Indian River

I put in at the harbor for a short trip that I don't do too often.  The smoky haze is beginning to clear.  The temperature is in the 70's with sun and some wind that has just come up.   But, since I am heading into Gulf Pond and the Indian River, the wind will not be a problem.

I would normally have gone over to the Wheeler Marsh, but yesterday a child fell off of a dock in that area and drowned.  The authorities are searching for the body and don't want anyone in the area that doesn't need to be there.  It's a shame, but people confuse docks with sidewalks and that they are not, especially in a river with 3 mph tidal currents.

The tide peaked just a half hour ago and the pond is topped up, although there is still plenty of clearance on the two low bridges that I have to go under to get to the Indian River.  The pond holds a good number of shorebirds when the tide is out and it becomes a big mud flat.  Right now it is a few birds - Egrets, Cormorants, mostly.

I paddle into the Indian River by passing under the artificially narrow railroad bridge, which surely dates to steam engine days.  Again, there are Egrets with a few Osprey, a few Yellow Legs, and a couple Great Blue Herons.  There are a couple of flocks of Sandpipers - maybe 30 or 40 in each.  They fly in formation, rising up and settling down not far from where they started.  I get a good look at them on the way out... either Semipalmated or Western Sandpipers.  I'm not good enough at the game to tell them apart. 

Back in the harbor, I pass gomer trying to tack his 25 foot sailboat out of the narrow passage.  The channel is only 100 feet wide so with each tack he progresses about 30 feet.  He weaves in and out of moored boats with no room for error.  It's ridiculously irresponsible.  Finally, someone drives up and offers him a tow.  I return to my put in unscathed.

The Meanders

I don't think too many people canoe this stretch of the river, I imagine they never really consider it.  

I put in at Rocky Hill, just upstream of the ferry, which holds maybe 3 or 4 cars.  It is actually a barge with a tow boat that ties up to the side.  The ferry route has been in use since 1655.

Today, there is no perceptible current with the river level being lower than normal.  River level dictates the current in this section and it can really move during high water. The nearest gauge is at about 2-1/2 feet.  I've been here when the gauge was at 13 feet, and there was no doubt that a canoe trip at that level would be a fast one way trip. The sky is hazy with forest fire smoke.  This has been going on for 3 days. The fires are in Canada, a long way off.  The weather is low 80's and calm.

What draws me here is the big meanders.  It reminds me of some of the rivers in Minnesota that I grew up around.  Just downriver of the put-in are a set of forested hills - a clever disguise for the glacial moraine that is underneath.  The moraine was an ice age dam that backed up the water in the Connecticut River valley forming Glacial Lake Hitchcock with the drainage channel at that time a bit to the west.  I think that was roughly where the Mattebasset River runs. So, today's trip is on the bed of an ice age lake. The lake drained about 10,000 years ago.

Upriver of the put-in is a series of big meanders wandering through a wide flood plain.  The first meander takes just short of an hour to paddle before the river bends in the other direction. The flood plains within the meanders are excellent farmland as it gets flooded and recharged with new soil every year.  The west side of the river in this first meander also contains a large archaeological site.  This was a summer camp and the site of some early pre-contact farming, including corn.  I imagine that there would be more sites on both sides of the river as it is just too convenient for such utilization.

It is a quiet and peaceful trip up to Glastonbury. I see no other boats until I reach the Glastonbury Boathouse.  I explore a small man-made cove on the west side of the river, and take a look into creek that comes in on the east side.  Then, I head back.  

Most of the day, there has been a Kingfisher in sight.  I spot a half dozen Great Egrets all congregated on the east shore, and a mature Bald Eagle just downstream of them.  Otherwise, several Spotted Sandpipers and a few Woodpeckers.   

Deep Soak

I put in on the Pawcatuck. It is calm and 70F with clear skies, and nothing about that should change other than the temperature, which will rise to the mid 80's. 

One person is at the launch site and he is fishing.  I put the canoe in the water and turn upstream.  In five minutes of paddling, I pass under a railroad bridge. At this point the river turns away from the road and heads out into the Great Swamp. It gets quiet pretty quickly.  

The water is lower than usual for most of my trips here.  It is probably only a matter of a half foot or so, but the difference causes some narrow patches of silty-sand to be exposed.  On most of my trips here, the water runs right into the shoreline shrubs. There is almost no current, only the lean of submerged water plants suggests the flow.

Just below Burdickville, I spot a mink running on the right bank.  I get my camera ready, and although I miss the fully exposed running photo, I know that the mink will give me another chance.  I have never seen a mink that could resist coming back to take a second or third look. 

