Thunder

We had a thunderstorm last night. I listened to it in that hazy twilight of sleep - where you can hear things, but you cannot be bothered with opening your eyes. When I was a kid, mom told us that it was elves bowling in the sky. But, where I grew up in the upper midwest, thunder comes quick and loud - more often an attention getting KA - BANG. Even then, I didn't think it sounded like bowling, but only the ball striking the pins at the end of the alley. When I lived in the Pacific Northwest, on the wet side of the mountains, thunder was a once a year event, if that. After twenty some years there, I could almost remember each thunder clap - thunderstorm is the wrong description for those events. But, here in New England, where Washington Irving wrote about the elves and gnomes bowling in the sky in his story, Rumplestiltskin, the thunder is different. It rolls across the sky, seemingly from horizon to horizon. I heard it starting far off, then grumbling and growing louder before passing and fading into the distance. Over and over the thunder started far off and rolled by. When it stopped raining, the gnomes went to sleep.

I figured out how to get O' Sullivan's Island, which had been yesterday's plan. I set out and head down river, as up river is a short trip to the bottom of a dam. It has been a few years since I've been in the stretch of the river. My more normal put-in is, maybe seven or eight miles downstream, so a trip to here, from there, leaves little excess energy for poking around. It takes about 10 minutes to get away from the din of a gravel mine's conveyor, but then it becomes quite a nice spot. The valley is forested with most any houses up at the top and well hidden behind the trees. It is quiet with little access to the water's edge.

I spot a couple Osprey, and Kingfishers are regular sightings. Well up ahead, I see a black and white figure, which becomes a Bald Eagle. It is feeding on a large dead fish. A large Gull watches from nearby, waiting for a chance to grab a bite, but definitely playing it safe with the Eagle. As I pass, the Eagle flies up and back around me. I don't watch, but I'm sure it has gone no farther than necessary and is keeping an eye on its catch.

I get to #7 Island (Wooster Island), which is a usual turning point when I paddle up from below. I stretch my legs, finding the shell of an eastern box turtle. I leave it in place, mostly because the turtle was not finished decomposing and it stunk to beat hell. Then, I head back by circling the island.  The Eagle has returned to its feast, and I notice that it was not alone. Its mate is also there, perched in a tree, and they seem to be taking turns at feeding. 

I find a old debris field on the bank near an older gravel mine, which was once an island according to old maps. It is a bunch of old metal junk - a truck chassis, some industrial hoppers, and generally stuff that shouldn't be there. It is old enough that it could be old flood debris.