Trail Time – Stanley the Otter
I have a friend, Charlene, who is a remarkable woman, strong, beautiful and intelligent. She’s a big reader and has a great sense of humor. She’s lived on the Gunflint Trail for quite some time — and also in Alaska. I first met her at the Gunflint Trail Book Group, which meets monthly at Schaap Community Center. It’s unlike other book clubs Ive known in that everyone reads whatever they want. Then they come to book group and tell the rest of us about it. I don’t make the meetings all the time, but when I do, I leave with a long list of books and a glow in my heart for all the wonderful people I meet who love the Gunflint Trail like I do.
Charlene told me this story a few years back. She had captured all my attention at book group one day when she casually said, “I had nailed a frozen fish to a tree — you know, the way you do — to feed the pine martens in the winter.” You know, the way you do. Later she told me the whole story which I call
How to Nail a Fish to a Tree
or
Stanley the Otter
This is the story she told me:
One winter many years ago, we were sitting around the table with some good friends and neighbors. Earlier that day, I had nailed a frozen lake trout to a tree within viewing distance of our cabin — it probably was an old fish that had been in the freezer too long. I often did that in the winter to feed the pine martens.
We were sitting and visiting, and we saw an animal go up to the tree and grab that fish. “Well, that’s not a pine marten!” It was an otter. I’d never seen an otter come right up to the house like that. It’s really unusual. The otter came to the door and looked right in at us. One of my friends took some pictures through the window.
When the otter made his way up onto the deck, we could see teeth marks on his side. He had a cut in his side — like a chunk had been taken out of him by a Northern or something. He was injured. That’s why he came. The fish on the tree was easy food. I’m sure that’s why he came up to the house. He just never left. He stayed for about three months. We called him Stanley. Soon we realized that “he” was a “she.”
She would go under the deck and then pop out and come over to the window. The reason we named her Stanley was this fellow we knew in Alaska. Alaska Stanley was always whining about something, so we named the otter Whiny Stanley. That little gal cried all the time, “Whaah! Whaah! Whaah!” like that.
She made a hole under the deck in the snow. She never went down to the lake while she was with us. But I didn’t know anything about otters and I didn’t know what to do. She was hungry and injured and she had to eat. I fed her everything I had in the house and that I had in the freezer, even opening cans of sardines. She did not like the sardines. She needed freshwater fish; she was a freshwater otter. Then I got hold of some minnows and she liked the minnows because they were still alive. I also went to the commercial fishermen down on the dock in town and asked them if I could have their scraps. They were very reluctant to give them to me because they fed the otters there. He finally said okay and I got fish guts to feed to Stanley.
The otter owned our yard that winter. They say they can bite you, but I was never afraid of Stanley. When she first came to us, I called the zoo. The expert said that otters could be vicious, that they had sharp teeth, so I should make sure I didn’t get my hands in the way of the otter’s mouth. So I wore leather gloves when she stretched herself across my lap and I would always throw food or dump the food on the ground.
When I want back to Alaska, I left the door open to the sun porch so Stanley had free rein of that part of the house. There was a couch against one wall with games under it. Stanley would just go under there and look at the games. She would sit on my lap and I would feed her. I wish I had pet her without gloves on, because she was so sweet. There was no way she would have bitten me because I was like her mom. I didn’t know how old she was. She was full-sized, but I don’t think she was very old; maybe a year old?
That winter I watched her wound heal. As the winter went on, she was just very much at home here. She lived under the deck. My husband Jim had cut down a bunch of balsam boughs and Stanley dragged them under the deck. That made quite the fire hazard. She had a nest under there. She would come into the sun porch to eat. She was just very happy and never once was afraid, never once exhibited fear toward me.
If I would compare her to a dog or a cat, I would say she was more like a cat — not attached to me. She would roll herself in the snow to clean her fur.
The last time I saw Stanley was the day before the ice went out on Gunflint Lake. She just took off running across the ice to the far side. It was like she knew that was her last chance to get across to the other side without swimming.
I never saw her again. But I’ll always remember that winter with the otter.
— Marcia Roepke, telling stories from the Gunflint Trail
PS Keep fighting, Char! We’re all rooting for you!