I make the awkward portage of the Burdickville dam ruins.  It is always awkward, no matter what the water level is, but it is only 30 feet.  There is more current above Burdickville and it slowly picks up pace the farther upriver I get.  The river bottom becomes cobbles, boulders and gravel. It's ice age stuff - all rounded from being tumbled under the ice.  The pitch pines start to show in force as well.  Below the dam ruins, it was mostly oaks and swamp maples.  Above, there are glacial sand deposits and dunes that pitch pines like to grow in. This part of the river has a lot of downed timber in the water to maneuver around.  The game warden types do some clearing, but they keep it to a minimum as the downed wood is good for fish.

I spot the first Osprey of the day.  It has been a very quiet day for birds with just a couple Cormorants, this Osprey, and 2 Great Blue Herons. But, this is a narrow river running through a very wide swamp with a lot of good habitat - everything does not need to be on the river.

I turn back as the Kings Factory Bridge comes into view.  The water is shallow and fast at this point and I would have to wade to get higher.  As it is, I am about 7 miles out and feel totally deep soaked in the surroundings. 

I take out after 14 miles and 4-1/2 hours of paddling.  I saw no one else other than two people fishing from the Burdickville bridge. 

 

  

Return of the Juveniles

I head across town to the state boat launch, my usual put in for a visit to the tidal section of the Housatonic.  I get the last parking spot. I put my canoe in the water as fast as possible and head down to the marsh and away from the "boat mall".

The tide is almost all the way out.  My route in the marsh will be very limited, but I knew this already.

Common Terns are common right now.  They do summer in this region, but they haven't been in the marsh until recently.  I imagine that their nesting is over and they are coming here to feed on the plentiful tiny fish that are recently hatched. There are 15-20 of them perched on the last dock before the marsh.

Juvenile Yellow Crowned Night Heron

The other bird of notice is the juvenile Yellow Crowned Night Herons.  Today, my sightings of the juveniles outnumber the adults maybe 3 to 1.  I'm sure the actual numbers are more even, but the juveniles are probably more likely to be at the water's edge as they learn to hunt. There are also a good number of Great and Snowy Egrets.  I imagine some of them are juveniles, but I don't know how, or if, there is a way to differentiate them from the adults. Yellow Legs are also back in the marsh after nesting up in the Hudson Bay latitudes

Probably a Semipalmated Sandpiper

I head back early.  The idea of having to take out amongst a small army of motorboaters has nagged at me while I've been out. I have little in common with any of them and taking out at a launch full of them is like finishing a long canoe trip in a shopping mall parking lot.  Maybe someday I will be big enough to overlook this, but that day is not now.

To the Shephaug Cascades

 It is just too nice to not be outside.  It is in the 70's with a light north wind, low humidity and a blue sky. The trick will be to avoid the crowds.

I put in at Pond Brook, which is actually a pleasant and somewhat secluded cove, the result of the main river being dammed in the 1950's.  I head out and then down river, rounding the point where the Shephaug River joins.  The Shephaug arm is one of the best stretches in the reservoir with maybe half of the shoreline being forest preserve, and most of the well-spaced houses being up and away from the water and often hidden in the trees.

It is already past 10AM but even so, there are only a few bass boats. It's a general rule that the typical motorboat owner can't get it together until noon, even on a weekends.  

As I cross the shallow bay near the halfway point, I scan the trees for Eagles, which often perch here.  Finding none, I put my head down and motor on, just as a scratchy whistle comes down from high. I look up and there, about 500 feet up, is a mature Bald Eagle gliding south. 

I make good time up to the Shephaug cascades - hour and a half for just short of five miles. The water is murky in the last quarter mile and I figure that it is mostly runoff silt from recent rains. The water here is also several degrees colder than that downstream, where there is definitely a good crop of algae growing. In fact, it would be a chilly swim. 

I turn and head back, stopping at the old railroad culvert.  It is shrouded with overhanging tree branches, and as I push in, a Great Blue Heron flushes from those very branches, not eight feet away.  

I continue out and at the shallow halfway bay, find the Eagle perched in a tall snag well up the hillside.

Just ten minutes after noon, a pair of waterski boats come by...right on cue.   

Wildlife Check

A few days of steaming hot weather have passed. Chance of rain and thunderstorms is today's prediction, so I set out for someplace with a bit of protection, just in case.

I put in on the Mattebasset, in the usual spot.  Besides having some protection from weather, it seemed to me to be time to check on the beaver population.  It is overcast and in the 70's, but the air is quite humid although it does not look at all like it will rain much.

