The Contrast

Today, I moved upriver to the section above Lake Zoar, where I paddled yesterday.  I put in at the four span truss bridge.  It is calm, cloudy, and close to 70F, a pretty fine combination for canoeing. 

This section of the river was reservoir-ed in the 1955 with the completion of the Shepaug Dam. It differs greatly from the downstream Lake Zoar and being a much better experience, I paddle here fairly often.

It is not particularly good for wildlife viewing. As a reservoir that was flooded up the steep sides of a valley, there is a lack of marshland or any extensive shallows that might support a variety of waterfowl.  But, I can expect to spot an Eagle occasionally as well as Hawks, Vultures,  Great Blue Herons, Mergansers and Wood Ducks.  

What does make this section interesting is that it has large sections of forest and much less and much better planned development.  A good amount of the valley sides are State Forest or private forest preserves.  As to the housing, minimum lot sizes are quite large and most houses are set well back from the water's edge. In fact, there are several docks with boats where the owners house is not at all visible - just a trail from the dock leading off into the woods.

Entering the Lover's Leap gorge

I head upstream, following one side until I get the urge to cross to the other... no real reason.  There are few boats, mostly bass boats.  They are the best of motorboats as they speed by, disappear quickly, and spend a good amount of time parked near shore while the owner fishes. 

I pass through the  Lovers Leap gorge and continue a short way until I remember why I usually turn at the gorge.  There is a busy road right nest to the river and the upstream side of the gorge, quite the contrast with the peacefulness that is found downstream. 

Historic 1895 iron bridge that spans the gorge

The wind comes up on the return, but it is not steady and comes from pretty much any possible direction at different times. I guess it, looking at the clouds, to be tiny weather systems that don't have enough energy or moisture to become rainstorms.

Time for the Grievances

I put in at what I call Housatonic 3 - the third reach of the river counting from the sound.  Otherwise, it is know as Lake Zoar. I paddle in her once a year, or maybe twice if I can find a good reason. It is calm and cloudy although it was lightly raining most of the morning.  

I head up to the Pomperaug River, which is about a half mile in the upriver direction, if one wants to think of Lake Zoar as a river.  Last August, this area was hit by an extreme rainstorm that dumped almost 15 inches of water in  a 24 hour period.  Bridges, roads, structures were damaged or destroyed and a two people died.  The Pomperaug would have been a rushing torrent and I wanted to see how it fared. It pretty much looks the same.  The boulder patch where I always turn back (because there is another boulder patch above the first) might have had some of the boulders moved about.  It doesn't make much difference because the river bottom is a sloping shelf of bedrock.  I don't think I was aware of that before.

Lake Zoar is often listed in tourism type magazines - the ones with lists of "bests", as one of the best places to go kayaking or paddle boarding or canoeing in Connecticut.  It is not.  It is not 2nd best or 22nd best. When beaver build a dam and create a pond, they create habitat for fifteen additional species.  They are a "keystone" animal and contribute to improving the local environment.  When humans build a dam, quite the opposite seems to happen, and Zoar is a prime example of that.  The Stevenson Dam, completed in 1919, creates Lake Zoar. Like many reservoirs, Zoar has inadequate water circulation, which turns the lake into an oxygen deprived algae bloom stinkpile in midsummer.  It's not much more enjoyable when the water is clear and cold due to a poor development plan.  Much of the shoreline is an odd collection of this and that housing.  Some are old cabins, and some are newer middle class houses. There is no rhyme or reason to it other than to build as close as possible to the water.  To top that off, an interstate highway runs through the area. While there are a few segments of forest preserve, they are too small and just as one gets used to finally being next to a forest, another patch of weird cabin-houses intrudes.  And please, someone explain to me why waterfront of half of all middle class waterfront houses have to look like junkyard - rotting docks, floats, half wrecked boats and a pile of trashed plastic kayaks that haven't been used in years.

On an upside, I spotted three Bald Eagles.  Two matures seem to be mated and I suspect a nest is nearby.  The third was an immature.

