Hamburg Cove

I set out from the North Cove at Pettipaug (Essex)... yeah, I think the original name has a bunch more pizzazz than the current name.  The water is low and the tide is still dropping, but there is enough depth to get through the gap and out into the main river without having to divert through the marina.  The sky is a high hazy overcast with strips of light blue running across the sky from east to west.  There is little wind and the temperature is in the 70's.  

A Hawk is perched in the tree near the gap.  I'm not sure of the species, perhaps it is a juvenile without the more distinct markings of adult Hawks. It is docile enough that I get several photographs.

I head upriver and cross to the east side following the old Ely Ferry route.  It is the narrowest point in the river for a good distance in either direction, an obvious location for a ferry before the advent of steam power.  Today it might look a bit odd with the west end being a landing on a long marshy strip of land.

I head up the beautiful east shore, a steep forested hillside with small beaches and rock outcrops.  I pass fifteen Common Mergansers - probably one or two female adults and the rest being first years.  Then, I turn into Hamburg Cove.  It is a quiet day with little boat traffic, and none at all in the cove.  There are a good number of Great Blue Herons.  Whenever I flush one, I get a half dozen scolding croaks.  They never go far, crossing the narrow cove or circling around and resuming their original position.

Eight Mile River is running very shallow and I ascend only about 50 yards to the first gravel bar.  It would be mostly wading from that point on, and as the river is only reasonable for a third of a mile on a good day, it is a good place to turn back.

Nearing the gap into the North Cove, I spot another Hawk - or it may be the same one.  It is on the shore and seems to have something worth eating.  I circle it up to the north and around, just to get some more distance.  It seems to always surprise me, but the top of the cove is almost as far upriver as Hamburg Cove.

Low Tide through the Wheeler

I first went to the refuge launch, but found that my ideas about the rising tide were a bit too optimistic with twenty feet of exposed mud between firm ground and the water.  And, I know from past experience that the goo will be half knee height or better.  I divert to the state launch, a mile upriver but with a concrete ramp descending into the semi-briny. 

It is mostly cloudy and warm with a light wind from who knows where.  The tide coefficient is very low, so the difference between high and low tide is small, and the resulting tidal currents are also minimal. Low tide was almost 2 hours ago.

Reaching the marsh, it is clearly low tide and I head down Nell's Channel, which is always deep enough for a canoe.  I find a bottle protruding from the cut bank.  It is a one pint Lord Calvert bottle, 15 inches deep on river left, about 1/3 of the distance from the bend to the main lower entrance to the Nell's Island maze. At that depth, the bottle has probably been in place since around 1950.

I continue on to Milford Point, passing the point for a quarter mile or so towards the sound.  But, there are almost no birds of any interest, so I head back to the marsh.

Crossing over to the east shore, I spot a Clapper Rail, but it disappears into the spartina before I can get at my camera.  There is no point of trying to out wait a Rail, so I move on.  I flush an immature Yellow Crowned Night Heron, but again, no time for a photo.  I do pass several Snowy Egrets and one Swan.  Then, at the east shore, I find another immature Yellow Crowned Night Heron.  This one poses for me.  That is the big change since my last trips in here. It seems that most of the Night Herons have migrated out. I do not see any Osprey as well.  

I head back out and upriver. It has been a quite pleasant day. 

Old Friends

Lord Cove -
Some places that I paddle are like old friends. I listen to them, and perhaps they listen to me.  I take away a bit of the garbage they must deal with, and they take away some of the garbage that comes my way. There's no arguing.  We get along.

I put in at Pilgrim Landing. There are billowy clouds that don't seem to be long for the day.  It will be sunny and warm with a light wind of no consequence. Four people are just getting back from a morning of river trash collecting. Today, there is an organized effort of trash pick up.  I do it all the time on my own, and not being particular to being organized, I did not join in.  It is good to see.

I head up into the cove.  Cormorants are the most numerous bird as I head in.  In fact, there are few other birds to note.  As I get nearer to Cout's Hole, the Great Blue Herons start to add up.  I head up one of the dead ends towards the top of the cove, flushing more Great Blues and fewer Cormorants as I go, and the Great Blue Herons soon outnumber the Cormorants.  I come back and drift over to the old Eagle nest.  I did not see any activity this year in this large old nest. 

