Dam It

I head into the Great Swamp.  I avoid the area during summer when excess nutrients in the water turn it into a weed mat, but in spring and fall it is a spectacular spot to paddle.  Today, I start at Green Chimneys and head upriver against zero current.  It is a sunny day, cool to start but should rise to 80F.  There is no wind.

The water is low and I dodge and limbo several deadfalls right upstream from the start.  Some of these would be floated over with ease at normal water levels. In fact, many of them have been submerged for years and I have never seen them.  The first beaver dam, a new one, comes early at the bottom of the first pond.  The deadfalls and this first dam are great filters for the rental kayakers.  I know that I won't see any of them today. When the water level drops for whatever reason, beaver start building dams. At a deadfall, something large swims under the canoe.  The beavertail is pretty clear as it powers off submerged.

First dam

The dam adds a foot of water to the river and things look much more like I am used to.  The second dam comes just around the bend above the top of the second pond.  This is a new dam, the old one being about 75 yards downstream and submerged.  It is well built, as is the lodge of the colony that constructed it. the lodge shows signs of new material being added for the winter.

Second Dam

The third dam has been in place for several years.  Today, it is level with the water surface  I can power the canoe over without stepping out.

Number 3

I have to readjust my landmarks. The key points that I remember are tied to a 3 mph paddling speed and it takes me a moment to figure that I am managing about half that speed with all of the getting in and out of the canoe.  

The fourth dam is new.  It is made of a lot of large branches and looks substantial, although it is holding back not much more than a foot of water.

Number 4

The fifth dam is another old one, located at the broad marsh area below the forest.  I've been crossing this one for a few years.  Today, it holds back almost 2 feet of water.

The fifth

With that, I head into the forest section.  I've been flushing Wood Ducks since I started, usually in flocks of 10 to 15.  There are a lot more Woodies in the forest.  One year, I quit counting at 600.  I'm not near that, but I am sure that I spot something just short of 300.  The forest delivers as expected and I limbo a few deadfalls, lumberjack a few limbs with my saw, and step over four large deadfalls.  It is slow going and more tiring than one might think.  I flush a Red Tail Hawk.  It gives me some space, but the bird is clearly not too perturbed by my presence.

It takes about 2 hours to get to the huge blocking deadfall just below the highway 22 bridge.  I don't need to do the short portage as I am pretty sure what lies ahead.  Last time I was in here at low water I came down from Patterson at the other end and crossed 12 beaver dams to reach the bridge.   Time to head back out.

Just below the wide marsh section, I hear the grasses rustle, and a large beaver slips into the water. I waited to see if curiosity might bring it back to the surface, but we were close enough that it knew what I was on the first glance, and it swims off submerged to somewhere.

Another look at the second dam

 

 

 

Reconnect

My canoe ancestors, the voyageurs, the 18th and 19th century explorers of North America, the fur traders - their canoes were tools of the trade. They transported goods or the supplies necessary to extend a trip into what they did not know.  The necessity of a canoe for such things ended some 50 or 60 years ago, perhaps, as the fur trade more or less disappeared.  My canoe trips are minor explorations of things that can't be seen on maps and more importantly, explorations of what is inside me.  Sure, I come here to observe natural goings on, but the real value of the effort is that it always is an emotional trip.

I needed to wash away a recent art exhibition.  The art was created using AI as a tool.  Art is, of course, in the eye of the beholder, but I often tell younger artists that the viewers can sense when the artist is lying.  To say it another way, good art comes from the heart of the artist.  In the case of this exhibition, it was impossible to see where the art was AI and where the art was "artist".  It was uninteresting and flat from my perspective, no matter how cool the computational methods were.  