This river looks like perfect beaver habitat, and not only to humans, but to beaver as well.  There is plenty of food and building materials with miles of riverbank that is ideal for lodges or bank burrows, and there is a significant buffer from built up areas.  There is, however, a problem - the area floods, and it floods big.  As I paddle downriver, I think about the numerous beaver lodges that I've seen come and go.  I'm pretty sure that it is a rare lodge that has lasted three years, and something like one to two years is more common. When it floods here, the water usually stays up for ten days to two weeks. In one instance, I saw beaver flooded out of their lodge dig new bank burrows on the far side of the river.  Of course, when the water level dropped, the bank burrow entrance tunnels were no longer submerged and the burrow was at risk from predators, so the bank burrows were abandoned, and the original lodge was caving in due to the flood.

I keep my eyes pealed looking for beaver sign.  Before the most recent flood at the end of March, there was a nonstop series of scent mounds for a quarter mile above the Point Lodge. Closer to the lodge were numerous fresh cuts and peals.  Today, there is not a single scent mound.  There are no fresh peels or cuts, no beaver sticks (branches with the bark peeled off), no sign of any beaver activity.  The lodge is still standing and obvious, but it is just a pile of wood without the mud that works as mortar and weather sealing.  This lodge was fully submerged in the March flood.  Similarly, the bank burrow at the top of Boggy Meadow (the official name of the largest open marsh area) looks abandoned, mainly due to the lack of any active sign in the surroundings. 

I wonder how long it will be until new beaver start colonizing this part of the river.  Beaver are territorial and two year-old adolescents are kicked out of the parental colony to go find there own place.  Eventually, their going to get in here and build a lodge.

I come across a Great Blue Heron about every quarter mile as I head down.  I find 4 Great Egrets in Boggy Meadow, noting that the Egrets are not nearly so territorial as the Herons.  Kingfishers are also common today.  I head down to the Connecticut River and circle Wilcox Island, which lies right off the mouth of the Mattebasset.  I flush an immature Bald Eagle from the upper part of the island. Then I head back upriver.  

 At the top of Boggy Meadow I find a mature Bald Eagle perched over the Tepee Lodge ruins.  I get a few photos, and when looking at them later, notice that the Eagle has tags on both legs.   

There has been no thunder, no rain, just some fairly pleasant wind to move the humidity about. 

A Rant

There is a possibility of thunderstorms and while it looks like most of the weather will pass by to the north, paddling in a wide open salt marsh is less than prudent, for sure.

I put in at Indian Well State Park.  The gate attendant hands me a 1/2 sheet of paper with a list of things I cannot do.  No alcohol or weed, no boom boxes, no bouncy castles.  I tell him that I am just launching my canoe and I don't need the flyer, but he says I have to take it.

I head out into the river and swing wide around the park shoreline.  It is apparently a very popular park and looks like it will reach the 350 car maximum even on this gray day.  It takes 10 minutes of paddling to get upstream of the park where I can return to the west shore and paddle up against the forest. The air is murky with humidity that doesn't have enough gumption to form raindrops.

After Boy Scouts, my outdoor life continued by taking up mountain climbing.  At that time it was a somewhat self taught skill, until you were good enough that a more experienced climber might take interest in you. It is no more like that unless one takes a luddite approach and avoids the climbing gyms and speed climbing B.S. and referring to the activity as a "sport".  I haven't climbed in many years, but on occasion when it comes up in conversation and I find someone who has done some climbing, I am overwhelmingly likely to find that the person has never climbed outdoors.  I find this profoundly weird and best to just let the topic drift away. Climbing was about a connection to wildness, and climbing in a gym is... gymnastics.  

What brought this on was my irritation with what passes for periodicals.  In my climbing days, I could pick up at least four different monthly magazines about climbing.  I would probably have met more of my goals if I had ignored some of them, but they did keep one in touch with new developments and how people were pushing the limits... and how often some of those people died.  At this same time were similar backpacking, kayaking and canoeing magazines that performed similar tasks.

I am now a fairly avid canoeist logging something like 80 or 90 days a year on an average.  The magazines are replaced with a few web publications that spew a fair amount of product placement barf...it's cheap to pump that shit out when you don't actually have to print it on paper. I have no doubt that most of what is most interesting remains undocumented.  

So, besides this blog, which I have written for 16 years, I watch a few online chat groups.  Mostly, I am interested in catching a tip on a paddling location or repair methods. Unfortunately, what I more often find are debris postings - gripes about roof racks, dweeby questions about electronic gadgets - or "what kind of gun do you carry to protect yourself from wolves and bears?" (yeah, that last one is real).  I finally addressed that last one by asking the person, "why are you afraid of wolves and bears?"   Several other people followed me on that one and the gun topic thing disappeared.  To be fair, it is a legitimate question for traveling in the very far north, but it is a dumbshit question unless you are traveling in Alaska or the sub-Arctic.  But that is the internet - a place where everyone can say something that should have been cut by an editor.