THE END

Essex to Selden

It is calm with a bright overcast sky when I set out from Essex. The tide is coming in, but it is still quite low, a fact that is not really noticeable except at the narrow gap where I go from the North Cove into the big river.  There, a minor current is flowing in to the cove.

I turn upstream.  A lone kayaker is out in mid channel. They know how to put some speed into the kayak, which is clearly a full length touring model and not one of the stubby barcalounger types. They are doing a couple miles per hour more than I am and I will soon lose sight of them.

The daily thing of note is the number of Canada Geese with goslings.  I spot five sets in the first mile with the goslings appearing to be anywhere from a week to three weeks old.  I will spot another five sets as I continue.  The Geese with older goslings are just starting to join up with other broods - the grade school period where two or three sets of parental Geese run herd on twelve to fifteen goslings - safety in numbers and flock indoctrination.

Near the old Brockway Ferry route, I cut across to the east shore, which is more interesting, being less developed and developed much earlier than the west side. And then up into the Selden channel.  It is very calm and quiet and I have not seen anyone on the water aside from the kayaker and a powerboat that passed just as I left the cove.

The birds are all perching except for the swallows.  I even pass a Black Vulture perching in a nearby snag.  Silhouetted against the overcast, I though it to be an Osprey until I got up close.

Plunk!  Something has jumped off the river left bank.  Too much "plunk" to be a turtle, I pull up and wait for the beaver to surface.  It swims an arc behind me as it tries to figure out what I am. Besides their sense of smell, beaver slap their tails to get intruders to jump, which helps them size up the threat.  It slaps its tail and dives.  I wait.  Then I hear it rustling off through the brush just out of sight behind where it had jumped into the river.

There is a couple camping at the upper campsite on the island. Their dog barks at me.

I round the island and return along the rocky shore.  There is always the chance of more disturbance from powerboats, but no one seems to be about.

The wide area below Brockway is getting a very light wind.  It's not enough to impede, but it always creates a clunky non-rhythmic chop.  I follow the east shore back to the old Ely Ferry where I cross back to the North Cove.

The Black Hall

I put in on the Lieutenant River, a tributary to the Connecticut, but just barely as it joins the river about 2 miles upstream of the sea. The tide is coming in and I have a minor current opposing me, but there is a plan.  

I head downstream and into the back channel of the Connecticut.  A series of fairly large marsh islands create a pleasant and quiet route away from the big boat traffic of the main river.  Most of the birds and animals that inhabit the area are well aware of that fact as well. The Egrets, Willets and Osprey are all in place and doing their thing, no surprises there.

The plan is to go up the Black Hall River. It too is a tributary to the Connecticut, but even more just barely than the Lieutenant as it joins the big river about a 100 yards from the sea.  With the tide coming in, I get a pushing current as I head up the Black Hall.  Here, I get the new bird arrivals of the day - Least Terns.  I spot 3 of them and watch one of them take 7 headlong dives into the water after fish in little more than a minutes time.

At the first bridge, I pass through a cloud of toxic male. 3 goofballs are heading out to crab from cheap kayaks and one of them can't resist yarking at a power boat owner.  Perhaps it was a poor attempt and masculine humor, but the guy comes off as a lout.  Enough of that.

The Black Hall is a rather pastoral river with some spartina marsh that almost passes for fields, some land that was likely farm at one time, some forest and some cattail marsh.  I spot a Bald Eagle on the bank. For a second I thought it was one of those cheesy cement yard ornaments, until it got up and perched in a nearby tree.  After the third bridge, I notice something - the boundary from salt marsh spartina to fresh water cattail is almost instantaneous.  There is a sharp bend and at that point the river left side is all spartina while the river right is solid cattail. 

