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.