Lunch at the Lodge

I portage down the hill, to the east, to the big lake. As I near the water, glimpses of the lake through the trees turn the city filter on and the road becomes a trail.

It is mostly sunny and fairly calm. Just after I put in, I watch an eagle coming towards me from a mile out, across the lake. It is an immature bald eagle and it passes behind me, flying an unwavering straight line, going somewhere with a purpose. There are some buffleheads and goldeneyes along the shore. Once I round the point into Union Bay, I spot one of the eagles on a lamp post overlooking the east marsh. It seems that they are using different perches this winter than they did in the past. I have already cooked my breakfast off, so I stop up against #1 beaver lodge for lunch. It is a big lodge and one can paddle about 2/3 of the way around it. I head across the bay to #2 island to look for animal tracks in the mud, but don't find much. I find both eagles in the very tops of a pair of tall evergreens as I paddle to my take out at the east end of the Crossing Over Place.

A Most Fine Day

I paddle north from the west end of the Crossing Over Place. When I turn east I find 17 Canada geese, four widgeons and one female hooded merganser. As I paddle through the Crossing Under Place, I greet a man on shore pushing his red haired daughter in a stroller. I think how wonderful it was to see them here on such a fine day and a minute later, I wish I had said so. Five common mergansers wait at beginning of Union Bay. I head up the west shore and over and into the NE lagoon to retrieve a plaster animal track cast that I poured yesterday, but was too wet to be taken home then. I head back out and straight across the bay, directly into the calm, with the sun in my face. Ducks take wing behind me. An eagle is overflying the bay at 100 ft. It is not hunting, but everything in the bay seems to get up and fly to the other side. Just before the take out on the east end of the Crossing Over Place, I find two raccoons watching me. It is good to see them here on such a fine day, but I don't need to tell them so.

A Day for Poop

Calm flat water and two Canada geese await me on the big lake. Soft high overcast lets the winter Cascades show, the forests a blue gray beneath the snow line. I surprise nine goldeneyes and they fly off in front of me. They whistle when the fly, something like a bufflehead only much louder.

There are four mature bald eagles on the east shore of Union Bay. They are paired off and seem to be tolerant of each other. Maybe both the north and south nests are in use. They are, however, using different perches than last winter. They seem to be avoiding many of the previous favorites. Two prefer a boathouse peak, which is clear due to the amount of eagle poop running down the shingles. The ducks have been pressed up into the north end of the bay, probably by the eagles, and it takes a bit of paddling before I even see one. The widgeons are whistling, nonstop, as always. In the NE lagoon, I find a scat pile from a beaver. This is rare, they usually go in the water. It is obvious what it is since it looks just like thumb sized balls of chipboard, a high fiber diet. I find a good front paw print and make a plaster cast of it.

I take out at the east end of the crossing over place and walk home, content in my thoughts and filtering out the sounds of the city so that I only here the light rain tapping on the trees.

The Season of Winter Cattails

Starting in the south lagoon, the absence of ducks is remarkable. I'm about to turn the corner of the little island and head into the east channel of the burial island when a whistle takes my eye north just in time to catch the silhouette of an eagle as it lands on a perch. So, I change course toward the eagle, which is also the most likely reason for no ducks in the area. More whistling signals the arrival of the mate. They have both been hunting the south lagoon this morning.

The ducks are scattered out in mid bay and as I reach the railroad island I find the coots, a dense and dark crescent in the water leading out to the east. They have put 3/4 of a mile between themselves and the eagles.
I visit the NE lagoon, which is quiet today. It is gray, calm and sprinkling lightly. Not a good day for photography, so, I take a photo while exiting, just to prove to myself that anyone can get a good photo at this spot no matter what. This time, I head back into the east channel of the burial island, but detouring to explore some of the passages in the marsh that I haven't been able to get into while the lake level was down.

It is the onset of the season of winter cattails. They are just beginning to collapse and fall down, dried and with no spring left in them.

I spot a raccoon in the channel. We watch each other.