I don't want to be your friend

 

 

I continue up to where the river enters a cattail marsh.  From past trips, I know that it will narrow to nothing in about a 150 yards.  Even though I had already decided to turn around here, something else has decided that I will do just that.  There is a pair of Mute Swans and the cob goes full aggression, holding up its wings to make it look larger and pumping the water, and ducking its head.  The cob comes right up to the canoe and insists in getting in the way as I spin the canoe. As I head away, the cob does one final feint, with my back turned, it does a short takeoff run at me, wings and feet slapping against the water. I have to admit, it sent a shiver up my back.

On the way out, I find that there were, and still are, 2 Bald Eagles. As I wonder if there is a nearby nest, I spot a chewed on carcass of a striped bass on the bank.  They are here to feed.

High Water Wheeler

I almost dread canoeing on a sunny holiday.  They are the days when I most expect to see that person from your high school who was voted, "Most Likely to Drown", and the person voted "Second Most Likely to Drown".  As it is, I arrive at the put-in and no one else is around. It is nothing short of a complete freak of nature that I have been out three days in a row over a vacation weekend and not seen anyone else in the water.

The tide is high and still coming in for most of the next hour.  One catches some weird currents in a salt marsh as it fills with water coming from any direction so long as it is the path of least resistance. I head in the upriver direction, and then sneak through narrow openings toward the Central Phragmites Patch. There is one visual which I find noteworthy.  With almost no snow this winter, last year's entire growth of spartina is still standing, and the marsh has an appearance of a flooded wheat field.  Typically, a good snowfall will flatten the spartina, leaving it looking more like a harvested soybean field.

As often as I paddle in this marsh, it is still easy to miss a turn.  Landmarks are usually the shape of some turn or intersection of channels.   But, those landmarks are only relevant at specific tides.  Everything looks different if the water is high versus when it is low.

A pair of northern terrapins

There are no birds at the phragmites patch, so I continue across towards Nell's Island.  On the way, I spot a dozen Swans, a few Ducks, a distant flock of 30 or 40 Plover, and a few Great Egrets. I collect a plastic milk crate, which I start to fill with plastic bottles, and a cheap-shit plastic fake Adirondack chair.  I find these crap-ass chairs in the water quite often as dumb people leave them on their dock seemingly unaware that wind exists. I manage to park the chair on the aft of the canoe where I don't have to look at it.

I head into the Nell's Island maze. I've been in here a half dozen times or so and I figure that I am about 50-50 on finding my way through. I use the high tide to explore some of the other possibilities and then make my way to the top of the island with only one short misstep.  But, the exit channel is blocked by a heavy timber that has lodged itself quite firmly across the channel.  So, I turn and take a channel that had kicked me out of the island on an earlier trip.

 I head over and all the way up Beaver Brook. There are quite a few Yellow Crowned Night Herons in the upper marsh and in the brook. I spot one pretty good sized snapping turtle, well up in the brook.

I head back out, not having seen another paddler the entire time.

Day 2

We head back to the Mattabasset.  With some wind predicted and the fact that yesterday I saw no one else on the river, it seemed reasonable to repeat, but with S in the bow seat.

The water is several inches higher than yesterday.  At the put-in this doesn't seem apparent, but as we head down river where the forest floor is lower, it becomes obvious.  I tell S that a couple weeks back, the water was 8 feet higher.  This sinks in when I point to some cattails on the far side of a strip of trees and tell her that the tops of the cattails were at least 3 feet below the water level.  

Just below the goat ranch, I steer us into the forest and we weave a route through the trees for the next  couple hundred yards before coming out in one of the side marshes.  A Hawk is overhead being dive bombed by a Blackbird. The Blackbird hits the Hawk on the back several times before the Hawk decides to move away.

From there, we head down to the big marsh and cross over to the trees on the east side.  We paddle back as far as the old dirt road, maybe 75 yards before the water runs out. We flush a Great Blue Heron from the forest.  It always amazes me to see such a large bird fly through such a dense forest.

We head back up short cutting a couple of the meanders. We greet a fisherman that I met a couple trips earlier and he tells us that he caught a 4 lb large mouth bass later on the day that we first met.

