Beating the Wind

It was windy yesterday, and while it went calm overnight, the afternoon is predicted to be quite windy again.  That is autumn weather in these parts, predictably unpredictable.  It is calm when I get up, and I decide to take advantage of the weather.

I put in at my usual East River start - the old ford at Bear House Hill Road, which is signed Foote Bridge Road, which makes some sense as the Foote family burial ground is spitting distance away. 

The sky is overcast with a lumpy grey stratus. It is still in the low 40's and off in the far distance is a bit of sun glow pushing through. This sky always reminds me of my first hunting trips with my Dad, back when I carried a toy gun.  The only thing out of place is that the weather then was always about 10 degrees colder than today.  It is a comfort sky, a sky of good omen.  I spot a pair of large Hawks perched together in a tree near the Gravel Flats.  They are in silhouette with the sky, so it is impossible for me to identify the species.

As I near the Smallpox Burial ground, an immature Bald Eagle flushes heading downriver but then circling back and passing me.  

I explore one of the side channels in the upper marsh, and although I know that I have made it through before, I have to return the way I came after hitting two dead ends.

The Long Cut at Very High Tide

 

In the lower marsh, I head into the Left of the Sneak channel, just because the tide is high enough.  The tide will peak at 6.6 ft in about a half hour.  That level is about 3 inches short of the highest recorded. I head east into the Long Cut.  The wind starts to move as I get halfway through the narrow short cut. It steadily rises over the next fifteen minutes before it steadies at something short of 10 mph.  

I paddle a doodle rather than heading down to the bottom of the river - Long Cut to Bailey Creek, Then over the flooded high marsh to a farther down point on Bailey Creek, through an ole mosquito trench into the East River, back through a second mosquito trench into the Sneak, and up the Sneak back to the East River. 

Nearing the Old Ford

By the time I get up to the freshwater marsh, the trees are starting to blow, although it is of little bother down on the river.  My timing has been good. 

November Shows Up

It has been very windy and rainy for a few days, a spin-off from a powerful hurricane a long way south of here.  Today arrives sunny with a moderate wind.  I put in on the far side of town for a trip into the Wheeler Marsh.  The tide is an hour and a half past high, so I get an easy downriver ride to the good stuff.

It might be a bit late in tidal terms to make a run through the Nell's Island maze.  I probably could make it through most of the channels, but if I get misplaced, the narrower escape channels will already be closed off.  So, I run my simple clockwise circuit.

Ruddy Duck

I head down the channel that leads to the central phragmites patch.  I flush 15 or 20 Black Ducks and Mallards, and then a flock of fifty migratory Canada Geese.  This confirms that it is not hunting season, as those birds stick to the outer parts of the marsh where hunting is not allowed. As I make my way through the marsh over to Nell's channel, I flush a few more Ducks.  Near Nell's, I flush a juvenile Night Heron, and then spot a half dozen Brandts, then a Ruddy Duck in winter colors.  I don't see a lot of Ruddys and usually assume that the small low floating Duck is a Grebe until I can zoom in with a photo.

Brandt

I head out paddling up Nell's.  There are following waves in the river, a result of tide and wind opposing.   

Gun Nuts

Occasionally, I have met up with other canoe enthusiasts.  It doesn't happen very often, and perhaps I don't get invited back.  I noticed on my own that I don't quite fit in.  While we share interests, we seem to be looking for something different, the shared experiences seem to be digested for some different goal.  Usually, the others want to talk about their canoe collections or futz with paddles.  Sometimes though, someone leads off to explore some odd nook, and I do enjoy watching another canoeist when they are "on the path."  

For myself, canoeing is a spiritual practice.  I did not plan it that way, and I had no inkling that it might become such - it simply happened.  It has led me to lengthy thoughts on spirituality, and it is my belief that true spirituality is so unique to each individual that it is difficult to discuss, because it is so unique that another person cannot fully understand a person's spiritual beliefs (this is what happens when someone else tries to describe their "path" to me).  The best that can happen is to listen and accept.  Such a path is, most likely, a rejection of formal religion, at least it was in my case.  I see most religion as indoctrination (the church that I grew up in being a prime example). Buddhism is the one outlier in religion, and it is the most philosophical of the major religions.