When I head over to the bridge - there is only one bridge in the entire cove - I start flushing Mallards, the first that I have seen today.  I figure it'll just be that first eight or ten, but then it's another dozen, and another fifteen, and some more, and some more.  Seems like fifty or so by the time I go under the bridge. I didn't count because I figured each flush was the last flush.

The cattails are browning out.  If one looks carefully, there are some green cattail spears, but almost all of them are in fall color. 

I spot an Osprey on the way out.  Getting a little late for Osprey, but there's always a couple that hang on until it gets cold.  Back to Goose Bay, there are a half dozen Osprey in the air.  I get to watch three good dives. I spot an Eagle chasing an Osprey, and then notice that there is a second Eagle - both are mature Baldies with white heads and tail feathers. 

I take the long way out, rounding the bay and exiting into the main river, crossing to Calf Island and returning to my start point.  I have had the cove to myself for a good three hours. 

Bantam - Dreaming Canoes

Last night, I had a canoe dream.  They don't come along often, so I feel blessed when they do.  
I had a friend in the canoe and we paddled the shoreline near my Grandma's lakeshore home over to Clay Cliff.  I don't think that Clay Cliff is an official geographic name, but anyone living in that are would know it as such. The cliff was about 50 feet high in 8 year-old measurements, but I suppose it was little more than half that in reality. It was not a rock cliff either, but a compacted wall of dirt.  There may have been some clay in it, or not.  It was part of a summer manor that had a small stylish mansion and a large caretaker's house. The caretaker's kids were friends with my cousins, so we had the run of the place if Mr. Moneybags was not around. When we got to the base of the cliff, I looked up to see a jagged hacked off limb of a tree.  It had been chopped at (cut is not the verb for such crude work) with no skill until, I imagine, the person with the ax finally yanked the limb free. I told my friend that this is where my cousins, a wild breed of the family for sure, had hung a rope swing. In fact, there was no room on Clay Cliff for a swing of any sort although you might dangle a rope down the face.  I followed a brick walkway at the base of the cliff (there was no such thing) until I could look around the corner.  The view there was as I remembered from decades ago with a large tented dock where the rich guy's boat was stored in the summer.  My friend wandered off in the meantime.  It was time to go and I pushed into a rush of waves that left a thick layer of foam on the water.  I waded by feel on a rocky bottom until the water was deep enough for the canoe, and I paddled out against the waves.

I put in at the lower end of Bantam Lake.  I've not paddled the lake except at the top where the Bantam River enters.  The water is green in an unhealthy manner - too many nutrients.  The lake does have a good amount of development although it is clean and neat - it does not remind me one bit of the trailer trash development of Lake Zoar.  It would be quite nice if two out of every three houses were removed and the forest was allowed to regrow.  I have no way of knowing, but I suspect that the green water stems from lawn fertilizer and perhaps old septic systems.  I cross over to the east shore and follow it up to the top of the lake. There are very few boats - a couple fishermen and a couple sight seers.

Beaver scent mounds

The upper lake is much nicer.  The houses are old lakeside cabins, for the most part, and there is more forest land.  The uppermost shoreline is the marsh of the Bantam River.   

I head up the river. The water becomes clear the instant I leave the lake.  The first beaver dam is comes soon, right where I remember it.  Maybe 15 inches, it is sturdy and recently maintained.  It smells of castoreum.  From this point on, there is frequent beaver sign - current lodges, old abandoned lodges, beaver drags, and scent mounds.  At one point, there are more than 10 scent mounds in sight on either side of the river, which is clearly a territorial boundary.  I suspect that there are several more lodges in the marsh that are out of view from the river.  I also decide that the lake was a nice start.  I like the idea of putting in some distance before getting to the good stuff (the river).

I run into a few kayakers being led by a grumpy woman when I get to the rough river put-in.  And then there is the woman in the kayak sitting sideways in the middle of the river who looks at me like a space alien when I suggest that she move forward so that I can get around her.  I paddle off wondering if I just insulted the Dowager Empress of Litchfield.  Fortunately, all of those people are going downstream.