We head up to the new deadfall so that S can look at the Hawk nest, which is sideways and at eye level.

That makes for a good day and we head back out.

Harmony

No one else is at the put in, and the first-one rule comes into play -  First one down the river sees the most wildlife.

It is mostly overcast with an occasional peek at blue sky. There is a little wind, but nothing that matters much as the forest and hillsides act as a buffer.  The Hartford gauge is at 10-1/2 feet - the river is in its banks, just barely. It is impressive to look around and know that there was another 8 feet of water when I was last here.

I head downstream. The overhanging canopy and overcast sky puts the day into twilight.  This amplifies the green tones and it reminds me of the Pacific Northwest forests, where it is always twilight, even on the sunniest of days. I flush a couple Great Blue Herons, see a couple more, flush 2 mother Wood Ducks, who perform their fake broken wing decoy maneuver, ditching the ducklings and flopping off for a totally unreasonable distance.  I always try to steer wide of the ducklings and get out of the area as quick as possible so that the hen can feel safe about returning.

Harmony.  I've been wrestling with finding the appropriate word, and then I bumped into it while reading a Sigurd Olson book.  Harmony is what happens when I paddle frequently.  I recognize it when I realize that I have stopped counting and making lists of my observations. It is a semi-dreamlike state - I am in the moment and while I am keenly aware and noting what I see, I am agreeable to let the birds and animals be of no more importance than myself. I am no longer a visitor, but just a piece of the landscape.

I paddle down to the confluence with the Connecticut, which is moving past at a fairly stiff pace - definitely not a fun place to be paddling against the current.  I head back, passing my put-in and continuing up. I want to see the tree that fell behind me during my last trip. It was a tall oak that now spans the river.  However, it isn't blocking as there is room to get by near the right bank. I continue up to the next bend and then turn back.

I spot a whitetail doe feeding on the right bank.  I snap a quick photo, finding my camera set at a zoom.  Wildlife surprises - snap off a shot and then fiddle with the camera, The deer did not flee, but it did move behind the brush before I could set the camera.

I've been out 3 hours and I am pleasantly surprised that I have not seen one other person the entire time.

As It Is, By Chance

At a time when the entire world can be viewed by satellite images at the touch of a digital finger, anywhere my canoe can travel appears the way it is because of some policy.  It might be a conservation policy, or economic, or political, but if anything is left untouched by man, it is either by plan or the shear expense that would be involved.

The East River lies in my sweet spot of canoeing rivers.  It is usually 60 to 75 feet wide with a current that is light enough that the river can be paddled in both directions at any time. The navigable section is only 4-1/2 miles long, but it passes through forest, freshwater marsh, and salt marsh, and a low railroad bridge limits most of the river to small craft.  The salt marsh section has 2 small tributaries and a number of dead ends and short cuts to explore. 

Marsh Wren

Marsh Wren nest

The river has escaped the industrialization that most rivers in this region have seen.  While there is a broken sawmill dam on a trickle of creek that enters the river, and some remains of what look like farmer's tidal barriers or bridges, alterations to the river were minimal until the advent of steam power.  Damming the river would have been problematic as there is a wide marsh on either or both sides of the river from where I put in at Foote Bridge, all the way to the sea, and by the time machinery to perform the task was available, damming the East River as a power supply would've been economically pointless.  In fact, my start point was the river crossing until bridges were built downstream as it is the lowest point where one can step into and out of the river on firm ground.  Even at high water, this point could be forded by a horse and wagon.

It is overcast and just under 50F when I set out.  There is a light wind that should be out of the southeast, but as usual, it comes out of a somewhat opposite direction while I am in the forest section.  The tide has just passed high and there is almost no current for the next 45 minutes or so.  It is quiet and there is no one else on the water.  The bird life is into the summer season - Osprey, Willets, Snowy and Great Egrets, and Sandpipers.  The male Marsh Wrens are just starting to build nests. I spot one just below the Clapboard Hill Bridge.  A second nest looks to be in construction just a couple feet away.  Male Marsh Wrens will build 6-15 nests in an effort to attract a mate.  The female will turn one into a usable nest while the others remain as potential decoys to predators.