There is a link between that last paragraph and canoeing and outdoor activities.   I read a few online news pages about climbing and canoeing, just because every once in awhile something worth reading pops up.  This morning, it was some climbing accident data.  Aside from the usual stuff, there were several cases of people just plain getting lost.  The writer of the report recommended getting a navigation app.  Really?  If a person's goal is to have a connection to the natural - whether climbing, hiking or canoeing, how does an app on your f-ing smart phone lead you to that goal.  I have a GPS unit, it is 19 years old and sits in the back of my car most of the time.  I bought it to pinpoint locations when I was helping an archaeologist.  It's a pretty good use for GPS.  But, I found it a distraction when hiking or canoeing - focusing on the little gadget is a sure way to be lost when the gadget stops working.  One should be looking at and remembering landmarks and landscape views, and one should be carrying a compass.  A compass, a map and natural landmarks is the route to a connection with the earth.  Pay attention to what you are doing!

Harrier

I put in at the old stage ford.  The tide is dropping, the wind is moderate and out of the south.  It is sunny and in the 60's.   The cattails are bursting, not just a few but almost all of them.  Some years they stay solid well into winter, or longer.  I'm not sure why they are all bursting, but it feels like something hopeful to me.  I find a Harrier working the marsh below the Clapboard Hill bridge.  It's been several months since I've seen a Harrier.  They don't seem to be around when the Willets and Osprey are.

Short-billed Dowitcher

I spot a Short-billed Dowitcher near a few Yellow-Legs while in the middle of the Big Bends. 

In the main marsh below the railroad, I just barely made it through the Sneak, dragging bottom in the mud for about 75 yards.  It's a pain to walk out of that channel, and it was a relief to get past the high point.  

Corduroy road protruding from the bank

The corduroy road in Bailey Creek was right at the water level.  I hadn't been in here at a low enough tide to see that for some time.  A second Harrier is working this part of the marsh.  

I turn back up the East River, with the tidal current against me, but with the wind more than making up for it.  The Dowitcher is where I last saw it and it poses quite nicely for me.

The camera makes the river look bigger than it actually is

I don't have to wade until I am about a hundred yards from my start point.  I need more practice stumbling on submerged boulders.

The Freedom of the Migratory Geese

When I stepped outside this morning, I heard the distant honking of Canada Geese, and I scanned the tops of the surrounding trees trying to spot them. Seeing nothing, I waited for them to fly into view.  Then, I turned my head skyward and saw a lopsided V of thirty-some Geese somewhere between 500 and a 1000 feet overhead, the sun sparkling off of their feathers.  These are the Geese that have held onto their freedom, traveling thousands of miles each year in their migrations, travels that must be more interesting than the endless nibbling of parks and golf courses that their non-migratory cousins engage in.  The park Geese have developed shorter necks, and hunters tell me that they do not respond to decoys.  Giving up the migrations, the park Geese have lost some of their social abilities - they no longer join the feeding Ducks and Geese out in the marsh.  They might as well be staring at their smart phones.  I'll take the freedom of the migrating Canada Goose, thank you very much.

I put in at the Rocky Hill Ferry crossing and head down river.  There is a light wind out of the north, a coll wind on a day that will not top 65F.  The river is low and there is little current.   The sky is clear.

I follow the shady east shore for just short of an hour before crossing back.  I spot a small inlet that I have always passed on previous trips.  This time I enter. I weave around a few deadfalls before seeing to a three-footer that blocks for sure.  I hear running water and move up to the last downed tree, and find a 4-foot high beaver dam about ten feet farther in.  I stand up to get a better view and a better photograph.  A flock of migrating Canada Geese pass overhead.

The beaver dam is in the shade

I decide to explore on a later trip, and head back to the river.  When I get to my starting point, I continue up.  I find a couple of ripe patches of  wild rice on the west bank.  

Wild rice

I know it was ripe because I tested it with an easy rap of the paddle and a couple dozen grains landed in the canoe.  I continued a bit farther and then, feeling satisfied, crossed the river again and returned.

Wild rice grains

Hamburg Cove

I set out from the North Cove at Pettipaug (Essex)... yeah, I think the original name has a bunch more pizzazz than the current name.  The water is low and the tide is still dropping, but there is enough depth to get through the gap and out into the main river without having to divert through the marina.  The sky is a high hazy overcast with strips of light blue running across the sky from east to west.  There is little wind and the temperature is in the 70's.  

A Hawk is perched in the tree near the gap.  I'm not sure of the species, perhaps it is a juvenile without the more distinct markings of adult Hawks. It is docile enough that I get several photographs.

