A Mostly Day

Mostly, it's a mostly day - mostly sunny, mostly calm, mostly in the 40's.

There is a light north wind coming straight down the main river when I set out from the put-in at the mouth of Salmon Cove.  I have a short ways paddling into it before getting behind the cedar swamp that divides the lower cove from the river.  The cool breeze makes my eyes water.

I follow the shoreline and the few trees in the swamp absorb all of the wind.  It i calm.  There is a tiny bit of ice in the tiniest of protected spots along the shore.  The night air has been dipping to just below freezing.  By the time I put in at 10 AM, it was already 37F.

The first big lodge looks as if it is abandoned.  I suspected from earlier trips that someone was in here trapping.  Trapping is legal, and from my point of view, rather pointless as there is no money in it.... like it costs more to drive to a trapping location than what will be earned from the fur.  This is one of those locations where I believe that presence of beaver is beneficial enough that this area should be off-limits.  The beaver here had been building ponds, which in time will fill in and raise the ground level, which is a long term method of naturally fortifying this shoreline from climate change effects.

Dibble Creek beaver dam and lodge

I move on to the Dibble Creek beaver dam (passing a mature Bald Eagle perched at the point).  It is an old dam, not just firmly built, but also root bound by saplings and shrubs that have planted themselves all along the dam.  There is a narrow channel leading up to the dam, which I have no doubt was created by beaver swimming and dragging branches through the marsh.  I don't think that anyone other than myself comes back in here.  There is a lodge just on the far side of the dam and it is freshly mud fortified for winter and ready to go. The area smells of castoreum.

There are about 60 Mute Swans in the cove.  There are quite a few first year goslings, still gray, and at this time of year they are being introduced to the flock.  Spot some Teal overhead, three Coots, and maybe a dozen Black Ducks. 

I back out and head up the cove, passing Venture Smith's place where the river enters the cove.  I find some thin and rotten sheet ice in the back channel on my way up to Leesville.   Flush a half dozen Common Mergansers and spot another Bald Eagle just below the dam. Spot three Great Blue Herons, here and there along the way.

On the way out, I take my usual detour up into the Moodus River.  There is some fresh beaver activity - drags, gnawings.

I find one lodge on the river-left side as I head out, not too far from the put in.  It was an easy spot with a good amount of winter food stashed in the water. 

 

Point Lodge Rehab

The winds of November someone said.  It is windy again, as it has been for many of the previous days.  My last trip was the result of a 6 hour calm that came unexpectedly.  The weather for the day is - mostly sunny, temperatures in the 40's, and wind at 15 to 20 mph with gusts of 25 to 30 mph.  

Too windy to be out in open water or a unprotected marsh, I head to one of the few forested rivers in this area that makes for good canoeing.  Most of the narrow forest rivers in these parts are too thin, to shallow, or blocked by too many deadfalls to be worth the effort.  For the most part, calling many of them a river is ambitious. 

I put in on the Mattebasset.  The wind in the parking lot is enough that I have to make corrections as I portage the canoe down to the river.  But, it is close to calm at the river.  I head down river.

It is an easy and pleasant paddle with a bit of current from the falling tide. At the first wide spot, where there is a small open marsh, the wind penetrates.  This trip will not go out into the big marsh below.

The recently winterized Point Lodge

I spot a fresh gnawed tree and one small scent mound about a 1/4 mile above the abandoned Point Lodge.  There is no other beaver sign, until I get to the Point Lodge.  Surprise - the Point Lodge is being winterized.  While there isn't any newly cut wood on the lodge, it is freshly packed with new mud and there are a couple trails leading from the water onto the sides of the lodge.  The reason for no new wood is that there was a very plentiful supply where the former residents had built a protective tunnel for their entrance during last year's drought.   I suspect that a new beaver has moved into the lodge, just because there is so little activity (gnaws, drags and scent mounds).  I find another fresh gnawed tree about a 100 yards down from the lodge.