Foote Bridge - the upper put-in

Below the railroad bridge, I take the Long-cut over to Bailey Creek, and then follow the creek to where it joins the East River.  From there, I return. I have a current to paddle against, but I also have the wind at my back. I've not seen anyone else on the water.

Bird Watching

We have time for a short trip and with the tide peaking at about 3pm, we head across town to the Wheeler Marsh. It is peak bird migration and this is the time to see a variety of species as they stop for a breather in the marsh.

We put in at the refuge launch, saving us the trip back and forth on the river, as one of those stints will be against the tidal current.

We head straight across toward the bottom of Nell's Island.  This part of the marsh floods completely, appearing like open water during high tide, and becomes extensive mud flat at low tide. Birds often gather on the ever shrinking high spots. About 2/3 of the way to Nell's, I spot a flock of birds on one of the shrinking islands. The Black Bellied Plovers stand out, but there are probably other species.  S scopes them with binoculars while I zoom in with my camera.  It's Black Bellied Plovers and Short Billed Dowitchers, and one Yellow Legs. It totals about 75 birds, and they flush and make a big circle landing a bit farther out ahead of us. There are also loose flocks of Brants. We head to Nell's, passing a dozen Egrets and 2 young Night Herons.  

I take us into the maze - the center of Nell's where no one else seems to go.  I got lost in here on my last two trips, getting shunted off the island by making a wrong turn.  We find some Black Ducks, Mallards and a good number of Willets.  Nell's is one of the places in the marsh that is high enough to provide for ground nesters like the Willets. 

I make myself look smart by finding our way through the channels direct to the top of the island. 

Heading into Nell's channel, I spot a Long Tailed Duck and we take some time to observe.

Male Long Tailed Duck

As we weave through another channel. S spots a Yellow Crowned Night Heron, and as it flushes, two more pop up from nearby.  

We finish the route in the main outer channel because the gnats are doing a fine job of biting us.

Wood River

I put in just above the dam the creates Alton Pond.  It is a calm day with a thick overcast that looks rain.

It is just few minutes paddling upstream to the top of the pond. From there, the river narrows and meanders through a swampland of stunted trees and shrubs. Of all the rivers I paddle, this one is botanically the most interesting. Pickerel weed is up but not yet blooming.  Pond lilies and water shield are struggling to the surface of the water, which is running high with recent rain.  I pass a beaver lodge, and then a fisherman, whose pole bends in a tight arc as I near. I leave him to himself to land the fish.

If I haven't paddled recently, I often became entwined in observing and identifying what I see.  But, I have been out quite a bit lately, and as often happens, I become part of the landscape, visually aware but letting birds and animals pass by, noting their presence but not quantifying it.  I become insignificant, just a small uncredited bit player that leaves no tracks and disappears into the background at every turn of the river.

The portage at Wilsonville is awkward due to the height of the water. It's a 75 yard carry across a bridge to put in above a dam.  Then, there is a short pond before the river closes in again.  This section is narrower than that below the dam. There is more deadwood in the water and the current gradually picks up. I only have to step out of the canoe once, for a rotten deadfall that could have been cut in a minute, if I had not left my saw behind.

I step out to stretch my legs about two and a quarter hours in.  I almost step on a turtle, which eyes me from just under the lip of its shell until I leave. There are no landmarks to tell how far I have come. Somewhere upstream is a trout fishing access trail, but I have no idea how far it is.

I head back. It is slow at first, as I pick my way carefully through strainers.

Meditation by Paddle

The day is overcast, starting calm with an expected east wind coming on as the day goes. The temperature is in the 60's, with high tide peaking in another 3 hours.  Setting out upriver from the highway bridge, I have a gentle flood current at my back.

