Slow Dawn

Today's dawn comes slowly to the marsh. Heavy clouds will prevent the sun from showing, even at the horizon where there often is an orange glow for at least a few minutes.


I spot a heron against the cattails, it's back turned to me, an unusual stance and perhaps one brought about by the safety of early morning darkness. I flush a snipe from the north end of the east marsh, a goose bobs it's head, a warning to me as I pass by it's mate. I note that even in the gray calm of this morning, the dead cattails still glow in warm tones, looking warmer than I would actually find them.

I head north, up the west islands, grabbing a big block of foam as I pass through broken island, passing the west lodge, and paddling up Ravenna Creek. It is only a very few days each year that I can make it up this creek. It is choked by wood with downed trees laying bank to bank. If the water is too high, I can't get under what I need to get under, and if it is too low, I can't get over or around what lays in the water. Even here, because it is a bit of a ditch, there are things to see. I pass a flicker nest, some ducks, and all along the creek are beaver trails and gnawings.

False Pixie Cup - from the east marsh beaver forest

Morning has arrived bringing a south wind with it. I head back south and not yet ready to end, I go east to Potlatch Point, just to see if I can make it down the big lake. The tall waving poplars hint that it might not go, but I make the trip anyway, just to see if there is a wind shadow for me to paddle in. But, the big lake is whitecaps, and I can't use the wind shadow, I can't paddle 10 ft from shore or wade the bank like I could in a remote lake. Not here where a long dock is required to keep pace with the Jones'.