I head upriver and cross to the east side following the old Ely Ferry route.  It is the narrowest point in the river for a good distance in either direction, an obvious location for a ferry before the advent of steam power.  Today it might look a bit odd with the west end being a landing on a long marshy strip of land.

I head up the beautiful east shore, a steep forested hillside with small beaches and rock outcrops.  I pass fifteen Common Mergansers - probably one or two female adults and the rest being first years.  Then, I turn into Hamburg Cove.  It is a quiet day with little boat traffic, and none at all in the cove.  There are a good number of Great Blue Herons.  Whenever I flush one, I get a half dozen scolding croaks.  They never go far, crossing the narrow cove or circling around and resuming their original position.

Eight Mile River is running very shallow and I ascend only about 50 yards to the first gravel bar.  It would be mostly wading from that point on, and as the river is only reasonable for a third of a mile on a good day, it is a good place to turn back.

Nearing the gap into the North Cove, I spot another Hawk - or it may be the same one.  It is on the shore and seems to have something worth eating.  I circle it up to the north and around, just to get some more distance.  It seems to always surprise me, but the top of the cove is almost as far upriver as Hamburg Cove.

Low Tide through the Wheeler

I first went to the refuge launch, but found that my ideas about the rising tide were a bit too optimistic with twenty feet of exposed mud between firm ground and the water.  And, I know from past experience that the goo will be half knee height or better.  I divert to the state launch, a mile upriver but with a concrete ramp descending into the semi-briny. 

It is mostly cloudy and warm with a light wind from who knows where.  The tide coefficient is very low, so the difference between high and low tide is small, and the resulting tidal currents are also minimal. Low tide was almost 2 hours ago.

Reaching the marsh, it is clearly low tide and I head down Nell's Channel, which is always deep enough for a canoe.  I find a bottle protruding from the cut bank.  It is a one pint Lord Calvert bottle, 15 inches deep on river left, about 1/3 of the distance from the bend to the main lower entrance to the Nell's Island maze. At that depth, the bottle has probably been in place since around 1950.

I continue on to Milford Point, passing the point for a quarter mile or so towards the sound.  But, there are almost no birds of any interest, so I head back to the marsh.

Crossing over to the east shore, I spot a Clapper Rail, but it disappears into the spartina before I can get at my camera.  There is no point of trying to out wait a Rail, so I move on.  I flush an immature Yellow Crowned Night Heron, but again, no time for a photo.  I do pass several Snowy Egrets and one Swan.  Then, at the east shore, I find another immature Yellow Crowned Night Heron.  This one poses for me.  That is the big change since my last trips in here. It seems that most of the Night Herons have migrated out. I do not see any Osprey as well.  

I head back out and upriver. It has been a quite pleasant day. 

Old Friends

Lord Cove -
Some places that I paddle are like old friends. I listen to them, and perhaps they listen to me.  I take away a bit of the garbage they must deal with, and they take away some of the garbage that comes my way. There's no arguing.  We get along.

I put in at Pilgrim Landing. There are billowy clouds that don't seem to be long for the day.  It will be sunny and warm with a light wind of no consequence. Four people are just getting back from a morning of river trash collecting. Today, there is an organized effort of trash pick up.  I do it all the time on my own, and not being particular to being organized, I did not join in.  It is good to see.

I head up into the cove.  Cormorants are the most numerous bird as I head in.  In fact, there are few other birds to note.  As I get nearer to Cout's Hole, the Great Blue Herons start to add up.  I head up one of the dead ends towards the top of the cove, flushing more Great Blues and fewer Cormorants as I go, and the Great Blue Herons soon outnumber the Cormorants.  I come back and drift over to the old Eagle nest.  I did not see any activity this year in this large old nest. 

When I head over to the bridge - there is only one bridge in the entire cove - I start flushing Mallards, the first that I have seen today.  I figure it'll just be that first eight or ten, but then it's another dozen, and another fifteen, and some more, and some more.  Seems like fifty or so by the time I go under the bridge. I didn't count because I figured each flush was the last flush.