I stay near the east shore, which blanks out any wind; it is calm water paddling.  The first landmark is the defunct coal power plant. It has been replaced and then some by a few gas turbine generators.  I hope, someday, to see the power plant razed and the land restored to natural waterfront.  Coal is never coming back no matter what the Mango-shit-gibbon says, for the simple fact that it is too expensive to mine and make use of. The six story high coal plant is here for the simple fact that it would be expensive to demolish. The land will likely never be purchased by anyone other than the government as the ground should be toxic, as with any other coal plant. The waterfront by the plant is creosote pilings with some derelict cranes from the time when coal was transported here by barge. There is no use for the wharf structure as the gas turbine generators get their natural gas fuel from a pipeline.  The cranes currently host two pairs of Osprey.

It is a peaceful trip up the river.  The bird life is a fairly constant presence of Osprey, and along the natural shorelines, Least Sandpipers. The Osprey are fishing and during the trip I get to see three of them dive after prey.

There is almost no other boat traffic with the fishermen working the area near Carting Island. I paddle as far as the uppermost marina, which is a bit above Wooster Island, 6-3/4 miles above my start point.  From there, I turn back and paddle the east shoreline back. 

 

Afternoon

We put in on the East River about 2:00.  It is a nice day with a light upriver wind and temperatures just less than 70F. The tide has been falling for 2 hours.

There are a lot of Red Wing Blackbirds in the forest section, and they seem very busy.   

We hear several Marsh Wrens once we are below the Clapboard Hill Bridge.  They've returned since my last trip in here.  We see a few Yellow-Legs, but no where near as many as on earlier trips.  They migrate a little ways north for nesting, and I assume that is where they've gone. S asks about Willets and I tell her that we will start seeing them when we get to the Big Bends, which is just what happened.

Willet

The Willets have all arrived.  They were still migrating in on my last visit.  They are putting on a good show with lots of squabbling and antics along the shoreline. A crow flies over, and we get to watch a Willet chase it, then another, and then when the crow lands, several come in and start hassling it, until it gets up and leaves. Down in the main marsh, we spot a small cluster of four Plover.

Plover

Otherwise, it was just a nice 9 miles of canoeing.  The last mile of the return is in shallow water with a fairly strong current.

The Inbetweens

I returned to the Mattabasset.  Three days ago, I was here when the Hartford gauge was reading 16 feet, about 10 feet above normal. A couple days of rain kept the levels up, so I decided last night to come back and explore some more of the flooded river bottom forest.  By the time I put in, the gauge is at 18 feet.

From the put-in, I cut straight across the river and into the woods. It is fairly open paddling with some weaving around trees and watching for poison ivy that is vining up some of the trunks.  The ground level poison ivy, which is amazingly plentiful here, is well under water and out of the way.

I get down to the Great Meadow without using the river channel.  This time, I'll follow the river-left edge of  the "meadow", which is a mile wide pond at this water level.  An Osprey and a mature Bald Eagle fly past heading upriver. In the river channel, more than a half mile away, I spot three canoeists - it's Outrigger Guy and a pair that I've seen with him before.  They're canoe racers, racing around in their canoes. In my mind, it's not the worst thing you could do in a canoe, but it's close. At least they are in a canoe.  Canoeing has taken on a spiritual nature for me, and racing one seems like going into "competitive religion".

Part way down the "meadow", I turn into the forest, which is well flooded.  Getting in maybe a hundred yards, I can see open sky ahead.  I continue in that direction and come out into an open clearing.  This is probably a shrubby open meadow in normal conditions.  The plants are saplings and shrubs, and when the water is shallow enough, I can see ferns below. I never knew this was over here.  I take a big loopy clockwise circle. I find the remains of a beaver lodge, but the wood is too old to tell if it was a conical lodge or a bank burrow.  However, it means that there is a narrow creek channel somewhere below me. I also find a frog that is willing to pose for a close-up, and some box and painted turtles, and Wood Ducks.