As I paddle upriver, I spot a Great Blue Heron standing at rest on the shore.  As I near, I realize that there are twenty two Mallards sitting on the shoreline right under the Heron.  

I continue up to the rapids, which is flowing easy today.  There is a guy fishing at the top of the fast water, so I turn back early and let him continue undisturbed. 

 

Low Tide

I put in at Foote Bridge.  The tide is low, and taking into account the lag caused by four and a half miles of river, it is pretty near the bottom and I will have some wading to do. In fact, I have to wade away from my put-in.  Tidal timing can make a trip easy or hard, and in places with narrow passages, impossible unless one has time to wait for nature to catch up with your plans.  The timing of my start has one purpose - I will have the upper section of the river to myself.

I wade four short patches on my way down to the first bend. In between, it is half paddle dipping and coasting in four to six inches of water.  I pass a Green Heron at the last bend above the Gravel Flats. Over the Flats are five Osprey circling while a couple of Great Egrets, four Snowy Egrets, and a Great Blue Heron are fishing the shallows.  The Gravel Flats is probably good hunting for the Snowys, which will take the smallest fish as well as using their feet to kick critters loose from the gravel. I have to wade all of the Gravel Flats - maybe a 150 to 200 yards. It is easy wading with a firm pea gravel bottom that only gets muddy as the water becomes deep enough to be back in the canoe.

Green Heron

It is in the mid-70's with a light wind and enough humidity that it can be seen when I have a long view. It is just thick enough to be cooling. 

It is peaceful.

I don't see anyone until I near the Post Road.  Two tubers are putting in from the rip-rap boulders and as they are in the pre-drowning stage of their trip, I pass by silently. It is a lousy put-in that people who write lousy guidebooks recommend.  While one can park close to the water, getting into one's boat requires stepping off of large rip-rap boulders into an already floating boat.

The tide is coming in, but the water is still to low to paddle the Sneak.  I spot a few Willets along the river, but with nesting and fledging over, most of them have moved off.  

The Long Cut

I pass another set of six tubers just before turning into the Long Cut - a longer alternative to the Sneak.  I explore one side channel that heads east and peters out after a couple hundred yards.  Then, I return and push into the Long Cut.  It is grown in with spartina, and if one didn't know it was here, one would never suspect that there was a channel. I surprise a hen Mallard from about 6 feet as I go.  The channel opens up after five or six canoe lengths.  The hen Mallard is waiting for me and I suspect that there might be young stashed back where I first surprised her.  She dives to get behind the canoe and heads back to where I first saw her.  I find a couple of dummy Marsh Wren nests as I head back to the East River.  Male Marsh Wrens build several nests in a small area with the female selecting and finishing only one of them.  

Marsh Wren dummy nest

In the Big Bends, I run into the first set of tubers and tip them off about the state boat ramp at the bottom of the river.  

It is an easy paddle without a hint of wading back to my start point. 

Oyster River

I hadn't been in the Oyster River for quite some time. It must be at least a couple years (in fact, it was August of 2023). It is a calm and sunny day with light winds developing and a high temperature in the low 80's.  

The trip begins with a 60 rod portage that descends about 75 feet. From there, I head east on the calm water of Long Island Sound, tucking under the hundred year old gazebo bridge of Point Rosa, through the gap in the rocky point off Anchor Beach, and over the sand bar off of Oyster River.  My first time in here was just after Hurricane Sandy and the reason for the name, "Oyster River", escaped me as the bottom was all sand.  It would take more than a year for the sand that had been washed into the river to wash back out and show the reason for the name.  For the first quarter mile, the bottom of the river is nothing but oysters.  It is also quite shallow and requires a near high tide to avoid scraping the bottom off the canoe. 

I ride the flood current in, with about a hour to go until high tide, duck under the only bridge, pass through the old trolley line bridge foundations and out into a small protected salt marsh.  There are numerous Great Egrets and maybe half again as many Snowy Egrets, maybe a dozen of the former and nearly twenty of the later.  There are also quite a few Killdeer, more than I have seen in one place for quite some time.

The water is still shallow and I often have to get to the outside of each bend to get deep enough water. A large Hawk overflies me, but when it perches, it is clearly an Owl. I don't get a good look at it, but by size and shape, it is probably a Barred Owl.  I paddle all the way up to the next road - about 3/4 of a mile, and there seem to be Killdeer in each bend. 

