Trout pool almost dry, Millpond

The last day of the month brought me back to the millpond dam after too long an absence. I had a notion that the stream level would still be low enough that I could stand in the middle, dry-shod, and try to capture good close-ups of Dragonhunter dragonflies. But I knew something was very wrong even before I got to the flimsy bridge over the capstones: it was silent, way too eerily silent. Not only was there no water at all running down the dam face but the stream itself was completely dry. The trout pool was little more than a muddy puddle, and the young fish were all huddled together, swimming slowly in what must be a too-warm and almost anoxic situation. I had a pretty good idea of who was at fault, and I guessed it wasn't just the drought. The mud- and stick-laden ridge that held back the water in front of the dam had to be the handiwork of beavers. Grabbing one of the gnawed-off sticks the eager architects had put into place, I started in on my own handiwork—punching a hole through the mud wall and creating an opening through which torrents of water could start flowing again.