Operation Beaver Drop

It wasn’t the moon landing, but it was something

The year was 1948, World War II was over, and America basked in the glow of victory and the promise of great years to come. Problems remained though. Inflation was high, there were shortages of consumer goods, and millions of returning GIs needed employment and housing. Politicians, always attentive to the needs of the people, asked themselves two important questions: how do we get rid of all these beavers and what are we going to do with these surplus parachutes?

In Idaho, people were beginning to seek out new homes in the town of McCall and around Payette Lake and in the process, encountering beavers. Beavers are crucial to the health of wetlands, as they help to reduce erosion, improve water quality, and create habitats for birds and fish. However, they also damage ornamental gardens and shrubs. So, priorities people!

One war had ended, but a new one might well be on the horizon. A war of Humanity vs. The Beavers.

Note to self, pitch this to Netflix, they’ll turn pretty much any stupid idea into a miniseries. Maybe make the beavers Nazi beavers. You’ll be rich, I tell you rich!

(Imaginary Editor coughing)

Right, back to the article

What was to be done?

Historically, when beavers had to be moved, cowboys would herd them thousands of miles across the great plains, causing soil damage, deforestation, and economic conflicts and property damage.

All this just to provide county fairs with delicious beaver tails.

(Imaginary Editor coughing)

Fine, have it your way.

Trappers would first trap beavers, load them onto a truck, and deliver them to a conservation officer. Then, the beavers would be loaded on trucks again, before finally being put on a horse and be sent over the more mountainous areas.

(Imaginary Editor): Beavers can’t ride horses.

Better?

(Imaginary Editor): Words escape me.

If only.

The process was “arduous, prolonged, expensive, and resulted in high mortality” because, like vampires, beavers cannot stand the direct heat of the Sun. The trips are also tough on the horses because beavers, like vampires, spook them.

There had to be a better way.

Enter Elmo W. Heter of the Idaho Department of Fish and Game.

Probably not him on the right. Or the left for that matter.

Elmo had the brilliant idea of “encouraging” beavers to move by flying them to another area and parachuting them to the ground using leftover WWII parachutes and lidless wooden boxes.

Did he harbor a secret hatred of beavers?

Let this picture speak for itself.

Note the absence of beavers.

Of course, Elmo shouldn’t get all the credit. The success of this important Cold War activity – Hey! It happened during the Cold War, so it counts. You can’t prove the Soviets weren’t dropping beavers out of airplanes too. They were sending dogs into space after all – would not have been possible without the contributions of one heroic beaver, the daredevil known as Geronimo (probably not his real name but nobody speaks beaver so…). Over the course of - I don’t know, days? Weeks? There weren’t stringent OSHA guidelines back then so who knows - Geronimo was flown to an altitude of between 150 and 200 meters whereupon he leapt (was tossed) out of the side of an airplane.

Thanks to Geronimo’s heroism and Elmo’s penchant for animal cruelty, Operation Beaver Drop (yes that was the real name) was a success and 75 beavers were safely relocated to the Chamberlain Basin in central Idaho. Geronimo, always the trailblazer led the way with the four young females that were his reward.

The following year, Fish and Game Department officers revisited the transplanted beavers and found that they’d all built dams and houses, bred, and stored food for themselves.

What happened to Geronimo?

Don’t you worry, he’s doing just fine

(Imaginary Editor): you know that was 77 years ago and beavers only live about 15 years, right?

Shut up! You’re ruining my happy ending!

Thank you for reading Schrodinger’s Chicken

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