Season of the Spirit Birds

It is calm and the water is near glassy smooth with a blue sky overhead, the sun burning through a barely visible haze of high up ice crystals.

The yachtsmen have parked their party barges for the long winter sleep, and the river has returned to something that was originally intended. Nothing would be more gauche for the  CEO, COO, CFO or some other C than to entertain their network on a boat when you needed to wear a jacket. It would brand that yachtperson as, "not one of team" to put the network through such horrors.

I put in where Ely's Ferry once was. About two miles up is where the Brockway Ferry once was, and about two miles down is where the Old Saybrook - Lye Ferry once was.  About two miles above Brockway is where the Chester - Haddam Ferry still is, and about two miles above that is the spectacular antique Haddam swing bridge.

The old Brockway Ferry Landing

I paddle up the east shore. There is an Eagle perched in the top of a tree on Brockway Island, but it is too far off to see if it is mature or juvenile. In the quiet, I hear Canada Geese. They are difficult to see being on the far side of the river. Sounds of all sort are traveling unimpeded in the calm.

Winter is the season of spirit birds. They are more visible with the leaves down and with the strong contrast caused by the low sun. A quarter mile ahead is a Great Blue Heron, or a Pileated Woodpecker, or a Hawk, perched in a tree. I paddle closer, glancing up to not loose it among the other trees. And then it is gone, not by wing, but just gone, transformed into a bent shaggy branch. 

The Selden Channel

I paddle up the Selden Channel. With the marsh plants still standing, it is quite beautiful. I spot a Sharpshin Hawk. Then, I see an Eastern Bluebird, which was very much unexpected. It is such a contrast to the earth tones of a winter marsh, but then I realize that in nature, bright blue and bright red and orange and pinks and most any color one can think of, are earth tones.

Sharpshin Hawk

I round the island and although the river side is less scenic, at least it is a different "scenic".  The Haddam Ferry is still at its landing although I don't know if it is still in operation. I pass four Swans. A minute later, I here the flapping of eight swan feet on the water's surface. Unexpectedly, they pass me and continue down river. I watch them until they disappear around a bend.  It will take me more than 20 minutes of paddling to get that far.

Otter

Just above the entrance to Hamburg Cove, I spot a swimmer some 50 or 60 yards ahead. By movement, it's definitely not a beaver, and in a second or two, I rule out a muskrat. Its curiosity brings it closer - its an otter. It gives me the once over, eyeballing me from behind a boulder in the river, then diving and coming up behind me. Then, both of us satisfied, we go our separate ways.

Before the Rain

I put in just before low tide on the Connecticut River at Ely's Ferry. It is starting to cloud over and the weather service predicts rain to start in 3 hours.  A little rain won't be much of a problem as the temperature will be in the low 50's, and the winds will be light.  

I turn upstream and follow the forested shoreline, just far enough out that I have depth for my paddle. A hundred yards into it, a male Wood Duck flushes from the top edge of the bedrock apron that forms the river bank. Then, a few hundred yards ahead, I spot an Eagle taking off with something in its talons. It lands on a root ball, and then I notice a second Eagle, and then a third. A few more canoe lengths, and there is a fourth. They might all be immature Bald Eagles, but as I get closer I begin to doubt my judgement. The whistling is chirpier and raspier than I expect. We do get Golden Eagles migrating through, but I've only seen one, so my ability to identify a Golden Eagle is pretty weak. Unfortunately, once again, I forgot my binoculars. I get one okay photo and a bunch of blurry ones.  If anyone is going to bet money on the ID, I'd recommend that you go with immature Bald Eagles, just because it is far more likely.

I round the point and head up into Hamburg Cove. In a normal winter, the cove will freeze over, and that is one of the reasons to come here as it might be the last visit for the season. All the yachts are gone, and with no one to be seen, it is just myself and several small flocks of Ducks and Canada Geese. The Ducks are flushing from long distance, so aside from the obvious Common Mergansers, some of them I cannot ID.