I continue up to the pond.  This involves crossing five beaver dams, two of which are flooded, with the others requiring a step out onto the dam to get the canoe over.  There are several in-use lodges on this stretch.  

From the pond, I turn back, making my six beaver dam crossings to get back to the lake.  I zig-zag down the lake by making crossings between the three main points in the river.   

Lover's Leap

I put in by the 4-span steel bridge and head upriver.  It is mostly sunny with a wind coming down the river.  The wind is steady with an occasional prolonged gust, but I make good speed into it by hugging the forested shoreline where the wind is buffered.  

I paddle steady, a tripping pace, something I could do all day, feeling it at the end but not ending exhausted.  There are just a few boats out - mostly bass boats. The round trip will be about 12-1/2 miles - a half day of canoeing.

Lover's Leap

Hugging the shoreline, I look up into the forest.  Sometimes, the land drops steeply to the water, but quite often there is a gradual slope with little brush.  Every so often I spot an old stone wall, a reminder of the wool "gold rush" of the early 1800's.  This hilly terrain would have been pastureland.  Sometimes, the walls end at an eroded bank, all of which tumbles into the water.  Sometimes,  a wall crawls out of the woods and disappears into the depths.  The canoe passes over pastures drowned. I flush Great Blue Herons every once in awhile. They are the dominant bird among a some ducks and Swans.  One pair of Swans has 6 gray cygnets - I often see 3 or 4, but this is the first time I've seen 6.

I get to the narrow gap known as Lover's Leap, pass through and then turn back.  

Exiting Lover's Leap

The wind has decided to ease up.  It is always in my favor, but not as strong as when I came upriver. I cut the corners of the S-ing river taking advantage of any wind that finds me.  

It was a good day. 

Happy Place

I put in sometime after noon on the Menunketusuck.  The tide is low and still dropping, the sky is mostly cloudy with the clouds moving about, and the temperature is in the 70's.  There is a stiff wind coming up the river.

I often set out thinking about the things that I might see, particularly the unusual or new things that nature throws out from time to time.  This tact disappears by the second bend, and I am just happy and thankful to be in such a beautiful place.

It seems that the Osprey are gone.  I spot a Yellow Legs every so often, and a Great Egret.  It is bird quiet for sure.  I'm tallying the few birds, which includes a Cormorant and a few Mallards, when a loose flock of a dozen Great Egrets comes in over my right shoulder and lands, half on the other side of the railroad, half on this side.  I suppose to a creature that flies, the ten foot high berm of the railroad doesn't look like much of a divider. I spot a couple Snowy Egrets.  There don't seem to be any Little Blue Herons or Glossy Ibises, and I suppose they have headed south.

I head back from the rail underpass, which is a one way trip when the tide is moving, and take the east branch up until the water runs thin. Then I head back out and take the west branch up to the pond, which has a 15 inch high stone dam holding the pond water.  I haven't been back here at low tide, so this is the first time that I've seen that, although I have suspected that the bank on this side of the pond might be man-made.

With that, I head out and back up river. 

Visiting the Chinkapin Oak

We set out in the early afternoon down Pond Brook, out into the Housatonic and around the point into the Shephaug. The weather was fine with a partly cloudy sky, almost no wind, and a temperature around 70F. The water was still and almost smooth and there was no one else about.

As we neared the point we passed the chinkapin oak.  S missed it and I promised to point it out on the return.  We spotted a few Great Blue Herons.  

I told S, as we approached the second wide spot, that this was a good area to spot an Eagle.  Getting there, a Hawk called out repeatedly. We spotted it circling overhead.  Then, we heard the distinct call of a Bald Eagle arriving overhead as well.  The Eagle was an immature. The two birds scolded each other until the Eagle flew off up river. 

But, the Eagle did not fly far.  We soon spotted it making a dive for something on the water on the far side of the river. There was a line of first year Common Mergansers, but the Eagle did not seem to interested in them.  Then, a mature Bald came in and took the perch from the younger Eagle.  The Mergansers swam off at a leisurely pace.  All of this occurred solely because I had told S to leave the binoculars at home because the bird watching is not particularly good in this stretch.