This is where the river starts to open up and a couple of gusts invite me to return upriver into the trees.

I continue past my put-in.  This area is not only treed, but also set down in a valley.  I don't quite make it to the train trestle.  The river is running shallow and there is a blocking log jam.  As I usually do, I pause at the log jam contemplating my options.  The jam would be a mess to climb over.  I did not bring my saw, which could handle the 4-inch tree that blocks a narrow end run on the jam, but that 4-inch tree is weighted by a second substantial tree. I'm not sure I would make the cut even if I had my saw as I'd rather not get pasted while sitting alone in the canoe by unexpected motion of the weighted log.  So, I sit, and then a deer wades into the river about 75 yards upstream.  It is a healthy looking 6-point buck.  It wades across without noticing me.  

 

A Weather Pause

I got up this morning and checked the weather forecast, and it was not good with a prediction for 10-15 mph winds with gusts of 20.  I was ready to stay in, hiding from the cloudy gloom, but everything changed, or more accurately, enough things changed.  An hour later, looking out the window, it seemed to be fairly calm. I looked at the forecast again, and the wind and gust predictions had all but disappeared. It'll be my first drysuit day of the season.  The water temperature is in the fifties at this point, and if it rains, the drysuit will be the perfect layer.

I put in under the high bridge. Nearby, a tug is tending two barges and by the time I head down, a pair of smaller powerboats are pushing one of the barges upstream with the flood tide assisting. It seems a little risky to me to trust that barge to the small boats, but who am I to argue.

I get down to the marsh in reasonable time and head into the Nell's Island maze using the most upstream entrance.  The tide is middling with about 3 more feet to rise.  I am not sure if the maze will be passable at this level, but it is a good day to find out - the deeper channels will stand out. The deadfall blockage that was in the upstream entrance since summer has floated off to who knows where.

The spartina is turning yellow-gold. This makes the glass-wort stand out, no longer both green, the glass-wort is turning reddish and stands out against the yellowing spartina. Even with the thick and low overcast, the marsh is spectacular.

The usual deadfall bypass 

There is one semi-obvious (at least if you've been through before) route from between the top and bottom of Nell's Island. There is a blocking deadfall, which will probably not change for a year or two, but nearby is a short, narrow and shallow bypass that I use regularly.  However, the bypass is not flooded yet with several inches of muddy goo exposed over the 15 yard length.  Earlier this year, I found a second route through the island but I haven't been able to locate it again.  This is a good excuse to spend the time hunting for it (looking for passages is best when the tide is high or still rising - it gives you time to back out of long dead ends).

The missing alternative route

I head back to the west and come to choice between two open channels.  I take the left one, for no real reason.  It keeps going, gradually narrowing, and twisting to either side.  Just as it looks like it will peter out, it opens up again.  That is rather typical with salt marsh channels as the tidal currents will enter the channel from either end and stagnate somewhere in the middle, and of course any sediment is prone to settling there.  So, I have found the missing alternative route and the only trick will be to remember how to get to it later on.

Back in the main lower exit, it is about as calm as calm could be.  I have flushed a couple Great Blue Herons and a few Black Ducks.  I head to Milford Point for a short break, spot a solitary Dunlin, then cross the marsh to the east shore, flush some more Black Ducks and a dozen migratory Canada Geese.  Head into the Central Phragmites patch, finding and collecting a lost Coot decoy (I've never seen a Coot decoy before), and then paddle up and into Beaver Brook.  There, I flush about forty Ducks, a mix of Blacks and Mallards. 

It begins to mist lightly as I head back out and once I get to the main river, a west wind comes in.  It is just barely starting to rain when I get back to my put-in.   

 

Beating the Wind

It was windy yesterday, and while it went calm overnight, the afternoon is predicted to be quite windy again.  That is autumn weather in these parts, predictably unpredictable.  It is calm when I get up, and I decide to take advantage of the weather.