I head back out, with an unidentified medium-sized Hawk flying past as I near the mouth.  A light wind has come up and there is a small chop as I make my way back.  The trip ends with a 60 rod portage that ascends about 75 feet.

Dowitchers

I set out in the early afternoon. My usual morning start would have been at the lowest of the tides and my options for wandering would have been quite limited.  The tide is almost peaking, so I have little current to paddle against as I head downriver to the marsh.

It is a warm and humid day, not oppressive, but the air feels thick just the same.  There is a light wind out of the south - it feels good. There is minor drama in the clouds - a slight threat of thunderstorms in the dark gray clouds, which is normal for a humid summer day. It all looks distant enough to not be a worry.

I head on a clockwise circuit, taking the inner channel up to the central phragmites patch.  Until I get there, it is the usual mix of Yellow Crowned Night Herons, Snowy Egrets and Great Egrets.  Nothing unusual except for one Yellow Crown that scolds the hell out of me while circling overhead.  At the patch, I flush three Black Crowned Night Herons, which is also normal for this time of year. There is a Great Blue Heron in here as well... it leaves.

Short Billed Dowitchers

From the refuge launch, I head across to the bottom of Nell's Island in search of the Short Billed Dowitchers that we spotted on the last trip.  It seems that they might be gone, but I eventually find them standing on reed mats near the bottom end of the island, pretty much in the area that we saw them before.  They are quite a bit more tame today for some reason.  Usually, they flush as I near, but this time I get within fifty feet and they just stay. I'd guess that the numbers of birds is about the same as two days ago, so this might be a top-over break as they head south.

A Willet with three Short Billed Dowitchers

I head upriver through Nell's Channel and return to where I came from. 

Introducing the Maze to M

It's been warm enough the last few days that I didn't feel like getting out in the canoe and melting.  Today, the temperature is down to a more reasonable 80F with a light wind out of the east.  M joins me.  It has been a couple months since we've been out. She wants to see the maze. 

We set out about a hour before high tide, perfect timing to go into the maze.  There is a minor current against us as we head down river.  This close to the ocean, the tide will completely reverse the natural river current.  We spot the Swans with the three white cygnets and one gray.  They are near the lowest bridge.

It's a usual mix of Snowy and Great Egrets as we head into the maze.  There we pass a dozen Swallows perched on the reeds, see an occasional Yellow Crowned Night Heron, some Ducks and some Willets.  Marsh Wren calls are a constant although we don't spot a single one. 

I find our way through the maze with no problem today.  As we get near the lower end of the island, we flush a flock of sandpiper types.  They fly in a tight coordinated formation.  The long bill and white streak up the back identifies them as Short Billed Dowitchers.  I spotted them last year at about this time. They are early migrators - nesting in the arctic, but heading south by July. We spot several flocks while in this part of the marsh - a total of 50 to 75 birds, and while I never get a chance to photograph one (same problem last year), the flocks fly quite close to us on several instances. In fact, I had seen a flock on my last visit, but didn't recognize them. 

We head down to Milford Point hoping for some other shorebirds, but come up blank on that.  We do get to watch a submerged terrapin rooting in the bottom for food.  It is duly surprised when it surfaces to find us about a two feet away staring it straight in the eye.

We head across to the east shore, and then into the central phragmites patch where we scare up three Black Crowned Night Herons.  From there we run out and back along the upper side of Cat Island, and then head back up river. 

Extra Credit

Menunketesuck - It is almost like I get extra credit just for paddling in a river with such a name.

It is the last day of a holiday weekend and the roads are busy with unhappy people who insist on hurrying from one place to another and back again.  I keep my travels short.

It is still cool when I set out from the usual place. The tide is high, although not so high as to flood the salt hay - the short version of spartina that grows in high salt marshes.  Turning the first bend, a Little Blue Heron comes flying straight up the river and lands in the shade on the right bank. At the next bend, there is a Great Egret out in the spartina 30 yards to the left.  A moment later, a Snowy Egret followed by a Glossy Ibis flies up the river and past me.  If I was a bird list check-off person, I would have done quite well in just a quarter mile.

There is a pleasant wind, which will be appreciated as the day warms. Except for the first four birds, it is rather bird quiet.

As I near Opera Singer Point, I hear the raspy whistle of a Bald Eagle.  Eagles often perch in a tree over the opera singer's abandoned house.  The Eagle comes out from the trees and crosses the marsh.  It is an immature without any white feathers. A few Blackbirds and an Osprey fly up to harass it - all have chicks in their nests at this time of year.

I head up the east fork and return seeing only one Great Egret, but enjoying the meandering trip.  On the way out, several Glossy Ibises fly past heading up the main branch of the river. A second Eagle, this one mature, comes in and circles over the marsh before returning to the trees on the east side.

