Rowing in off the Lake Washington Ship Canal to one of my favorite quiet, sheltered inlets on the edge of the University of Washington Arboretum, I scanned the sunny spots along the marsh's edge for napping turtles, finding none. Hadn't visited the spot in a few weeks, and was looking forward as few my age do to catching an unwary reptile, boring it with my sordid humor, and releasing it with admonitions to be more careful around humans, as we are a generally dangerous species.

No turtles to be had. But no beaver lodge, either. Usually right there along the edge of the green wall of cattails, it just...wasn't. Breeze was picking up, so I hustled back to the boathouse, but I was troubled: beaver lodges just don't disappear, do they?

Especially this one. This wood and mud mound crested about six feet above the water's surface, and submerged branches extended out another ten feet into the waterway. It's occupants were true community activists: the lodge had been built only about two years ago, but since then, the surrounding area had been quite visibly affected by the rodents' activities. Several trees along the shoreline had been chewed down, several more were works in progress, and nearby groves of willows looked as if they had been assaulted with a giant Weed Whacker. And the lodge kept getting larger.

Perplexed, I rented a canoe the next day and paddled back to the spot. Noticed sort of a gap among the lilypads and cattails right where I remembered the lodge to have been, and the marsh's edge seemed different, but there was no lodge. Soon got distracted by a healthy specimen of Western Pond Turtle, a locally endangered species. Would've liked to have caught it long enough to have measured it, but it was way too smart for me (takes a real... bozo... to admit that).

Figured the beavers' destruction of the local flora had pissed somebody off and/or had caused enough damage to have finally warranted their removal (at least one of the trees they had been whittling on had been chainsawed down, presumably to prevent the tree from inadvertently crushing some unsuspecting canoeist when it finally did come down, or to prevent it from blocking the channel, so I knew their actions were being monitored). I set about trying to find out who might've done so.

The following Monday morning, I started by calling the Department of Fish and Wildlife, and learned from Russell Link, urban biologist, that his department hadn't done anything, but he suggested that I call the UW Arboretum, as they could've acquired the necessary government permits through another agency, and contracted a professional trapper to remove beavers considered a problem.

The Arboretum knew nothing about it, either. Nor did the Department of Ecology, Department of Transportation (they had been working just a few yards away, doing seismic retrofitting of freeway ramps), or the Department of Agriculture (that may sound like a long - shot, but that was the agency that had captured and gassed a bunch of recalcitrant Canada geese (they, having been declared a migratory bird by federal agencies, were later accused of reaping the protection and benefits accorded thereby, while at the same time refusing to actually migrate, thereby wearing out their welcome, essentially having their bread crumbs and eating them, too. They had also been accused of polluting the water by pooping in it!) so I figured that the Department of Agriculture might've been on a roll and simply decided to 'take out' clearcutting beavers while they were in the neighborhood snuffing geese).

The Seattle Parks Department knew nothing of a missing beaver lodge, either, but I did learn a lot about the jurisdiction of the area in question from John Candy, senior gardener for Seattle Parks. He knew well of that particular lodge, and was sincerely horrified that anything so final could've befallen it. Mr. Candy told me that the University of Washington had title of the land down to the original shoreline. Land that was reclaimed when the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers dropped the level of Lake Washington in 1916 at the completion of the Ship Canal had been granted to the Seattle Parks Department. And there are also some DNR (Department of Natural Resources) holdings interspersed.

Our working theory was that a nearby country club (with attached golf course) had contracted a trapper (illegally, of course, as no permits had been filed) to dispose of the beavers and to tear out the half - ton or more of mud and branches to discourage any other beavers from taking over the site. Country clubs are notorious for disregarding local wildlife laws to protect their properties.

But it stood to reason that SOMEBODY would've had to have seen SOMETHING: this was a major undertaking. I considered putting up notices at all the local rowing clubs and collegiate rowing programs, as they're out at the crack of dawn in the general vicinity, and so might've heard or seen something.

Decided to return to the site the next day to look for clues. Didn't pack a magnifying glass, but did take camera and a couple Zip-loc bags.

Found the beaver lodge. To my utter mortification and chagrin. Somewhat obscured by a new curtain of reeds and cattails, and diminished by the annual summer raising of the lake's water level (a vertical foot or so), but still sitting right there, about twenty feet to the left of where I'd been looking. Crap. On a very short stick.

Wanted to disappear. Knew instantly that I'd have to call all those government agencies back and admit to being a total GIT: ''Look, I AM legally blind, and I used to do a lot of drugs, and I'm REALLY sorry and you'll NEVER hear from me again, but... the aliens that abducted the beaver lodge and probably probed a whole family of beavers - well, they brought it all back!" I rehearsed what I would have to admit to as I rowed back from the world of turtles and boats to that of telephones and major fuckups.

I settled for calling just the ones with whom I'd left my name and phone number. I knew that whatever small amount of credibility I might've accumulated with the local wildlife science community (yeah, sure, this is the same guy who reported an immense snapping turtle at damn near the same site last October (see Monsters, Get Lost Magazine, Nov. 99) just got composted. And forked under.

The worst part of it was, they were all very supportive. No one actually laughed at me (except my friends). A few of the kind ones went so far as to try to console me with stories of misplaced swan flocks or some such. But at least a flock of swans has potential to actually MOVE.

John Candy of Seattle Parks gets the award for the best response. When I told him I'd found the lodge, he calmly and evenly replied, "Well, I'm certainly relieved for the beavers' sake."