In 1948, Idaho officials used World War II parachutes to drop 76 beavers into the wilderness in one of America’s strangest conservation experiments

At the time, Idaho was struggling with growing beaver populations in populated areas. The animals were damaging irrigation systems and plantings, even though their dams could be enormously beneficial to ecosystems. Wildlife officials wanted to move the beavers to remote parts of the state where their engineering skills could actually help the landscape.

The problem was getting them there.

One particularly difficult destination was the roadless Chamberlain Basin in central Idaho. Traditionally, relocated beavers were transported by horse or mule through rugged terrain. The trips could take days, were expensive and stressful, and sometimes proved fatal for the animals.


Elmo W. Heter of the Idaho Department of Fish and Game decided there had to be a better way.

His solution involved surplus military parachutes left over from World War II.

Heter and his team designed special wooden crates that could be dropped from an aircraft. Each crate was fitted with a 7.3-meter rayon parachute and ventilation holes. The boxes were designed so that, once they landed, the impact and collapsing parachute would cause them to open, allowing the beavers to crawl out on their own.

Before risking the lives of actual animals, the team tested the system repeatedly with dummy weights.

Then came the unusual part: live testing.

An older male beaver nicknamed Geronimo was repeatedly dropped onto a flying field and retrieved after each test. According to Heter's account, Geronimo eventually became so accustomed to the routine that he stopped resisting and would climb back into his crate when approached.

He would ultimately become part of the real mission.

On August 14, 1948, Geronimo and three female beavers were among the animals loaded aboard a twin-engine Beechcraft aircraft for the first official drop into the Chamberlain Basin. Over the course of the project, 76 beavers were parachuted into the remote wilderness.

Remarkably, 75 survived the descent.

The only fatality occurred after a crate's securing lashing broke during the flight, allowing one agitated beaver to partially escape and fall from the aircraft.

But the experiment wasn't judged by survival alone.

Follow-up observations about a year later found that the relocated beavers had established colonies, built dams and constructed lodges. Their dams slowed water, created wetlands and altered the habitat in ways that could benefit fish, birds and other wildlife.

What initially sounds like one of the strangest stunts in American conservation history was actually a practical response to a difficult logistical problem.

Instead of spending days hauling beavers through rugged wilderness by mule, Idaho wildlife officials had found a way to move them into remote habitat in minutes.

And Geronimo? The veteran of repeated test drops reportedly settled into his new home and lived out his days in the Chamberlain Basin.

For a brief moment in 1948, Idaho's conservation program had perhaps the world's strangest airlift: beavers falling from the sky by parachute.