Glossy Ibis and Great Egret

 

Mature Little Blue Heron

Then, I head down to the railroad bridge, turn and head up and into the west fork. I spot two more mature Little Blue Herons, and several Willets.  With that, I head back out. 

 

Timing

The 4th of July is not one of my favorite holidays, although based on my interest in history, it should be.  It has, unfortunately, become little more than an excuse to blow off huge amounts of fireworks while drinking large quantities of beer, and maybe a reckless driving of "the boat" - basically nothing more than a day off for too many people. A friend asked what I was doing for the fourth, and I told him that if there was a Reservation rodeo anywhere in the area, I would go, but there isn't.  The best and most meaningful 4th of July that I have ever had was attending a 4th of July Powwow/rodeo.  The actually had speeches!

A Willet in the maze

I start early and catch the last 20 minutes of the rising tide.  There are several boat trailers at the launch, which no doubt belong to fishermen who are already out wherever they think the fish are biting.  I head down river on a wavy glass surface.  In the mile to the marsh I see only one small fishing launch anchored near Pepe's Rock.

I head into the maze having met rule #1 (don't enter at low water) and checking carefully to meet rule #2 - don't let anyone see you enter the maze.  This isn't a selfish secrecy thing; I just believe that exploring should provide rewards and anyone else that figures out the maze will be duly rewarded for their curiosity.  I flush a couple Great Blue Herons and spot the usual several Egrets and Yellow Crowned Night Herons.  The Willets do a reasonable job of scolding me, and I scare up a mix of about a dozen Mallards and Black Ducks. More surprisingly, I pass all the way through the maze without making a wrong turn.  
 

An injured terrapin.  Able to swim, but unable to dive.  

From there, I zig and zag eastward across the marsh and then make my way back up the river, without seeing anyone else in the marsh.  I'm out before the holiday boaters are awake.

To the Logjam

It is a sunny Sunday - a perfect day for everyone who has not seen their kayak in the last year to put it in the water. The big water will be overrun with the Mai Tai navy.  S wants to go canoeing and I have to get slightly creative - shade would be nice, but better would be a river with no motorboats.

We put in on the Lieutenant River, at the usual spot with no issues other than Mr. Doofus who, most likely being a rookie, hasn't figured out that he shouldn't block the access with his car.  He asks me if I need help, as I carry the canoe from the far end of the parking area (I don't), and slip past his car, and set the canoe down in the water next to his rear bumper. "He will learn our ways," unless he drowns first.

We head up river, and the pleasant aspects of this route return from my memory. The boundaries are a little bit of cliffs and a lot of cattails. We pass a couple kayakers on the way up, but considering the weather, I would expect more people.  

The tide is up and Boulder Swamp is easy with all except the largest boulders submerged.  It takes me a few minutes, but I finally locate the Eagle nest.  It is quiet and hard to see when the trees are leafed out.  The parental units are definitely not up there, but I can't see well enough to determine if any young are at home.  We continue up the ever narrowing river.  
S asks, "How far are we going?" 
"To the blocking log jam."
This is only two or three hundred yards of narrow forested river.  A couple miles of this would be nice.

We return to the Boulder Swamp and take the other fork that enters.  Some maps call it the Lieutenant River, but I think they are in error.  The narrow section we were in is the actual river, running down from Rogers Lake.  Anyway, it is a meander through the cattails until it peters out.

We have a headwind on the return, but with the warm day the cooling breeze is well worth the extra effort. We have successfully dodged the barbarian horde, again.

Doing the Maze All Proper

The sky is overcast, the bottom of the clouds just high enough to not be fog.  It is calm and about 70F, there is a very light drizzle every so often.  The Mai Tai Navy will not leave port in such inclement weather and it is common knowledge that a jet ski engine will never fire up under such conditions.  The twice-a-summer plastic kayak drivers huddle in fear in their stately hovels at the thought of getting lost.  I have the marsh to myself.

 

The tide has been coming in for about 2 hours. It is still quite low and the current is not bad, yet.  I have limited choices in the marsh until the water rises some.  There are many Great and Snowy Egrets working the edge of the water near the top of the marsh.  I head up Beaver Brook, not having been in there at low tide for some time.  It is quiet and I am hemmed in by two or three feet of pre-peat banks topped by tall grasses and reeds.  I flush several Yellow Crowned Night Herons.  When I come back out, the water has risen enough to paddle the eastern channel to the lower end of the marsh.