I put in at my usual East River start - the old ford at Bear House Hill Road, which is signed Foote Bridge Road, which makes some sense as the Foote family burial ground is spitting distance away. 

The sky is overcast with a lumpy grey stratus. It is still in the low 40's and off in the far distance is a bit of sun glow pushing through. This sky always reminds me of my first hunting trips with my Dad, back when I carried a toy gun.  The only thing out of place is that the weather then was always about 10 degrees colder than today.  It is a comfort sky, a sky of good omen.  I spot a pair of large Hawks perched together in a tree near the Gravel Flats.  They are in silhouette with the sky, so it is impossible for me to identify the species.

As I near the Smallpox Burial ground, an immature Bald Eagle flushes heading downriver but then circling back and passing me.  

I explore one of the side channels in the upper marsh, and although I know that I have made it through before, I have to return the way I came after hitting two dead ends.

The Long Cut at Very High Tide

 

In the lower marsh, I head into the Left of the Sneak channel, just because the tide is high enough.  The tide will peak at 6.6 ft in about a half hour.  That level is about 3 inches short of the highest recorded. I head east into the Long Cut.  The wind starts to move as I get halfway through the narrow short cut. It steadily rises over the next fifteen minutes before it steadies at something short of 10 mph.  

I paddle a doodle rather than heading down to the bottom of the river - Long Cut to Bailey Creek, Then over the flooded high marsh to a farther down point on Bailey Creek, through an ole mosquito trench into the East River, back through a second mosquito trench into the Sneak, and up the Sneak back to the East River. 

Nearing the Old Ford

By the time I get up to the freshwater marsh, the trees are starting to blow, although it is of little bother down on the river.  My timing has been good. 

November Shows Up

It has been very windy and rainy for a few days, a spin-off from a powerful hurricane a long way south of here.  Today arrives sunny with a moderate wind.  I put in on the far side of town for a trip into the Wheeler Marsh.  The tide is an hour and a half past high, so I get an easy downriver ride to the good stuff.

It might be a bit late in tidal terms to make a run through the Nell's Island maze.  I probably could make it through most of the channels, but if I get misplaced, the narrower escape channels will already be closed off.  So, I run my simple clockwise circuit.

Ruddy Duck

I head down the channel that leads to the central phragmites patch.  I flush 15 or 20 Black Ducks and Mallards, and then a flock of fifty migratory Canada Geese.  This confirms that it is not hunting season, as those birds stick to the outer parts of the marsh where hunting is not allowed. As I make my way through the marsh over to Nell's channel, I flush a few more Ducks.  Near Nell's, I flush a juvenile Night Heron, and then spot a half dozen Brandts, then a Ruddy Duck in winter colors.  I don't see a lot of Ruddys and usually assume that the small low floating Duck is a Grebe until I can zoom in with a photo.

Brandt

I head out paddling up Nell's.  There are following waves in the river, a result of tide and wind opposing.   

Gun Nuts

Occasionally, I have met up with other canoe enthusiasts.  It doesn't happen very often, and perhaps I don't get invited back.  I noticed on my own that I don't quite fit in.  While we share interests, we seem to be looking for something different, the shared experiences seem to be digested for some different goal.  Usually, the others want to talk about their canoe collections or futz with paddles.  Sometimes though, someone leads off to explore some odd nook, and I do enjoy watching another canoeist when they are "on the path."  

For myself, canoeing is a spiritual practice.  I did not plan it that way, and I had no inkling that it might become such - it simply happened.  It has led me to lengthy thoughts on spirituality, and it is my belief that true spirituality is so unique to each individual that it is difficult to discuss, because it is so unique that another person cannot fully understand a person's spiritual beliefs (this is what happens when someone else tries to describe their "path" to me).  The best that can happen is to listen and accept.  Such a path is, most likely, a rejection of formal religion, at least it was in my case.  I see most religion as indoctrination (the church that I grew up in being a prime example). Buddhism is the one outlier in religion, and it is the most philosophical of the major religions.