I get up to the bottom of Eight Mile River, but without some tide, getting any further would be a portage. With a high tide, one can get about a 1/2 mile up before the river becomes more of a hike than a canoe trip. There is some freshwater ice in the nooks and corners where it stays shady and the wind doesn't reach. 

On the way back out I watch some of the Ducks in the small side cove near the entrance. Again, it is mostly Common Mergansers, but I spot three Hooded Mergansers in the mix, and a Hawk perched nearby in a tree. I let them have the cove and continue back.

I head down the river as far as Nott's Island, spotting two mature Bald Eagles along the way. I turn at the top of the island, and right on time, it begins to sprinkle.

Mystery Log

Last night, we got our first dusting of snow, just enough and dry enough that a broom cleared the walkway. If I needed an excuse to go canoeing, and I don't, the first snowfall would work.

I put in at the highway bridge.  It is about freezing with a light wind coming up the river, and a mostly sunny sky. But, the weather is going to shift this afternoon as a front comes through. Gusts and clouds are predicted, with another dusting of snow overnight.

The tide has been coming in for about 2 hours, so I follow the east shore closely and take advantage of the eddies as I make my way downriver against the current.

With the low water, the spartina is standing tall and golden, and reaching above my head. I explore a few openings that I don't remember entering. There is some tidal ice still on the banks in areas where there is no wind or current.  The plan is set and I end up wandering and weaving through the marsh in a generally downriver direction until reaching Milford Point. Then I turn and wander back with a lean to the west, eventually forcing my way out into Nell's Channel. The main opening to the interior of Nell's Island is right in front of me, so I go there. 

I make my way down the center of the island, which is pretty obvious if one has been here a few times. Then, unlike my last trip in here, I begin making wrong turns. Meanwhile, it has clouded over and the wind has come up. The day is turning raw. I start heading back out, needing to at least find a place that I recognize. I find the mid-island exit, which leads west into the main river channel. But, there is a mystery log blocking it. Mystery logs show up near Duck hunting season (this is my second one). I suspect that the mystery logs are the work of a Duck hunter of the fuckturd persuasion who is trying to keep other hunters from crowding the space that he thinks is his. This mystery log is clearly a man made operation as there is a well trodden path around the end of it. This pisses me off as I have to backtrack for about 20 minutes against the current and the wind to get off the island.  There are always unintended consequences when one messes with nature.

I get back to Nell's Channel and head upriver with the current and wind at my back. A quarter mile up, there is a well behaved flock of Black Ducks and Mallards dead-nuts center in the channel. It's as if they are decoys, which they are.  It is a main channel and kind of a goofy place to hunt. I paddle through and I am pretty sure that the hunter didn't notice me.

Sometimes is Good Enough

I set out on slack high tide water. It is about 40F, almost calm, and the sky is clear. The spartina in the marsh has gone golden, and still stands tall. It is beautiful. I spot three Common Loons in the river just below the draw bridge. Common Loons winter in this area and are often seen near the mouths of rivers.

I head into the Nell's Island maze. The island is one of the older features of the marsh, existing before people began dredging and mucking about with the way things were. I've never seen anyone else in the island, with "in" being the correct word as one could only be "on" the island at a low tide. I have figured out four ways to get in or out of the island and still give myself a full hour to find my way out. Aside from a few patches of phragmites, which mark high ground, the island is all cord grass. There are several ponds and dozens of deadend channels and nothing that could really be called a landmark. 

This is my fourth time in the maze, and while I am still guessing at some of the turns, my guesses are somewhat educated, and I am surprised that I get from the top of the island to the bottom without making a wrong turn. I imagine someone asking me about using GPS, and the conversation goes, "Navigating with GPS is for people who don't know where they are and don't care." At this point, I've been outdoors enough that I care where I stand, and if I don't know exactly where I am, I will figure it out by looking at my surroundings. And, that is a bigger idea than the Nell's Island maze.