I have no particular distance or place to reach today.  I wander the channels of the middle marsh as the water comes up.  Following a channel to a dead end, I back out and find the water a few inches higher, and the number of possible routes increased.  I eventually get over to Nell's Channel and paddle into the lower entrance of the maze.  After a couple hundred yards of known channels, I start exploring. Everything is going to dead ends - winding channels ending in small ponds with no exits.  I backtrack and try another unknown.  By the time I decide to head out, I have trouble getting back on track.  After dozens of forks and bends, the ones I need to recognize don't stand out.  Finally, I find the long deadfall that blocks one of the better channels. It is a rare and important landmark, but I am on the wrong side of it.  On the second attempt, I find a set of channels leading to the other side.  From that point it is fairly simple (for me) to get to the exit.  I have spent the long part of an hour in the maze and most of that time I was bewildered.  I keep thinking that the route finding will get easier, but it doesn't.  Maze is the correct word for this spot. 

I head back out after three hours of paddling.  I have not seen anyone else in the marsh the whole time.

Surrounded by Significance

When I find a good place to canoe, I most often return there repeatedly. In part, this is to experience the area under different conditions and in various times of the year.  But, it is also to give me a chance to explore the surroundings and research features that I can see from the water.  

I set out for Rocky Hill where there is a nice stretch of the Connecticut River that I paddle a few times each year. But, I change my mind while on the drive and divert to the Salmon River, just because I find it a comfortable place to be.  I found this spot after crossing the Connecticut River from Haddam and being confronted with an absurd number of U.S. Government No Trespassing signs - about one on every third tree along the river bank.  It turned out to be the former site of a nuclear power plant, which had been removed prior to my moving to the area. Coming back and entering from the better located launch at the bottom of Salmon Cove, I found a large area of undeveloped forest land in an area that is prime property for the various concoctions of the infamous Mr. and Mrs. Moneybags.  More research turned up the fact that the spent nuclear fuel rods are stored onsite, but well out of view.  The entirety of the power plant property and some former private property remains as a rare no trespassing National Wildlife Refuge. Reading one day about Connecticut archaeology, I discovered that Dibble Creek, which tumbles, or dribbles, into the cove, if you know where to look, was the site of a hunting camp dating to 3000-6000 years ago. This same reading uncovered Venture Smith.  Smith's farm is on top of the hill overlooking the Salmon River as it enters the cove.  It is about a 100 acres. The interesting part of the story is that Venture Smith was captured in Africa in the 1730's and brought to America as a slave, eventually ending up in Stonington, CT.  His master allowed him to work odd jobs in his spare time to earn money, which he used to buy his own freedom.  He then set about farming and fishing until he could buy the freedom of his wife and children, after which he bought and began farming and fishing the land I paddle under.  His grave is in a nearby churchyard cemetery.  

The Moodus Beaver Dam

I end up talking too long to the State safety person - the state has a team of summer job employees that drive around to different state launches to check and educate people about such things as PFD's.  They're always interesting and pleasant to talk to and we both have some stories to trade. A second safety person shows up - she is a budding bird watcher, so I tip her off on some good places that I know of.  Then, I am in the water,

The Dibble Creek Dam

I head up the cove and into the Moodus River.  The lowest beaver dam is out of the water about 3 inches - I can slip over it without getting out of the canoe.  The next beaver dam, which is not maintained anymore, is submerged.  I turn back at the tight bend below Johnsonville, the wade to get by the gravel bar not being worth the effort for the last 200 yards below the old Johnsoville Dam.  Johnsonville is the lowest of 13 yarn mills that were on the Moodus.  I'm glad to be coming back out as the greenhead flies are excited.  They are a biting fly, although not as voracious or numerous as the black flies that NE canoeists are familiar with (I've never seen black flies in Connecticut).

The wind has come up, so it is a bit of work getting back down the cove.  I stop briefly at the bay below Dibble Creek.  There is an old beaver dam here that can be crossed at high water - actually, you can cross it anytime, but the other side of it is much too shallow except at high water.  Anyway, it looks nothing like a dam today as it is fully vegetated and camouflaged with shrubs and saplings - that's how I know it to be an old dam. 

From there, I head out.  It was not just a canoe trip, but a day out surrounded by and connected to a landscape of significance. 

A Day Like Ice Cream

It's been a busy and hot week - art opening, panel discussion, a closing reception, and then three 90F+ days in row.  Today, I hang some art and still have time for a short afternoon paddle.  The temperature has dropped overnight to the low 70's, and stayed there - a drop of 20F overnight.  It feels positively humane. On top of that, it is overcast with a 10mph east wind.

I put in about an hour after a very high tide peak.  Having been in the marsh quite often on recent trips, I cut across the river and head to the quad islands.  The current is already zippy.   