At the apple orchard, we turned back, both of us agreeing that it was an exceptional day, and a good trip for the spirit.

As we rounded the point I directed S to the chinkapin oak, having to point out an acorn with the tip of my paddle to prove that it was, in fact, an oak. 

A speeding pontoon boat passed near throwing an unusually large wake for such a dunderheaded boat. I told S that the elderly boat driver surely wanted a Camaro when he was 15 years old, but ended up with a pontoon boat instead. 

We crossed the river and headed back into Pond Brook to our start point. 

A One Osprey Day

I head downriver from the old stage ford, putting in above the small bridge and wading until I am past it.  I am tempted to move one or two of the boulders so that the canoe can squeak past on future trips, but they might have been in place for quite some time, so I let them be. It is a dodgy wade as the water is murky and I can't see more than a half inch into the water.  I am surprised that I don't have to do more wading - I expected the water to run thin over the Gravel Flats. While the water was slack at the ford, the tide is already flowing upstream at the Flats - the tidal current will be a bit zippy today.

It is a beautiful day and my first thoughts are a reflection on what a spectacular place I live in.

Pass some Yellow-Legs at the Gravel Flats - the shallows should be good feeding.  A Green Heron is spotted a bit further down, with a Snowy Egret. A Great Blue Heron flies over.  It is quiet and if there is any distant road noise, the crickets have drowned it out.

Below the Clapboard Hill bridge, a single Short Billed Dowitcher.  I did not expect to see one. It is my first photograph of the day.

Short Billed Dowitcher

Below the railroad bridge, I cut across the river and squeeze by two crab fishermen in a skiff to get into the Sneak.  Once in Bailey Creek, I head up all the way to the culvert.  The tide is coming in fast now.  I get out by the culvert and check the far side of the road and see that, at least for a couple hundred yards, the creek might be paddled.  The culvert, by the way, is submerged, even at lower tide levels. 

Entering the Sneak

I head back via the Long Cut, which connects to the Sneak not far from where it joins the East River.  

Back above the Clapboard Hill bridge, I spot my first Osprey of the day.  It seems like there should be more, but then again, I did not go all the way down to the sound, and if they haven't migrated, they might be where there is better fishing.  The Osprey leads me upriver in several short hops, all the way back to the old ford. It has been a one Osprey day... many months since that happened.

Clear the Head

I set out from under the bridge just after high tide, but the current is still flowing upriver, which I imagine is something of the inertial persuasion.  It is sunny and in the upper 70's with a south (upriver) wind at maybe 10 mph. I head across the river paddling under the three bridges and then up and into the four islands.  I make a lap of Peacock Island, flushing several Mallards, a Yellow Crowned Night Heron and a couple Great Egrets.  Then, I continue upriver.

I turn back when I get to the power lines. It will be a short day, just enough to clear the head.  I come up with an idea to go along with my "Decoys for Bad Fishermen". I take the west channel behind the islands, then cut across the river and call it a day. 

Catching the Tide

Other than the wind, it was an ideal day for canoeing.  The wind wasn't so bad that it would keep anyone on shore, but it was strong enough to encourage me to head to a smaller and more forested river.

We put in at the usual spot on the Mattebasset.  The water level was quite low as we set out - a combination of late summer and very low tide.  Even here, about 30 miles from the ocean, there is a 2-1/2 foot tidal fluctuation. 

We head downriver.  Great Blue Herons are the bird of the day with 12 to 15 sighted during the trip. S spots a mature Bald Eagle just as we turn the bend that comes out of the forested section.  Cormorants are perching in trees, something I haven't seen all summer.  There is a Kingfisher here and there, and songbirds are starting to feed in the swamp grasses and wild rice.  S spots a baby turtle - no more than 2 inches across. I watch for beaver sign, but see none.  The known lodges are abandoned and dilapidated.

We turn at the big river and head back up, with a side trip up the Coginchaug.  Just below the Coginchaug launch, we find a beaver downed tree.  It has fresh cuts. The grass all around has been well trampled and the limbs of the tree removed and hauled away.  I find two small scent mounds on the far side of the river.  It is not much for beaver sign, but it does show that there is at least one in the vicinity.  I don't spot a lodge or bank burrow. 

