The First Swallow of Spring

A cold front has come through, but it only returns the weather to what it should be.

I put in at the west side of the 'crossing over place' and paddle east through the 'crossing under place', passing the only Native American marking of any sort in the bay. This once was a wealthy Duwamish village site and yet, the only notice of any history prior to 1855 is a totem pole from the Haida nation, which is several hundred miles north of here. I have a hard time reconciling that. I pass through Broken Island, a path that can only be taken in the high water of spring. Then I follow the east side of the West Islands, which are lit with strong sunlight coming through the gaps in the clouds. At #1 Island, I spot a lone otter once again and it makes itself scarce in a hurry. There is a good stiff SE wind and I work in chop and crosswind eastward. I spot one eagle near the last of the dirtbergs. It is the swirling of ducks and coots that signals its presence, as often is the case. I let the wind blow me into the NE lagoon where I pause in the calmness.

Then, it is time for me to go. The wind is rising enough to penetrate the brush and this means that I will have work to do to return. In mid bay, I spot the first swallow of the spring. It is alone and the only one I see today, but more will follow soon.

After grinding into the wind across the bay, I drag the canoe over 30 ft of marsh and sneak along in a beaver canal back into the east marsh