I head up between Carting and Peacock Islands.  The channel is 50 feet wide with the tide up.  At low tide, it is not passable.  I spot some Great Egrets, Yellow Crowned Night Herons, Red Wing Blackbirds and I hear a good number of Marsh Wrens back a few feet in the weeds.  

Out of the many times I've been here, my trips probably never coincided with this timing of the tide.  I just don't remember having such a stiff current.  I ferry over to Long Island, then Ferry from there to Pope's Flat. The current might be about 3mph, which is my distance cruising speed with this canoe. From the tip of Pope's, I head the rest of the way across the river.  I didn't expect it, but the current is slower over this stretch, which is also the main boat channel. 

I head up, side track to explore a channel, which turns out to be a backwater.  Then, I continue up and across to the Peck's Mill site, and return through the islands by the west channel around Peacock Island. 

Heron Yoga

I put in about 7am, the heat of the coming day making an early start advantageous.  One of Dante's circles of Hell is a calm, sunny, humid 95F canoe trip with mosquitoes.  It's not an inner circle, but it is there, for sure.

The tide is halfway in and I paddle against a current down to marsh.  It is calm and humid but still not much more than 80F.  Even so, a bubble of warmth envelopes me if I stop moving.

I head down Nell's Channel.  Quite a few Great Egrets on either side of the channel at the top of the marsh.  As I continue, I find Yellow Crowned Night Herons.  The Willets are laying low, but I hear their calls from time to time.

The tide is bringing in a trash stream of mostly aluminum cans.  It's only ten or twelve items, which I collect.  All of the cans have plant material inside - they weren't tossed in over the weekend.

I try the Nell's Island maze from the lower end.  On my last trip I passed through in the downriver direction, taking a circuitous side channel that exited at the side of the main lower entrance.  I did not notice on that last trip that there were at least three other channels.  I try a couple of them, but they dead end.  It's too warm to be messing about with this.  It's probably best to repeat the route and pay more attention... on a later day.

I head back up Nell's.  As I exit the marsh, I find a Yellow Crowned Night Heron doing yoga, or maybe just drying the underside of its wings.    

 

Questions

The fog has lifted, but it is still overcast and humid.  I put in at Pond Brook and head downriver, crossing to the far side until I get to the dam where I cross back over and return.  It is very quiet and very still. 

Tomorrow, I will be on a panel talk about forests.  I think about things to say.  I might not say them, but I will be prepared.

I keep going out (canoeing and hiking) because I have questions. But what really keeps me going is that I don't know what many of the questions are. 

Fog

It is foggy and fairly calm with an occasional light drizzle. I start out late in the day with the tide still rising for two more hours.

 It's hard to pass up a chance to paddle in the fog.  The visibility is something between a 1/4 mile and a 1/2 mile.  Finding my way in the marsh is not a problem. The beauty of the fog is that all of the various man-made structures and buildings disappear from view. 

I stay in the east half of the marsh, weaving through narrower channels that I haven't been in recently.  i can't paddle more than a hundred yards without seeing a Yellow-Crowned Night Heron.  Also in the area are a good number of Great Egrets and I flush a couple dozen Mallards, 

Housatonic Two

I put in at Indian Well and head up river.  This section of the Housatonic is a reservoir, held back by a 150 year old dam that lies about a mile and half downstream.  The old reservoir is narrow and just over 5 miles long. There is a steady flow of water that is good enough to keep the water fairly clean and free of the algae blooms that haunt the next stretch up from here.

A mile out, I am surprised by a Black Crowned Night Heron that watches me from the water's edge.  It flushes when I fumble with my camera, but it circles around seemingly waiting for me to leave the area.  I think it will return to the same spot when I am one or two hundred yards away.

I find the current at the Shelf to be easy.  The Shelf can be impossible to get past when the water is higher or when there is more water coming through the upstream dam. The Shelf is a bedrock ledge that runs all the way across the river.  At this water level, I am pretty sure one could wade the river.

I make it up to the minor rapids below the dam, and pass through it with reasonable ease.  Getting upstream is a matter of hopping several eddies while not grounding out on submerged rocks.  This rapids was reconfigured by last year's flash floods.  There was a ravine on river left that I did not know about - well, I knew there was a valley there, but not that it ever ran with water. The rush of water coming down the ravine blew out the road and dumped a large amount rocks and gravels in the river.

I paddle up as far as a landslide on river-right, also from last year's storm.  I turn and head back.  The wind has come up and while it doesn't slow me down too much, if I pause my paddling, I quickly come to a halt. I find the Black Crowned Heron exactly where I first saw it.  Again, my camera is not ready.