So, today I checked out of a canoe chat group that I've been in for a few years. There were definitely some experts in the group and tips on repairing canoes or places to visit were useful.  But, there were a handful of nitpickers that had to be ignored all too often.  And all too often the threads would get hijacked so that one of the goofballs could talk about his guns.   Gun discussions with respect to canoeing are only be relevant if one is planning to canoe in the far north where one might encounter grizzlies or polar bears.  It's just dumb to be packing a gun for canoeing in the lower 48 or the lower half of Canada.

I put in at O'Sullivan's Island under sunny skies.  The temperature was in the 50's and the tide was still rising.  There was a light north wind. The first bird that I saw was an immature Bald Eagle.  It took a perch on the far side of the river.  In a few more yards of paddling, I was alerted to another by the chirpy whistle of an overhead Eagle.  A mature Bald Eagle too wing from above and headed down river.  It made 4 or 5 short flights in this manner before letting me pass.  I circled Crescent Island, which is a bit over 3 miles downstream, and returned.   I paddled the windier left bank on the return because it was brightly lit with red and orange maple tree leaves and red-brown sycamore foliage.

Black Ducks Along the Long Cut

We set out from the old ford.  The tide is high and still rising, so there is an upstream current to paddle against as we head down.  The sky is partly cloudy with dark bottomed cumulus.  S asks what the clouds mean to me, and I tell her that it will not rain, the clouds are just heavy with moisture.  The temperature is about 60F and with a light wind, it is cool in the shade and warm in the sun.

The scenery is particularly good at this time of year.  The leaves are just starting to change. Most of the trees still have a green tint with a few others already changed to a red or yellow.  The low sun casts sharp shadows while brilliantly shining the highlights.

Below the railroad bridge, we head into the Sneak, following it through to Bailey Creek.  I tell S that Black Ducks often collect up in this corner of the marsh.  We turn off the Creek and into a route that I call the Long Cut. We paddle quietly and sure enough, start flushing Black Ducks from the shallow pannes that form in this high salt marsh.  We make the hidden turn, and paddle a tight 100 yards to open water, spotting a total of about 60 Black Ducks as we go.  And, all of the Ducks we flushed were Blacks.  

With that, we head back to the Sneak and back upriver. 

Coginchaug Look See

I returned to the Mattebasset in order to finish my quick survey of beaver activity.  There is a light SW wind, maybe 8-10 mph at most, it is sunny with a scattering of cumulus clouds, and the tide is coming in, the water about a foot higher than on my trip last week.  In fact, the clouds are quite beautiful, almost cartoon clouds that were they in a painting, everyone would assume a good deal of artistic license.

I head down river right away.  Last time, I went upstream as far as I could and ran short of time to visit the Coginchaug, which is the intention for today.  

I find no new beaver sign other than the Tepee 3 colony is continuing to add mud to their new lodge.  

Tepee 3 Lodge

Heading up the Coginchaug, I find a couple of scent mounds that aren't new, but they aren't old either.  I don't read them as territorial markers but, perhaps, calling cards of a traveling beaver.  The river framed in autumn colors is beautiful today.  I find a couple peel sticks (beaver peel and eat the bark off of sticks) in the first log jam, which is near the powerline right of way.  But, peel sticks can travel a good distance on the current, and without any other sign, it just shows that there are beaver somewhere upstream.  At the second logjam, which solidly spans the river, I turn back and head out.

Resolution

I've been out of the canoe for a few days with either the weather too windy, or in the case of the last two days, prepping for the dreaded every few years butt-o-scope.  Morning rain gives way to a sky that is clear except for a few distant and racing cumulus clouds. Of course, with the racing clouds comes some wind. 

