LIFE UP THE EDDY (2): RIVER RAT STORY
PART TWO OF A SERIES ABOUT GROWING UP ON THE BANKS OF A WILD RIVER, SURROUNDED BY FORESTS
Wildlife Along the River
Our little house was close to the river bank, probably about fifty feet from the low water mark where several tall silver maples stood. The bark on their upstream sides were all scarred-up from ice that had gouged into them during ice breaks in past springs. The highest scars made a record of how high the water got during the ice break in some years when it covered our yard and threatened to come in the house.
Most of the time, though, the river was quiet, except for high water when the winter snow melted or after heavy spring rains. We liked the natural rhythm of the rising and falling of the river with the seasons. It was part of us.
As the summers passed, the water warmed and fell exposing the gravel bottom in the shallows along the bank. In early summer, there were thousands of tadpoles along the bank which grew into countless frogs and toads. There were abundant mussels and crayfish in the shallows. In summer, when the crayfish molted their hard shells, there were plenty of soft shell crabs for fishing bait.
Between the bank and the water’s edge, there was a thick row of wild water willows. Besides all the minks, muskrats, ‘possums, and ‘coons who left their nightly tracks in the river mud by the willows, there were other animals that liked to hang around there. During the day, if you went down to the river in your bare feet to go swimming or fishing, you might see several big, fat, northern banded water snakes sunning on the willow branches. They might be over four feet long. We knew they weren’t poisonous, but they would bite if you got too close. It was good to approach them slowly and scare them so they would plop into the water, dive under, and swim away before you walked through the willows.
And, at night, there were river rats too. Big ones. If you were out fishing at night, you could shine a flashlight along the shore and see their eyes. They must have found plenty to eat along the water’s edge.
Night Visitor
I was in the seventh grade, when one school night, in the early autumn, when the weather was just starting to get cold, I finished my homework and got into bed in my little bedroom. It felt good to get under the covers in that cold corner of the house. It wasn’t long until I was sound asleep. My mom and little sister were in bed too, and the lights were out. My dad was at work. We never locked the doors, but we weren’t afraid of the night. I enjoyed the night sounds that came in through my open bedroom window. I heard a great horned owl hooting somewhere nearby. And a screech owl screaming out from up in the woods way across the river. I drifted off to sleep.
Sometime in the middle of the night, as I lay on my back, I awoke to that dream-like, half-awake, half-asleep state. I was so drowsy, at first I wasn’t sure, but I became vaguely aware of something moving by my feet. A few seconds later, I felt it again. I was still too sleepy to react.
But then, I felt it move up to my knees. I suddenly became more awake, but didn’t yet move. Then I felt it move up to my belly, and my chest. When it moved again, up toward my face, I was fully alert with my eyes wide open.
Attack
Without a thought, and with just a quick, primitive, startle move, I flicked the covers off me. Whatever was crawling up the blanket flew off and hit the wall with a thump. I was sitting by then, and, in the dim light, saw a huge river rat run out of my bedroom and down the hall towards the kitchen.
I jumped out of bed, grabbed up my big hunting knife that always lay on my nightstand, and chased the rat down the hall. It was too fast for me. It made it into the kitchen and under the sink where it escaped through the floor, along the drainpipe, and under the house.
I stood there in the kitchen a few seconds, my heart beating hard. I had got a good look at it. That rat was about a foot long, not counting his long tail. If I had caught him, I would have stabbed him dead, for sure.
When I Told Mom
After I caught my breath, for some reason, I thought I should tell my mom. I walked through the house to her bedroom and approached her bed. There was enough light that I could see she was sound asleep. I could hear her breathing.
I reached out and put my left hand on her shoulder and gave her a shake.
I called out to her, “Mama. Mama. Wake up! A big rat tried to bite me! Wake up.”
My mom groaned a little, and reached over to the lamp on her night stand. As she was squinting in the bright light and struggling to wake up, I was leaning over, holding my hunting knife in my right hand, high over her chest.
Her eyes opened wide. After a couple seconds gaining her composure, she said slowly but firmly, “Put—down—the—knife.”
I lowered my knife to my side.
I said again, “A big rat tried to bite me!”
She raised herself up on her elbows. There was silence for a few seconds. Then she simply exhaled, “Go back to bed. We’ll talk about it in the morning.”
River Rats
Next day in school, I told my friend Brian Mac about it. He lived down the river from us. He thought it was funny, and told some other kids. Mac and I called each other the “River Rats” after that.
That same year, I killed several river rats. If I happened to see one outside, especially in winter and it looked kind of slow, I would run it down and kill it. Later that same year, I got a new puppy. He was a black and tan Airedale who grew fast into a big, strong dog. He hated rats too. He would lay on the porch and watch for them. If he saw one get far enough away from cover, he would charge, snap it up, and shake it to death. Then bring it back and lay it on the porch for me to see.
River Life Starts to Change
Over the next several years, things happened that started to change the river and all the things that lived in and around it. At first we didn’t know what was happening. One of our neighbors down the river said some government people had talked to the owners of the Brownell farm five miles up river at Big Bend. They were starting to talk about building a dam there. We loved the river. It scared me to think about what might happen.
Would the frogs and toads still be able to lay all their eggs in the shallows. Would we be able to fish for the horned dace every spring when they migrated up the river. What would happen to the water snakes, and all the other animals that lived in and around the water.
What would happen to the river that had flowed with natural rhythm past the Big Bend and down to our Eddy season after season for countless years when loggers rode their log rafts down it, and before that, when the Seneca people floated downstream in their birchbark canoes.
And what would happen to the land upstream where the Seneca people lived. And what about the Village of Kinzua and our school friends who lived there by the river.