INTERVIEW BY ELLEN HEYN
Washington-based filmmaker Sarah Koenigsberg was getting tired of all the apocalyptic doom-and-gloom climate change stories floating around the media circuit when she happened upon an unlikely glimmer of hope: beavers. After filming these ecosystem engineers for her own feature-length documentary, “The Beaver Believers,” she helped the Trust produce a short film showcasing three success stories of how the return of beavers has transformed public lands across the West. Here, we talk to Sarah about beavers, activism, and catching the slippery critters on camera.
It’s exhausting to think about a life of environmental activism as a perpetually depressing uphill battle. That’s why the story of beaver was instantly appealing: everyone working with them seemed genuinely happy in their work! They’d be out in the field, hiking in the hot sun plotting GPS coordinates, or on their hands and knees counting willows—I mean, how boring is that?—yet they were all having a great time—laughing, loving being outside, and celebrating the amazing transformation beavers make across the landscape.
Beaver dams create ponds and wetlands that collect precipitation, letting it sink slowly into the ground instead of rushing straight out to the ocean. In the arid Southwest, this water storage is incredibly valuable, as it recharges the aquifer and holds water underground until it can slowly trickle back into our streams. Local wildlife, spawning fish, and migrating birds also thrive in the pockets of diverse habitat that beavers help build. The list goes on!
Our western landscapes evolved with beaver in them, but since we nearly exterminated them in the heyday of trapping, it’s never been in our collective consciousness that they’re supposed to be here. In some places, land managers are sharing the story of beaver with the public, hoping to foster appreciation for the benefits they provide. In other areas, land managers are live-trapping “nuisance” beavers—those that may be blocking culverts or felling ornamental trees on private land—and relocating them high up into the mountains on public land, to reestablish in our headwaters.
I am amazed we never dropped the camera in the water! At one point, I was actually chest deep, about to top my waders, holding the camera up above my head while trying to keep up with the fisheries biologist. Filming always involved a lot of hiking through swampy, slippery areas—a lot of balancing precariously on fallen logs and slurp-slurp-slurping through the muck. But it was fun, in a masochistic way.
I guess it’s kind of like a huge jigsaw puzzle, except there’s not one right way to put it together. I sit at a big table and lay out my content in front of me. I write quotes, concepts, and shots on index cards—I have to see it in physical space to make sense of it—and I start shuffling them around, looking for themes or things people say that connect together. The endless possibilities can be maddening, but it’s also one of the most fun things I do.
Our modern-day lives are so hyperscheduled and hyper-managed. We’re supposed to have everything perfectly planned out—chop, chop, chop! But when your task is to film a wild animal, you simply can’t control it, and I love that. It’s humbling—I get reminded (and forced) to slow down, to remember the bigger picture. And it’s just the best feeling when you’ve been trying to get a shot for days, and then finally, as if on cue, a beaver comes gliding out of its lodge and you’re lucky enough to capture the shot.
I’m in the final stages of post-production on my film “The Beaver Believers,” which is really exciting. I had something like 70 hours of footage shot over two years for this 50-minute film. You can learn more about that project and watch our trailer at www.thebeaverbelievers.com. We’ll begin entering it into film festivals this spring!
Communications & Outreach Associate Ellen Heyn hikes and writes for the Colorado Plateau Explorer.
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