I put in at the old stage ford that is some 4-1/2 miles from the sea.  It is an hour and a half before high tide and there is more than enough water to clear the boulders that lay on the bottom of the first 300 yards.  In fact, the depth at this tide is enough that I don't have to worry about striking a rock with the canoe paddle. The wind at this point is more pleasant than bothersome with the nearby trees buffering the strength or swirling the wind so that it comes from unexpected directions in minor gusts.

I flush 2 Hawks and 2 Great Blue Herons while still above the Clapboard Hill bridge.  Just below the bridge, while I am focusing on controlling the canoe in a prolonged gust, a mature Bald Eagle takes flight from an overhead tree branch.  I did not notice the Eagle until it was airborne.  It skirts the left edge of the marsh down to the lower corner, about a 1/2 mile away.  Then, it begins to circle, climbing without flapping its wings.  It has found a thermal, and as it climbs it moves away, the thermal not being vertical, but leaning with the wind.  I watch, wondering what its flight plan might be - perhaps to use the altitude to glide down onto unsuspecting prey, or maybe to take a long, easy downwind flight to the Hammonasset.  After a minute it blinks out, my human eyes no longer able to resolve the distant bird.  But, I know that if it was interested in me, its bird eyes would still be able to see me.

Below the railroad bridge the wind is relentless.  With the tide high, there is no hiding from the wind, and the marsh, being a mile across and open to the sea is a tough paddle.  I get through the Sneak and into Bailey Creek, but the normal 20 minute trip down to the confluence with the East River is going to take at least an hour today.  So, I cut this part of the trip short and take an old mosquito trench over to the river and head back. (Later I checked and the wind was 25mph gusting to 32)

At the Post Road bridge, I talk with a woman.  She asks if I have seen any oyster boats today.  I haven't, adding that I am only familiar with the large oyster boat that is in there from time to time.  Anyway, the big boat is hers and she is looking for poachers who are illegally working her allotment.  

I continue past my start point, knowing that the water is high enough to push up into the jungle section of the river.  I get a couple hundred yards past the next bridge (Sullivan Drive) before running up against a big logjam and water that is too shallow for a canoe. Then, it is time to head out. 

Housatonic 2

I set out for a short trip, starting from the Eagle Scout put-in on Housatonic-2, the second reach of the river from Long Island Sound.  I've added a number to each of the sections, counting from the sea as I live near the coast.  Housatonic 1, 2 and 4 make for good paddling.  Housatonic-3 aka Lake Zoar, is somewhat gross, often being a soup of toxic algae surrounded by all too many shoreline houses that look from the water to have all the design sense of a low grade trailer park.

It is a beautiful, but windy day.  The north wind is somewhere around 15 mph, and paddling out in any of the open marshes that I frequent would be a good amount of work. This section of the river is down in a forested valley. The put-in is on a tiny, almost dry creek about 50 yards from the river.  While it is windy when I first emerge from the creek, I hug the shore where the wind is much reduced by the nearby trees.

The water is a little lower than average, but not by much. The current over the shelf, a shallows that runs across the river about halfway up, is easy to beat.  In high water, the shelf current can be powerful enough to stop further progress. 

As I am watching the boulders in the river, as I am supposed to, a mature Bald Eagle drops off of an overhead perch and moves up river a short spell. It makes a small flock of Common Mergansers a bit nervous, but soon enough, they go back to fishing in the fast current. 

I get up to the little rapids about a quarter mile below the dam.  I have been able to eddy hop my way up past this rapid many times, but it depends on the river level.  Too high and, if I can get past the shelf, this will be a long series of canoe swamping standing waves.  Too low and the only deep channels run too fast to beat.  I have not gotten past the rapids since last year's flash flood, which deposited a large bar of gravel and boulders from a dry ravine that I never really noticed, until the flood.  In fact, it blew out the bridge that spanned the dry ravine.  My guess is that the new deposits altered just enough of the rapids so that I can't find a way up through it.  I give it a go, and then turn back about halfway up.

I flush a couple of Great Blue Herons on my way out. 

