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.