I find Salmon Cove already well bathed in sun and heat, which is, fortunately, moderated by a good fresh breeze that will, with a cent's worth of luck, push me back to my put-in on my return.
Two osprey sit close over their nest with the heads of two baby osprey peaking over the rim to see what the parents are looking at. A great blue heron overflies and a great egret wades along the far shore, moving very slowly hunting for prey.
Just as I round the first bend of the river proper, an immature bald eagle crosses and perches in a tree where it waits and sits patiently as I pass directly underneath.
It is more than anything, a day for listening, a day for sound to refill the soul. And, as my ears pick out the unseen wrens, blackbirds and others, my eyes begin to tune into the easily overlooked and my nose picks up a dozen distinct scents from the marsh and forested edges. A small white spot ahead of the canoe turns out to be a beautiful white and black dragon fly such as I have never seen before.
My sightglass rising from the danger level to normal, I begin my return, catching the tailwind as I had hoped. The tide is now low, but I am able to skim over the extemsive shallows of the cove. I could drift over in the wind if I had to.
This Year's First Skunk
6 hours ago