A Long Day

I portage north from my house and down to the west end of the "crossing over place", the south end of Portage Bay. Along the way, in the forested park that I have to pass through, I meet two gentlemen and we have a nice talk. This would not happen if I did not "walk" my canoe to the water. Two hooded mergansers are at the put in and a red wing blackbird trills steadily from the top of the tallest tree. It is gray and calm. And so, I paddle out and once I pass the beaver lodge, where the water deepens, I trade my rock paddle for my long bladed deep water one. It has a map of today's route painted on the blade.

I head west today. The thick overcast hides the sun and so, time doesn't pass except by the stroke of the paddle.
And, I just keep heading west, past Gasworks Park, where I see the snow covered Olympic Mountains in the distance. Past the boat yards and the fishing fleet, and to the locks. I wait 20 minutes before it is my turn. I have the entire lock to myself. Just one sixteen foot canoe dropping the 15 feet to the Salish Sea.

Now, the ducks become mostly goldeneyes. The male is the most handsome of any of the black and white ducks with a white cheek, throat and breast and a white bar design on the side. No man would be better dressed than to wear a tuxedo patterned after this duck.

I turn south when I reach the end of Salmon Bay, following the shore past West Point. Along the way I spot a small otter and beach the canoe to look for tracks. I find two sets of much larger otter tracks nearby, the parents no doubt, of the smaller one. Then onward around one more point and into Elliot Bay. I spot a harlequin duck, arguably the most spectacular of all ducks. I pull out as soon as I can for a mile long portage north through the low area known as Interbay. This takes me back to fresh water, not far from the locks. And I turn east towards home, finishing my trip in south Lake Union, which is still quite calm.

Into the Swamp

I start near the west end of the ancient portage, the "crossing over place". Houses and roads now prevent the crossing over, but the water is still here. Unsure of my direction, this little bay, at its north end gives me the option of west or east. West is more industrial, east is more natural. Today I turn east. West can be interesting, but east is the nurturing that I need today. It is calm and just a few bits of blue pass through the clouds. And, I start late so the morning chill is gone. The lake level seems to be up another inch or two, just high enough for me to paddle into the crack in Broken Island and fetch a car tire. Then, I head to #1 Island for the main event. With a piece of flat wood, I scoop 3 gallons of mud from the insides of a 44 inch army truck tire. That makes it just barely manageable, just this side of a hernia, and I slide it onto the gunwales of my canoe. I go hip deep in the bog when one of my legs plunges through the veggie mat while trying to get into the canoe. I dump the tire at the usual site, and head to the NE lagoon, because I damn well deserve it. The eagles are together, overflying the bay every once in awhile and although they don't seem to be actively hunting, they cause great commotion amongst the ducks when they pass over. It seems a busy day for the birds. Once in the NE lagoon, I just sit for a time. Few people, even in canoes, come in here. The water is only 6 inches deep, although there are feet of milkshake mud under that. Perhaps it is the slow death of legends, that idea that swamps are wastelands, and that mud is dirty. It takes time for habits and memories to fade. But there are beaver, heron and ducks here. I've seen eight stellars jays at one time and five kingfishers another. There's often a hawk in here and the eagle's nest is just a couple hundred yards to the NE. It's more than it might appear.

Christen the New Paddle

Today, I put a new paddle in the water. It's a beavertail that I've been working on rather casually over the last week or so.
Spruce, a soft wood paddle, a deep water paddle.
Immediately, it is good in the hand, and the submerged return of my Canadian J-stroke slices through the water as it should, with an audible zip.
One side of the blade has a painted map of the waters I paddle in most often.
The other side has an 120 year old map of those same waters.
It is a good paddle and maybe because it is of my own hand, it feels better than it is.
But, then again, maybe it is that good. In the NE lagoon, where Yesler Creek once was, the beaver has dragged away most of the alder tree that he has been cutting on for the last week. Canada geese are collecting in larger numbers now, with mating season just ahead. The coots are in a single big flock near the mouth of the lagoon and the lake level is up an inch or two. It is gray and fairly calm and begins to rain on and off. Eventually, it rains on only. I haul out the last truck tire from the north marsh, and find an even larger one half way to my dump site. I return for that one, digging it out of the mud and really, really struggling just to stand it upright. It is too heavy for me to load on my canoe, so I will return and float it out.