Jungle Land It’d been a while since I crossed the lattice-work of an old beaver dam on of Mikinaak Creek . I was looking for a convenient, dry place to cross it so my two friends and I could get east of it on our way to the confluence of the Mikinaak and the South Fork of the Roseau River without getting wet. I called the adjoining landowner for permission to cross his property before we got there, should our mugs get captured on one of his trail cameras somewhere without it. The beaver dam, where beaver-chewed logs and sticks were deeply anchored in high banks of clay, sediment, and reed grass sod years-deep, was likely atop several other old dams built up and fallen down in that location for hundreds of years; and where muskrats, mink, mice and weasels ran and hid in a labyrinth of hidden tunnels veiled by greenish curtains of dried algae and yellow-white willow roots. I can say that with some credibility beca