So, today I checked out of a canoe chat group that I've been in for a few years. There were definitely some experts in the group and tips on repairing canoes or places to visit were useful.  But, there were a handful of nitpickers that had to be ignored all too often.  And all too often the threads would get hijacked so that one of the goofballs could talk about his guns.   Gun discussions with respect to canoeing are only be relevant if one is planning to canoe in the far north where one might encounter grizzlies or polar bears.  It's just dumb to be packing a gun for canoeing in the lower 48 or the lower half of Canada.

I put in at O'Sullivan's Island under sunny skies.  The temperature was in the 50's and the tide was still rising.  There was a light north wind. The first bird that I saw was an immature Bald Eagle.  It took a perch on the far side of the river.  In a few more yards of paddling, I was alerted to another by the chirpy whistle of an overhead Eagle.  A mature Bald Eagle too wing from above and headed down river.  It made 4 or 5 short flights in this manner before letting me pass.  I circled Crescent Island, which is a bit over 3 miles downstream, and returned.   I paddled the windier left bank on the return because it was brightly lit with red and orange maple tree leaves and red-brown sycamore foliage.

Black Ducks Along the Long Cut

We set out from the old ford.  The tide is high and still rising, so there is an upstream current to paddle against as we head down.  The sky is partly cloudy with dark bottomed cumulus.  S asks what the clouds mean to me, and I tell her that it will not rain, the clouds are just heavy with moisture.  The temperature is about 60F and with a light wind, it is cool in the shade and warm in the sun.

The scenery is particularly good at this time of year.  The leaves are just starting to change. Most of the trees still have a green tint with a few others already changed to a red or yellow.  The low sun casts sharp shadows while brilliantly shining the highlights.

Below the railroad bridge, we head into the Sneak, following it through to Bailey Creek.  I tell S that Black Ducks often collect up in this corner of the marsh.  We turn off the Creek and into a route that I call the Long Cut. We paddle quietly and sure enough, start flushing Black Ducks from the shallow pannes that form in this high salt marsh.  We make the hidden turn, and paddle a tight 100 yards to open water, spotting a total of about 60 Black Ducks as we go.  And, all of the Ducks we flushed were Blacks.  

With that, we head back to the Sneak and back upriver. 

Coginchaug Look See

I returned to the Mattebasset in order to finish my quick survey of beaver activity.  There is a light SW wind, maybe 8-10 mph at most, it is sunny with a scattering of cumulus clouds, and the tide is coming in, the water about a foot higher than on my trip last week.  In fact, the clouds are quite beautiful, almost cartoon clouds that were they in a painting, everyone would assume a good deal of artistic license.

I head down river right away.  Last time, I went upstream as far as I could and ran short of time to visit the Coginchaug, which is the intention for today.  

I find no new beaver sign other than the Tepee 3 colony is continuing to add mud to their new lodge.  

Tepee 3 Lodge

Heading up the Coginchaug, I find a couple of scent mounds that aren't new, but they aren't old either.  I don't read them as territorial markers but, perhaps, calling cards of a traveling beaver.  The river framed in autumn colors is beautiful today.  I find a couple peel sticks (beaver peel and eat the bark off of sticks) in the first log jam, which is near the powerline right of way.  But, peel sticks can travel a good distance on the current, and without any other sign, it just shows that there are beaver somewhere upstream.  At the second logjam, which solidly spans the river, I turn back and head out.

Resolution

I've been out of the canoe for a few days with either the weather too windy, or in the case of the last two days, prepping for the dreaded every few years butt-o-scope.  Morning rain gives way to a sky that is clear except for a few distant and racing cumulus clouds. Of course, with the racing clouds comes some wind. 

