Episode One

Mist was still lifting off Pine Lake. Walt the beaver was already at the east dock. Ellis the squirrel came down the path carrying the ranger log, and by the time he reached the dock Walt had already set the gloves out on the bench, palms down. Walt ran WATCHFUL’s stern rope through one paw. “Dry.” Ellis looked across the lake. “No rain overnight.” Walt nodded toward the waterline mark on the dock post. “Down some.” “I’ll note it.”

While Ellis opened the log, Walt nudged a loose dock board back into place with one foot, without looking down. Last Tuesday Ellis had written: Water level receding slowly. He drew one neat line through slowly. Receding was enough. A heron stood in the shallows near the boat launch, working the mud with slow, careful steps. Near the dock, the first cattails had begun to open. “Those weren’t open Friday,” Ellis said. He paused half a beat, then didn’t write it down.

Walt looked at the cattails for a moment, then pulled the starter cord. WATCHFUL’s motor caught on the second pull. It usually did. Walt rested one paw on WATCHFUL while the engine warmed. “Good.” Ellis closed the log and climbed aboard. The little patrol boat eased away from the dock. The lake was still. Only the wake moved behind them.

As they entered the east channel, new reeds brushed softly against the hull. “They’ve grown.” “A little.” Walt eased back the throttle, then shut the motor off. The lake went quiet. Ellis was already looking toward three reeds bent together near the surface. Something flashed once. “There.” Walt was already lifting the push‑pole before Ellis said it.

Fishing line tied three reeds together. One stem leaned lower than the others. Walt looked beneath the surface. “Sinker.” “No hook, then.” Ellis pulled on his work gloves. He worked the line free one loop at a time while Walt held WATCHFUL steady. Whenever the breeze moved the boat an inch, the push‑pole moved an inch too. Ellis never looked up.

The last loop slipped free. The bent reed rose slowly. Not straight, but higher than before. “It may recover,” Ellis said. Walt looked at the narrow mark around the stem. “Has a chance.” Ellis wrote in the ranger log for a moment, then closed the notebook. Neither of them spoke. There wasn’t much to add.

Walt lifted the push‑pole, and WATCHFUL drifted back into open water. Behind them, the three reeds no longer leaned together. Water moved between them again. Ellis coiled the fishing line into a neat circle and placed it in the collection tin beneath the forward seat.

By the time they reached the dock, the sun had climbed above the pines. Walt tied WATCHFUL to the second cleat and checked the stern rope one last time. The heron was gone. Ellis closed the log. “East reeds clear. One stem damaged. Monitor.” Walt pulled once on the rope. “Sound.” “They may be straighter by next Tuesday.” “We’ll check.”

Out in the east channel, the three reeds moved on their own again.