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.