 

New Lodge in the Mattebasset

There is wind in the weather prediction although the worst of it will come after sundown.  I put in on the Mattebasset, one of my favorites for windy days as much of the river is down in a forested valley and a good enough trip can be done without getting out in the open marsh areas.  The sky is a colorful overcast and the temperature is in the mid 60's. About half of the trees are changing color.

I head upstream.  It is the time of year when lots of leaves are floating in the water.  There is a current, but my usual measure of speed - the shoreline passing by, is replaced with my progress against the leaves.  The land based measurement, which is more useful when one is going to some place, is replaced by a water measurement - speed on a moving surface.  I flush 2 Wood Ducks and 2 Mallards and spot 2 chubby medium sized Hawks (probably Broad Wings) during my hour of upstream paddling. I turn back at the first gravel bar requiring a wade.  It is not much further to a short portage at the railroad trestle, which doesn't seem necessary today.  

I pass my start and continue on to the lower end.  The wild rice, still standing, has dropped its grain.  I keep my eyes peeled for beaver sign, but there is nothing as far as the ruins of the Point Lodge, which has been abandoned for several months.  About a quarter mile on, I spot a freshly maintained scent mound.  The beaver have stomped the ground all around it.  I'm not sure where the lodge might be, but there is no sign of feeding or gnawing on any of the trees.  

the new Tepee Lodge 3

I find a new lodge next to the remains of the Tepee Lodge.  This will be Tepee Lodge 3 (#2 was a short lived lodge on the other side of the original),  It is small, but new since my last trip, and it shows a lot of recent work.  

Continuing down, I hear a soft rustling noise, probably a swamp plant hung up on the bow of the canoe.  I run over some swamp veg to drag it loose, but the sound continues.  Then, I realize that the sound is up ahead in the trees near the confluence with the Coginchaug.  The noise turns out to be the calling of hundreds of Red Wing Blackbirds collecting in the trees. 

Red Wing Blackbirds

 

 

Dam It

I head into the Great Swamp.  I avoid the area during summer when excess nutrients in the water turn it into a weed mat, but in spring and fall it is a spectacular spot to paddle.  Today, I start at Green Chimneys and head upriver against zero current.  It is a sunny day, cool to start but should rise to 80F.  There is no wind.

The water is low and I dodge and limbo several deadfalls right upstream from the start.  Some of these would be floated over with ease at normal water levels. In fact, many of them have been submerged for years and I have never seen them.  The first beaver dam, a new one, comes early at the bottom of the first pond.  The deadfalls and this first dam are great filters for the rental kayakers.  I know that I won't see any of them today. When the water level drops for whatever reason, beaver start building dams. At a deadfall, something large swims under the canoe.  The beavertail is pretty clear as it powers off submerged.

First dam

The dam adds a foot of water to the river and things look much more like I am used to.  The second dam comes just around the bend above the top of the second pond.  This is a new dam, the old one being about 75 yards downstream and submerged.  It is well built, as is the lodge of the colony that constructed it. the lodge shows signs of new material being added for the winter.

Second Dam

The third dam has been in place for several years.  Today, it is level with the water surface  I can power the canoe over without stepping out.

Number 3

I have to readjust my landmarks. The key points that I remember are tied to a 3 mph paddling speed and it takes me a moment to figure that I am managing about half that speed with all of the getting in and out of the canoe.  

The fourth dam is new.  It is made of a lot of large branches and looks substantial, although it is holding back not much more than a foot of water.

Number 4

The fifth dam is another old one, located at the broad marsh area below the forest.  I've been crossing this one for a few years.  Today, it holds back almost 2 feet of water.

The fifth

With that, I head into the forest section.  I've been flushing Wood Ducks since I started, usually in flocks of 10 to 15.  There are a lot more Woodies in the forest.  One year, I quit counting at 600.  I'm not near that, but I am sure that I spot something just short of 300.  The forest delivers as expected and I limbo a few deadfalls, lumberjack a few limbs with my saw, and step over four large deadfalls.  It is slow going and more tiring than one might think.  I flush a Red Tail Hawk.  It gives me some space, but the bird is clearly not too perturbed by my presence.