Norther Harrier

I flush two Great Blue Herons from the maze. I expected to see more birds, but this is hunting season. Two hunting boats heading out passed me as I headed into the marsh. It's only a square mile and surrounded by houses, so a coupe of shotgun blasts and everything has moved to the outer edges where there is no hunting. 

Cutting across the marsh, I see a few Black Ducks, just a couple or a few at a time. I spot a soaring bird and without anything to scale it, I manage to get a telephoto shot of it. The photo shows it to be a Harrier, its white butt patch and owl face clear enough.  I push through the grasses to get to the Central Phragmite Patch, and from there, I follow more open water out and back to where I came from.

A Chill in the Air

I put in at the Coginchaug site, mostly because it got me off of the highway sooner as all of the holiday travels seemed to be bound and determined to crash into each other, and a few of them have succeeded. My start from home was delayed due to a medium sized Hawk that was trying to flush a squirrel from an evergreen in our back yard. The cats found this especially entertaining, and I did not want to interfere.

The tide is coming in and with that and the recent heavy rain, the river is running at about a normal level. It is under 40F, mostly sunny and with a light cool wind. I came here because the weather prediction is for a gusty afternoon, and the Mattebasset is fairly protected from wind.

I head down the Cog- and turn up the Matt-.  I am immediately pleased that I decided to canoe today. It is a beautiful day with spectacular light. 
There is a Red Throated Loon in the open marsh. For me, this is a come Spring sighting as they take a break while heading south. This might be the first time that I've seen one in the Fall.

A report on the beaver colonies -
The Big Lodge is clearly abandoned and collapsing.
The bank burrow near the ruins of the Tepee Lodge is in use. 
Point Lodge is the star of the show. It is well maintained with lots of sign all around it. There are several trees partially cut, and a few more that have been felled.
Heading up from there, the last tree gnaw is about a 100 yards away. Then there is a gap of no sign for the next hundred yards, at which point there are numerous scent mounds - about 75 feet apart - maybe 8 or 10 total. The left bank, where the mounds are, is actually a berm between the river and a large open marsh. I suspect that there is a lodge back in that marsh, and these are the colony's territorial mounds.
The bank burrow at the next bend is in use with a few signs nearby.

I continue up another mile past the upper put-in, getting to the sandbar section. I turn back wanting some time to look up the Cognichaug. Spot 2 kayakers on the way down, and Outrigger Guy passes me while I make notes.

I get up to the powerlines on the Cognichaug, passing two new lodges, which although modest, look like they are in use. With that, I head back out.

Salt Hay and Mosquito Trenches

I set out on the East River from Foote Bridge. The sun is coming through a high haze of clouds, but it is definitely sunny. The temperature is about 40F and heading to 50F, and there is a moderate wind, supposedly out of the west. The tide has been falling for the last hour and a half and within the first mile, I will start to pick up the ebb current.  I flush six Mallards and six Black Ducks from Pocketknife Corner and fifteen migratory Canada Geese from the Gravel Flats. Just below the Flats, I spot a large bird flying up the river. It's a mature Bald Eagle and before it gets to me it turns away heading out over the East Woods.

Pocketknife Corner

The other day I went down a rabbit hole of aerial photographs of Connecticut, looking over the places that I have canoed to see how the land has been altered. The most interesting photos were the first series, black and whites from 1934. The photo of the East River Marsh was particularly catching. It shows that the marsh was trenched about a much as it could possibly be, sometime before 1934.

The East River to the left, Neck River at the bottom, with Bailey Creek
branching off between the two rivers.