My loop brings me back into the forest, but I find high ground and have to retreat.  I head in an upstream direction until the ground falls away and then head back into the woods.  I find an old dirt road bed, follow it until it rises again, and then cut through the woods back into the Great Meadows.  

The wind has come up rather fierce, so I skirt the edge of the trees upriver until I am in the forested section of the river.  

I head upstream through the woods until the bridge above the put-in.  This forces me into the river channel.  I pass two Barcalounger type kayakers, who are doing about half my speed.  About a quarter mile later, I here the reports of several firecrackers, and then a splash. It's the splash that didn't make sense. I look back to find a 50 foot tall tree that has fallen across the river about 75 yards behind me.  The firecrackers were the branches and roots of the tree snapping.  I wait a minute for the Barcaloungers to come into view, just to be double sure that they weren't in the tree.  Then, I continue up.

The new deadfall is the one with the leaves, right of center

I turn at the deadfall above the highway bridge, just as I did on my last trip.  

At the new deadfall, there is a pair of rather upset Red-Shouldered Hawks.  One is flying around with a mouthful of branches.  I look and find their nest in a crook of the fallen tree.  The nest is intact, but if they had eggs or new hatched young, they are gone. 

Hawk nest

When I take out, I have a talk with a guy fishing from the launch.  I've seen him before.  He's rather shy, but when I get him started, he goes on and on.  So, I learn some new things about the fish that are in this river.

The Ends

With 16 feet on the Hartford gauge on the Connecticut River, I head to the Mattabasset,  The Mattabasset backs up when the Connecticut River is high, and with that gauge reading, the Mattabasset water level will be about 10 feet above normal.

The carry to the water is two canoe lengths shorter than normal.  The water is out of the banks and in the lower sections, it will be possible to paddle through the river bottom forest and the large cattail marshes. But, I head upstream to start.  It is easy paddling with no current, and I pass the usual tough spots where the current is normally a problem - the gravel bar, the railroad trestle (which is normally a portage), and the highway bridge, where the current is often amplified in shallow water.  I get a good close up view of a Red Shouldered Hawk just upstream of the highway bridge. I get to a full span deadfall just before the double bends. 

I would have been able to get higher, but the deadfall is too much of a mess to deal with, especially since I left my saw in the car.  Not to go too "sour grapes", but the double bends above are good traps for floating deadfalls and I can easily convince myself that the bends would not be passable.  I turn and head back. I feel engulfed by the forest, particularly when the canopy spans the river, with trees over and around and their reflection beneath.

After I pass my put-in, I make a few excursions into the forest, cutting the meanders and finally coming out into the Great Meadows.  This is a cattail marsh that is about a mile across.  Today, it is an open pond, and I cut across it direct to the railroad bridge on the Coginchaug River. Again, the upstream paddle is easy with little current.  I pass over the logjams that can be problematic in normal water levels.  Above the logjams the river narrows with some fast water that usually stops the progress.

Today, while the water is still fast, it is wide enough to maneuver and eddy hop.  The river seems to have a pool and drop characteristic, although the main issue is to safely maneuver around several strainers.  I get a few hundred feet above the Newfield Street bridge before running up against a full span deadfall at a sharp bend where there are old stone abutments from a former road bridge.  I turn and head back.

Abandoned bridge just below the Newfield Street bridge

Crossing the Great Meadows "pond", I get the wildlife show for the day.  A Bald Eagle is chasing an Osprey, which no doubt has a fish in its talons.  This goes on for a couple minutes before I see a silver sparkle fall to the water.  A second Bald Eagle, which I had not seen, comes from behind me and lands in the water to take the fish.  As the first Eagle flies away upstream, without making  stink, the second Eagle flies past me in the opposite direction, I have my doubts about it being a team effort.  It might be that the second Eagle was hanging back waiting to take the spoils.  I got a photo of the second Eagle, and it looks like none of them ended up with a fish.

I return by way of the forest, only using the river channel when the terrain forces me to,