It takes about 2 hours to get to the huge blocking deadfall just below the highway 22 bridge.  I don't need to do the short portage as I am pretty sure what lies ahead.  Last time I was in here at low water I came down from Patterson at the other end and crossed 12 beaver dams to reach the bridge.   Time to head back out.

Just below the wide marsh section, I hear the grasses rustle, and a large beaver slips into the water. I waited to see if curiosity might bring it back to the surface, but we were close enough that it knew what I was on the first glance, and it swims off submerged to somewhere.

Another look at the second dam

 

 

 

Reconnect

My canoe ancestors, the voyageurs, the 18th and 19th century explorers of North America, the fur traders - their canoes were tools of the trade. They transported goods or the supplies necessary to extend a trip into what they did not know.  The necessity of a canoe for such things ended some 50 or 60 years ago, perhaps, as the fur trade more or less disappeared.  My canoe trips are minor explorations of things that can't be seen on maps and more importantly, explorations of what is inside me.  Sure, I come here to observe natural goings on, but the real value of the effort is that it always is an emotional trip.

I needed to wash away a recent art exhibition.  The art was created using AI as a tool.  Art is, of course, in the eye of the beholder, but I often tell younger artists that the viewers can sense when the artist is lying.  To say it another way, good art comes from the heart of the artist.  In the case of this exhibition, it was impossible to see where the art was AI and where the art was "artist".  It was uninteresting and flat from my perspective, no matter how cool the computational methods were.  

There is a link between that last paragraph and canoeing and outdoor activities.   I read a few online news pages about climbing and canoeing, just because every once in awhile something worth reading pops up.  This morning, it was some climbing accident data.  Aside from the usual stuff, there were several cases of people just plain getting lost.  The writer of the report recommended getting a navigation app.  Really?  If a person's goal is to have a connection to the natural - whether climbing, hiking or canoeing, how does an app on your f-ing smart phone lead you to that goal.  I have a GPS unit, it is 19 years old and sits in the back of my car most of the time.  I bought it to pinpoint locations when I was helping an archaeologist.  It's a pretty good use for GPS.  But, I found it a distraction when hiking or canoeing - focusing on the little gadget is a sure way to be lost when the gadget stops working.  One should be looking at and remembering landmarks and landscape views, and one should be carrying a compass.  A compass, a map and natural landmarks is the route to a connection with the earth.  Pay attention to what you are doing!

Harrier

I put in at the old stage ford.  The tide is dropping, the wind is moderate and out of the south.  It is sunny and in the 60's.   The cattails are bursting, not just a few but almost all of them.  Some years they stay solid well into winter, or longer.  I'm not sure why they are all bursting, but it feels like something hopeful to me.  I find a Harrier working the marsh below the Clapboard Hill bridge.  It's been several months since I've seen a Harrier.  They don't seem to be around when the Willets and Osprey are.

Short-billed Dowitcher

I spot a Short-billed Dowitcher near a few Yellow-Legs while in the middle of the Big Bends. 

In the main marsh below the railroad, I just barely made it through the Sneak, dragging bottom in the mud for about 75 yards.  It's a pain to walk out of that channel, and it was a relief to get past the high point.  

Corduroy road protruding from the bank

The corduroy road in Bailey Creek was right at the water level.  I hadn't been in here at a low enough tide to see that for some time.  A second Harrier is working this part of the marsh.  

I turn back up the East River, with the tidal current against me, but with the wind more than making up for it.  The Dowitcher is where I last saw it and it poses quite nicely for me.

The camera makes the river look bigger than it actually is

I don't have to wade until I am about a hundred yards from my start point.  I need more practice stumbling on submerged boulders.