I knew that the marsh had been trenched, but not to that extent. Curious about when this happened, I found a 1912 report from the Connecticut Agricultural Experiment Station on controlling the mosquito plague along the coast. Mosquitos were a big problem at that time and the majority of them hatched in the extensive salt marshes along the coast. (This is particularly interesting because I will paddle all summer long in the area without being bothered by mosquitos one bit). The East Marsh is a high salt marsh - it floods only a couple times each month, with the surface growth being mostly spartina patens - also know as, salt hay, a grass that stands about 8 inches tall. High salt marshes feature numerous shallow ponds, which provide habitat to crustaceans, food for birds, and nurseries for mosquitos. The trenches were, of course, for draining the surface of the marsh. The report also points out that by 1904, half of the states salt marshes had been drained for the purpose of farming spartina for packing, bedding and mulching material, at $7 to $12 per ton, in 1912 pricing. Draining the marsh increased the yield by removing the shallow ponds and by causing the ground to be firmer and easier to move machinery on.  In fact, the Neck River still has remains of corduroy road protruding from the bank, which enabled the farmers to get their hay to the river and loaded on boats. In the above photograph, the corduroy road is on the Neck River where it turns sharply up the image and goes a short way up Bailey Creek to where there is the ruins of a tide gate/bridge. The corduroy road is currently about 3 feet below the surface. In some places, the trenches cut through the corduroy road.  I haven't been able to find out when the trenches were dug, other than before 1934. It is likely that some trenches were originally dug for farming, and other for mosquito control. The mosquito trenches are deeper (24-30 inches) and longer lasting than the farming trenches. Some of the trenches in the photo are, at this time, easy to spot, while others have filled in enough to no longer be obvious.

In the Sneak

It takes an hour to get to the main salt marsh below the railroad bridge. There is still enough water to paddle the Sneak, which starts as a man-made trench and joins a natural tightly meandering channel, into Bailey Creek. But the water is still too high to spot the corduroy road. I follow the creek down to the Neck River, tehn over to the East River, and head back. The wind evens out the remaining ebb current that I have to paddle against.

 

Very Low Water

I set out from the bottom of Salmon Cove, which is one of my frequent trips. The plan is to check on the beaver lodges and the dam below the mouth of Dibble Creek.

Last night, the temperatures finally dipped to below freezing, but just barely. The only ice I will see today is in the bird bath in our back yard. It is sunny, about 40F by the time I get started, and there is a steady 10mph wind. That wind was supposed to be out of the west, but here it is coming straight down Salmon Cove - more of a north wind. 

New Lodge

150 yards out, I find a new beaver lodge. It has lots of fresh trimmed branches on the pile, and the extended entrance "hallway" that I've been seeing during the drought.   I add an unidentified medium sized Hawk and two mature Bald Eagles to that first 150 yards. The Eagles are perched on Haddam Neck with about a hundred yards between them. The second lodge on this side (river-left) looks abandoned. There are no fresh branches and the mound looks like it is collapsing in spots. Abandoned beaver lodges don't usually last too long.  After a year or so, if one didn't know it had been there, you wouldn't notice.

Bald Eagle pooping

At the top of the cove, I decide to do the side trip into the Moodus before heading upriver. But, I turn back while still in the mouth. Already I am in just 6 inches of water and I figure the tide has just about that much to drop before rising again. The idea of wallowing out of the Moodus some knee deep in mud does not appeal.

I cut across the top of the cove, picking up the deep channel and heading upstream. The low water from the drought and low tide makes this the lowest water level that I have ever seen on the Salmon, by a long shot.  I pull up at the mouth of Pine Brook. The shallows that are above the islands in this area are close to a foot out of the water. I know that I will come to a series of bars not too much farther on. It is time to call it a day and head out. This will be a high tide paddle until we get more rain.

Rock Pile on the outside of the bend

With the tide down, I am forced over to the far left side of the cove. The bottom of the shallow center of the cove is right at water level as far down as Dibble Creek. There, the deep channel swings over to the creek, but the mouth of the little bay where the creek enters is a foot above the water level. But, the low water has exposed a man-made rock pile. It is a fairly neat construction of cobbles and boulders, maybe a canoe length in diameter. I'd guess that it was built to hold a beacon. There is a similar structure just across the cove. I 'm not even able to check on the two huge lodges in Haddam Neck as I cannot get close enough to pick them out of the brush. Well, at least the Eagles are still here.