around the trunks. He also pushes for proactive planning when developing fish habitat that anticipates the presence of beavers.
One long-standing criticism of beavers is that their dams pose an impediment to fish passage. Research shows fish and beavers have co-evolved, Smart says, and fish can exploit leaks and periods of high flow to swim past dams.
The British Columbia Wildlife Federation is so enamoured with the beaver’s engineering skills that it is building 100 knock-off dams around the province. One method is to pound untreated wood poles into the stream bed, then weave woody vegetation through the posts and pack the dam with vegetation, sediment and stones.
(British Columbia Wildlife Federation)
“It’s humans trying to do their best to be a beaver,” Smart says with a smile. “I’m pretty sure any beaver would look at that and go, ‘we need to fire that engineer.’”
Okay, but what of the age-old question: If a gnawed tree falls in the forest, what are the odds of the beaver getting bonked on the noggin?
Turns out researchers have investigated such things.
A 2004 study entitled, Directional Tree Felling by Beavers, and published in Northwest Naturalist, measured the falling angle of almost 900 trees of various sizes felled near eight different dams in southwestern Saskatchewan.
The results suggest that “torque and centre of mass” — words that mean little to me — apparently resonate with beavers, which prefer to fell trees in the direction of dams, thereby reducing time and energy in handling them.
Kurt Samways, lead author of the study and associate professor of biological sciences at the University of New Brunswick, told sixmountains.ca it “was clear that beavers had a plan in place, to minimize the distance to carry branches, while avoiding trees being hung up and therefore being unusable. While we did see evidence of miscalculations, we did not find any evidence of beavers being killed by falling trees.”
This is all fine and good, but what of the specific beaver I hope to photograph? It has chosen isolated habitat up in the mountains near sharp terrain.
It made me wonder: how did he get here and why did it choose this place to stake its claim?
Smart explains that as beavers become adults they disperse to find their own territories. That can involve travelling overland for two kilometres, often following water courses to their sources while avoiding the steeper inclines. They are also known to swim through saltwater to find suitable freshwater or brackish habitat.
There’s no proof that this particular beaver is a male, but I suspect that if it was a female, a male would have sought her out. For now, at least, he lives a celibate life.
After a week’s anxious wait, I fetch my trail cam and return home to review the contents on my computer.
The sense of anticipation is great, though past experience has taught me to temper my expectations.
I cringe to think of all the dog walkers and hikers who have smirked and waved at my ‘hidden’ trail cam.
One person went so far as to stand anonymously behind the camera and reach around to press their small dog against the lens, as though to emulate a mysterious furry beast.
Not this time. As the images appear on my screen, I can tell I have something. It’s not Sasquatch, but capturing this beaver is all I can hope for.
Several 25-second videos provide a clear view of the beaver going about its nocturnal business. Wood chips fly as the beaver gnaws at the alder tree, then bites off a small branch and swims away with the prize.
I am struck by how loud they gnaw. “Yes, it’s quite pronounced,” Smart says. “They’re chewing through wood — a lot of pressure in the jaw which creates the sound.”
Today, I continue to monitor the beaver’s activities on a more casual basis, with one eye on its progress with the standing alder tree. In time my trail camera will again be pressed into service, to capture that “Timber!” moment.
Beavers have paid a heavy price during the early fur trade, when millions were trapped for European hats, to the point the species was endangered throughout much of its range.
These days the BC government says about 1,000 beavers are officially trapped annually in the province, an estimated kill rate of less than one per cent.
My experience shows how just one living beaver can be an endless source of wonder and appreciation for the natural world. A fitting Canadian symbol, indeed.
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— Larry Pynn, March 24, 2025
