A pre-dawn naturewalk felt like the best way to start the Christmas parade day. There was just enough light to see the trail, and my phone was ready to serve as a flashlight.
The ground crunched under our boots as we headed for the path that ran along Whispering Creek. The old barn loomed across the yard, red paint barely clinging in streaks. I could already imagine the twins making it their own, string lights and all. For now, we stuck to the trail, cold air making our cheeks sting.
"Are we going down to the creek, or just around the yard?" Mere called ahead, already trying to outpace me.
"Creek," I said. "Might as well get the lay of theland. We've got all day." Or at least, we had until the parade.
Huey, in his hideous and hilarious reindeer sweater, sniffed every inch of mud, fluffy tail swaying. There were animal prints everywhere. Deer, raccoon, and something big enough to be a neighbor's dog. Or a coyote. They were pretty common around here.
Fifi dragged her feet at first, hands shoved deep into her hoodie pocket, head ducked. Even with her hair pulled back, she looked sleep-deprived, but I pretended not to notice. If I pressed too hard, she'd vanish into her shell for hours. Or worse, just lock herself in her room.
"Did you remember the hand warmers?" she asked in a bored-teenager sort of way.
"Right here," I said, waving a pack. "And emergency granola bars, if you're about to faint."
She snorted, but shuffled closer. Small wins.
The path hugged the creek, winding between stands of pine, poplar, and walnut trees that had already lost all their nuts. They were all over the ground, staining it black in places where the squirrels hadn't eaten them. I loved tracing the roots, the way they tangled down into the water like holding hands. The current was high. Last night's rain pushed the surface fast and loud. Where the bank dipped away, thewater spread out wide, then pulled tight again into deeper pools.
"You think there's anything alive in there?" Mere asked, peering through the bare branches.
"Hundreds of things," I said. "Thousands. You just don't see them unless you look really close. Hellbenders, crayfish, water beetles. Probably more microscopic things that you don't even want to know about."
"Are hellbenders rare?" Hold the presses. Mere was showing an interest in my work. I tried not to breathe too hard.
"Getting rarer," I answered. "That's why I'm so obsessed with the survey project. If we start finding healthy ones out here, it's a big deal. Some people work their whole careers and never spot a live one in the wild."
That got Fifi's attention. She slowed down, eyes fixed on the water now instead of her phone. "When do they come?"
I nodded. "Mostly at night. Sometimes, just after sunrise or right before sunset. If the water's clear, and we're quiet enough, we might get lucky."
The bank narrowed where a fallen tree made a little bridge across the shallow edge.
We tramped through the brittle grass, each stepsinking a little. Even in December, the woods held on to scraps of color. Red leaves stuck to the rocks, bright green moss hugging the base of trees. A woodpecker knocked somewhere in the distance. It felt private, like nobody in the world could find us here.
Then Huey stopped.
He froze mid-step, nose pointed into the wind. The hackles on his neck pinched up, and he went into statue mode. Every part of him said,Something's here.
Mere whispered, "Does he see a bear?"
"Nah," I said. "He's smart enough to run away from a bear. Probably smaller wildlife. Mr. Dramatic." Actually, knowing him, he'd probably run straighttowarda bear. Huey believed himself to be amuchlarger specimen of a dog.
But even I could tell this was different from the usual chipmunk sighting. I stilled the girls with a hand signal and crept to the water's edge.
At first, nothing. A swirl of current with muddy stones on the bottom. Then, in the shadow under an overhanging rock, something shifted. A smooth, grayish-brown shape, maybe two feet long, uncoiled from the silt. It moved with almost no effort, just a slow, side-to-side glide, barely disturbing the water.
"Holy crap," I whispered, barely breathing. "That's it. That's a hellbender."
The girls edged closer, boots sliding on the slick grass. Even Huey seemed to hold his breath, ears flat.
At first, the salamander ignored us. It drifted downstream, then hugged the gravel, little legs working underneath like tiny paddles. It was huge, compared to anything they'd show in a classroom. Almost prehistoric, with that flat head and ruffly skin flaps along its belly.
And the eyes. Jet-black, beady but sharp. The animal rolled in the current, then turned and looked straight at us. It didn't even flinch. Just hung there, maybe curious, maybe judging us for the early-morning intrusion.
"I thought they were supposed to be ugly," Fifi whispered. "He's kind of cute."
"Right?" I grinned. "People used to call them snot otters, but I think that's unfair. They're just different. They've been here millions of years."
