The popular Love Creek beaver dam holds fast in the face of urban expansion — for now

by Mike Gibson

It's nightfall on the north branch of Love Creek Road, a brittle three-quarter-mile stretch of abraded pavement that hugs the base of the Cyclopean bluff that buttresses East Town Mall. In the gathering dark, the tiny stream that is the road's namesake looks like some spook-ridden South Floridian swamp, matted black willows emerging like so many bedraggled wraiths from its enveloping murk.

Undaunted by the spectral ambiance or the dank mid-October chill, 10 Love Creek regulars stand stream-side, flashlights in hand, keeping what for some of them has become a nightly vigil. Their patience is finally rewarded around 7:15 p.m. when a low chomping noise is suddenly audible from the accumulation of barkless boughs and limbs lodged in the center at the creek's widest juncture—the rhythmic, nattering sound of oversized molars on wood.

"There goes one right there!" someone exclaims, hastily panning a flashlight beam along the far bank.

"It sure is—I think it's the mama," comes the response, as a second beam dances over the pond surface and crosses the first.

Moments later, the object of their attentions comes into plainer view— a fat, furry body cutting the water with surprising grace, the unmistakable spatula tail acting as its silent rudder. Heedless of the urban encroachment that has of late threatened their existence, the Love Creek beaver clan has emerged for another night's festivities, festivities which now include entertaining sundry spectators as well as building and maintaining the 15-foot-long dam that has turned a portion of the stream into a verdant breeding ground for the flora and fauna that comprise the creatures' designer ecosystem.

Since early '97, two separate incidents have cast a shadow of doubt on the beavers' continued presence. Last spring, after more than three years of building on the East Town site, the family narrowly avoided disaster when several local residents and nascent beaver enthusiasts lobbied to keep city work crews from destroying the dam, which was beginning to flood Love Creek Road.

Now the eight water-loving rodents face another uncertainty, in the wake of revelations that local property owner Phillip Robinson, son of newspaper columnist and former city councilman Theotis Robinson, has a development in mind for a nearby parcel. The younger Robinson owns about 20 densely-wooded acres adjacent to the mall several hundred feet above the dammed portion of the creek. Although his plans are admittedly sketchy, beaver boosters are concerned that any new construction be tailored to preserve the beavers' habitat (which sits mostly on mall property).

Helping hands for busy teeth

The story of the Love Creek beavers is also the story of the people who have taken up their cause—people like Jack Watkins, a tall, slim 70-ish East Knoxvillian who rises early every morning, trucks over to Love Creek, and prunes enough loose brush from the dam to keep the waters from seeping into the road; or Rod Struven, a middle-aged Mascot resident with tattooed forearms and a coarse, close-cropped salt-and-pepper beard, who helped engineer the encaged drainage system that locals hope will prevent future flooding.

And, of course, J.B. Harrison, the burly, gregarious East Knoxville welder who built the new drain—three 6-inch black corrugated drain pipes, bound with duct tape and protected on one end by wire mesh and a 4-foot-square galvanized metal cage. Harrison lets out a hardy bellow when asked about the elaborate contraption and explains that this is the second attempt at fashioning a run-off system. "They figured out how to plug the first one up."

Harrison became a zealous beaver advocate after visiting the dam with a friend last year. Enamored of its furry denizens, he called wildlife agencies, checked out library books, and even searched the Internet for every scrap of information he could find on beavers, their habits, and their habitat.

Chuckling, he recalls how the once-timid creatures slowly became inured to the humans who were gathering in ever-growing numbers to observe their nightly feeding and dam-building rituals—to the point that some of the younger animals seemingly play to the crowd (which reportedly numbers more than 50 on warm summer evenings), swimming back and forth directly in front of the spectators for minutes at a time, or polishing off a double tree-limb dinner with a showman's flair.

"What I like is that it don't cost nothing to see them," says Harrison. "A lot of people can't afford to go to the zoo, but they can pull their car up here and watch all kinds of wildlife in a natural setting."

Harrison and his family took the point last spring when the city threatened to remove the dam, a plan prompted by liability concerns stemming from the excess water welling up on Love Creek Road.

Harrison says the mayor's office refused to listen to his plea when he first presented a petition in support of the beavers, a petition signed by nearly 1,000 county residents. But when his daughter, Tina Jones, appeared at the mayor's office days later, petition in hand and a local TV news crew in tow, the city reassessed its position and agreed to leave the dam intact as long as Harrison and other Love Creek regulars that make up the self-appointed network of "beaver people" (Harrison's term) kept the water out of the street.

"There's a group of about 15 of us you can usually count on seeing out there almost every night," Harrison says. "I don't think any of us care to spend a little time and money to keep them in place."

Dam uncertainty

What Robinson's pending development means for the beavers is still an open question. Although most of his land sits well off from the dam, Love Creek Road is the only street that provides even partial access to the property; some observers speculate the narrow artery would have to be widened substantially to accommodate additional traffic flow.

Harrison and other wildlife advocates, including Knoxville architect Harold Duckett, have approached both Robinson and East Town Mall management about the beavers' fate. Duckett says mall representatives seemed to favor the notion of preserving the dam, especially given that the land it occupies is part of the run-off zone needed for the shopping center's parking lot. (Mall management did not return calls for comment.)

But both Duckett and Harrison say they were less than heartened by Robinson's response. "We're concerned that there could be a move to have the dam taken out of there," say Duckett.

Robinson, however, maintains that his plans for the mall side development are still in the formative stage and that he's amenable to keeping the beavers' habitat intact.

"The question is how can it [a development] take place in regard to the beavers," Robinson says. "I think it's important that people work together as we move toward a more concrete plan."

What works in favor of the beavers, muskrats, water snakes, and other aquatically-inclined wildlife that now call Love Creek home is that the area has been designated a jurisdictional wetland by the Army Corps of Engineers. According to environmental protection specialist Forrest McDaniel, the designation requires the relevant property owners to seek a special permit before making any significant alterations to Love Creek. McDaniel, who has visited the site, adds that no such permit has been sought, although he confirms that a local developer briefly discussed with him the possibility of expanding the road.

The "beaver people" have big dreams of their own for this urban microcosm of wetland wildlife; they envision a city-owned nature park, cut by a series of walking trails and sporting a large, permanent fish-pond adjacent to the beavers' thatchy architectural endeavor. "I think we've already seen the overwhelming public interest to justify the plan," says Duckett. "A park there could be an asset to everyone concerned."

Toward that end, the beaver aficionados are marshaling support, enlisting the aid of the Knox Land and Water Conservancy, a fledgling environmental organization that seeks to preserve areas of singular natural beauty. And while Duckett and other Love Creek regulars are exploring fundraising avenues in hopes of securing the region, conservancy board member and local attorney Will Skelton states unabashedly that a land donation from the mall or other property owners would be a welcome gesture.

"I think something can be worked out where everybody will win," Skelton says. "The beavers are using a small wetland area, and I don't see how they're really detracting from the ability to develop the rest of the land. If everyone plays their cards right, the beavers should be able to stay, the mall will have what it needs, and Robinson can develop his property. But right now, I'm not sure anyone has come up with a plan that will enable that."