Heading back upriver, we stop to shake some wild rice, but get no kernels to fall off.   

Twin Lakes

Together they are called the Twin Lakes - Washining and Washinee are the actual names. The lakes are located in the northwest corner of Connecticut.

M joins me with my new canoe.  We meet G and A at the state boat launch on Washining Lake, but the quarter mile dirt road leading to the water is blocked by a downed tree.  Yesterday a wind storm and possible tornado came through the area.  We all backtrack a mile to O'Hara's Landing Marina.  It is a small old school marina and while they charge a fee for launching, M talks them in to giving us a discount. 

We put in and set out under overcast skies with almost no wind and temperatures in the mid-60's.  It is ideal canoe weather.

Today is my first trip here, and I am pleased.  There are lakeside houses but they are well spaced out and many of them are modest and partially hidden in the trees.  At a distance, all around, are tall forested hills and it is noticeably quiet with the exceptions being a generator here and there for a house that has lost power from the storm, and a couple of chainsaws where people are clearing downed trees. We see a kayak and canoe from a distance and a couple fishing boats, and that is all the boat traffic for this day.

The four of us follow the shoreline north and around to an island that is connected to the mainland by a short bridge.  The island is home to a summer camp for the American School for the Deaf. We can spy some interesting architecture from the water - the island was once a rich guy's estate.  We spot a mature Bald Eagle, adding to several Great Blue Herons that we've seen.

There is a short narrow channel - maybe 75 yards, that leads to Washinee Lake.  This channel is small enough to prevent motorboats from passing.  Washinee is smaller but just as pleasant as Washining - a few well spaced houses. 

At the north end of the lake we find the outflow.  Just short of a half mile further, there is a dam with manual gates to maintain the lake level.  From there, there is a small creek that winds quite a way north and finds its way to the Housatonic.

At the dam

We all turn and head back out, voting unanimously to make a direct route so as to get to Ohara's in time to eat at their rustic diner. The lakeside diner reminds me of something I might find in Northern Minnesota and everyone there is quiet happy to have  conversation.  One of the guys turns out to be employed by the town to control the lake level - he's the one who turns the valves at the outflow.  A leaves before eating, but the remaining three of us have a nice talk over burgers fries and onion rings. 

Nell's Not-really-an-island Island

I head downriver as the last few minutes of the high tide comes in.  It is a sunny day with a few large cumulus clouds floating about and a light wind coming upriver. 

The Common Terns seem to be gone.  Recently, they were perching on the first dock above the marsh.  I am not sure, but I imagine they have continued on their migration south.  Terns have very long migrations. 

Nell's Not-much-of-an-island

I head direct into the Nell's Not-Island.  Nell's whatever-it-is has been part of a recent art project, so I end up thinking about it when I'm out here.  Nell's is at least 90% spartinat alternaflora, the variety of salt marsh grass that grows where the grass is flooded on most every high tide - twice a day. When is an island not an island... maybe when it is fully submerged twice a day?  Anyway, I've pretty much decided that it became known as an island because their are navigable channels on either side of the what-ever-it-is. 

The middle of Nell's Not-really-an-island

The main river is to the west and it is capable of handling large barges and the steamboats that once traveled it.  The smaller channel to the east still can handle a pretty large boat - something around 50 foot or so, at least during mid to high tide. And that's pretty much why it is an "island"... because you can't run into it without wrecking your boat. It probably all stems from an era when marshland was considered wasteland - Nell's was only marked on maps because it was in the way.

At high tide, no part of the island is any different than anywhere else in the marsh.  It's just channels and ponds separated by strips and patches of flooded spartina. I flush Night Herons as I pass through the maze. Then, I head across the marsh to the east.  There are Night Herons and Egrets perching in the trees south of the refuge put-in.  I head north instead and take a back channel up to the Central Phragmites patch, where I flush about a dozen mature Black Crowned Night Herons and a few Yellow Crowns.  Then, I head back upriver.