I put in at the old stage ford that is some 4-1/2 miles from the sea.  It is an hour and a half before high tide and there is more than enough water to clear the boulders that lay on the bottom of the first 300 yards.  In fact, the depth at this tide is enough that I don't have to worry about striking a rock with the canoe paddle. The wind at this point is more pleasant than bothersome with the nearby trees buffering the strength or swirling the wind so that it comes from unexpected directions in minor gusts.

I flush 2 Hawks and 2 Great Blue Herons while still above the Clapboard Hill bridge.  Just below the bridge, while I am focusing on controlling the canoe in a prolonged gust, a mature Bald Eagle takes flight from an overhead tree branch.  I did not notice the Eagle until it was airborne.  It skirts the left edge of the marsh down to the lower corner, about a 1/2 mile away.  Then, it begins to circle, climbing without flapping its wings.  It has found a thermal, and as it climbs it moves away, the thermal not being vertical, but leaning with the wind.  I watch, wondering what its flight plan might be - perhaps to use the altitude to glide down onto unsuspecting prey, or maybe to take a long, easy downwind flight to the Hammonasset.  After a minute it blinks out, my human eyes no longer able to resolve the distant bird.  But, I know that if it was interested in me, its bird eyes would still be able to see me.

Below the railroad bridge the wind is relentless.  With the tide high, there is no hiding from the wind, and the marsh, being a mile across and open to the sea is a tough paddle.  I get through the Sneak and into Bailey Creek, but the normal 20 minute trip down to the confluence with the East River is going to take at least an hour today.  So, I cut this part of the trip short and take an old mosquito trench over to the river and head back. (Later I checked and the wind was 25mph gusting to 32)

At the Post Road bridge, I talk with a woman.  She asks if I have seen any oyster boats today.  I haven't, adding that I am only familiar with the large oyster boat that is in there from time to time.  Anyway, the big boat is hers and she is looking for poachers who are illegally working her allotment.  

I continue past my start point, knowing that the water is high enough to push up into the jungle section of the river.  I get a couple hundred yards past the next bridge (Sullivan Drive) before running up against a big logjam and water that is too shallow for a canoe. Then, it is time to head out. 

Housatonic 2

I set out for a short trip, starting from the Eagle Scout put-in on Housatonic-2, the second reach of the river from Long Island Sound.  I've added a number to each of the sections, counting from the sea as I live near the coast.  Housatonic 1, 2 and 4 make for good paddling.  Housatonic-3 aka Lake Zoar, is somewhat gross, often being a soup of toxic algae surrounded by all too many shoreline houses that look from the water to have all the design sense of a low grade trailer park.

It is a beautiful, but windy day.  The north wind is somewhere around 15 mph, and paddling out in any of the open marshes that I frequent would be a good amount of work. This section of the river is down in a forested valley. The put-in is on a tiny, almost dry creek about 50 yards from the river.  While it is windy when I first emerge from the creek, I hug the shore where the wind is much reduced by the nearby trees.

The water is a little lower than average, but not by much. The current over the shelf, a shallows that runs across the river about halfway up, is easy to beat.  In high water, the shelf current can be powerful enough to stop further progress. 

As I am watching the boulders in the river, as I am supposed to, a mature Bald Eagle drops off of an overhead perch and moves up river a short spell. It makes a small flock of Common Mergansers a bit nervous, but soon enough, they go back to fishing in the fast current. 

I get up to the little rapids about a quarter mile below the dam.  I have been able to eddy hop my way up past this rapid many times, but it depends on the river level.  Too high and, if I can get past the shelf, this will be a long series of canoe swamping standing waves.  Too low and the only deep channels run too fast to beat.  I have not gotten past the rapids since last year's flash flood, which deposited a large bar of gravel and boulders from a dry ravine that I never really noticed, until the flood.  In fact, it blew out the bridge that spanned the dry ravine.  My guess is that the new deposits altered just enough of the rapids so that I can't find a way up through it.  I give it a go, and then turn back about halfway up.

I flush a couple of Great Blue Herons on my way out.