The cattails are browning out.  If one looks carefully, there are some green cattail spears, but almost all of them are in fall color. 

I spot an Osprey on the way out.  Getting a little late for Osprey, but there's always a couple that hang on until it gets cold.  Back to Goose Bay, there are a half dozen Osprey in the air.  I get to watch three good dives. I spot an Eagle chasing an Osprey, and then notice that there is a second Eagle - both are mature Baldies with white heads and tail feathers. 

I take the long way out, rounding the bay and exiting into the main river, crossing to Calf Island and returning to my start point.  I have had the cove to myself for a good three hours. 

Bantam - Dreaming Canoes

Last night, I had a canoe dream.  They don't come along often, so I feel blessed when they do.  
I had a friend in the canoe and we paddled the shoreline near my Grandma's lakeshore home over to Clay Cliff.  I don't think that Clay Cliff is an official geographic name, but anyone living in that are would know it as such. The cliff was about 50 feet high in 8 year-old measurements, but I suppose it was little more than half that in reality. It was not a rock cliff either, but a compacted wall of dirt.  There may have been some clay in it, or not.  It was part of a summer manor that had a small stylish mansion and a large caretaker's house. The caretaker's kids were friends with my cousins, so we had the run of the place if Mr. Moneybags was not around. When we got to the base of the cliff, I looked up to see a jagged hacked off limb of a tree.  It had been chopped at (cut is not the verb for such crude work) with no skill until, I imagine, the person with the ax finally yanked the limb free. I told my friend that this is where my cousins, a wild breed of the family for sure, had hung a rope swing. In fact, there was no room on Clay Cliff for a swing of any sort although you might dangle a rope down the face.  I followed a brick walkway at the base of the cliff (there was no such thing) until I could look around the corner.  The view there was as I remembered from decades ago with a large tented dock where the rich guy's boat was stored in the summer.  My friend wandered off in the meantime.  It was time to go and I pushed into a rush of waves that left a thick layer of foam on the water.  I waded by feel on a rocky bottom until the water was deep enough for the canoe, and I paddled out against the waves.

I put in at the lower end of Bantam Lake.  I've not paddled the lake except at the top where the Bantam River enters.  The water is green in an unhealthy manner - too many nutrients.  The lake does have a good amount of development although it is clean and neat - it does not remind me one bit of the trailer trash development of Lake Zoar.  It would be quite nice if two out of every three houses were removed and the forest was allowed to regrow.  I have no way of knowing, but I suspect that the green water stems from lawn fertilizer and perhaps old septic systems.  I cross over to the east shore and follow it up to the top of the lake. There are very few boats - a couple fishermen and a couple sight seers.

Beaver scent mounds

The upper lake is much nicer.  The houses are old lakeside cabins, for the most part, and there is more forest land.  The uppermost shoreline is the marsh of the Bantam River.   

I head up the river. The water becomes clear the instant I leave the lake.  The first beaver dam is comes soon, right where I remember it.  Maybe 15 inches, it is sturdy and recently maintained.  It smells of castoreum.  From this point on, there is frequent beaver sign - current lodges, old abandoned lodges, beaver drags, and scent mounds.  At one point, there are more than 10 scent mounds in sight on either side of the river, which is clearly a territorial boundary.  I suspect that there are several more lodges in the marsh that are out of view from the river.  I also decide that the lake was a nice start.  I like the idea of putting in some distance before getting to the good stuff (the river).

I run into a few kayakers being led by a grumpy woman when I get to the rough river put-in.  And then there is the woman in the kayak sitting sideways in the middle of the river who looks at me like a space alien when I suggest that she move forward so that I can get around her.  I paddle off wondering if I just insulted the Dowager Empress of Litchfield.  Fortunately, all of those people are going downstream.

I continue up to the pond.  This involves crossing five beaver dams, two of which are flooded, with the others requiring a step out onto the dam to get the canoe over.  There are several in-use lodges on this stretch.  

From the pond, I turn back, making my six beaver dam crossings to get back to the lake.  I zig-zag down the lake by making crossings between the three main points in the river.