It's New Bird Time

It is a great day again, perfect for canoeing and just too good to pass up.  As a bonus, the tide is high near 8:30 in the morning, which sets the stage for exploring the marsh.

Many of the larger birds are starting to fledge, or at least nearing that point in their development.  The other day when I went for a walk at Miford Point, I spotted a newly fledged Night Heron parked in the center of a large six inch deep puddle at the Audubon Center.  So a run through the Wheeler Marsh seemed appropriate.

I started from under the highway, as usual.  The tide was dropping, so it was a speedy run down to the marsh.  At the last dock, which is along one, about 30 Terns were perched with at least another dozen in the air nearby. 

I head into the Nell's Island maze.  It immediately brings to mind yesterdays trip in the Quaboag, which I noted as lacking the intimacy that I usually find when paddling in marshes.  The entrance to the maze is just a few feet wide, it bends one way or another and requires attention to the paddling.  I flush a Yellow Crowned Night Heron and a Willet, both from close up.  The water is still too high to get under the big deadfall that blocks the "easy" route.  And, my skinny bypass seems to have filled in - at least with the summer spartina, it is invisible. But, there is a deep channel around the deadfall that I do not remember ever seeing.  While the salt marshes are fairly stable in the big view, minor changes do happen as banks erode with channels opening and large lumps of root bound mud fall into open spots.  I take the normal route through, flushing quite a few Yellow Crowned Night Herons, some Mallards and a couple Willets. Only one of the Willets bothers with scolding me. 

Glossy Ibises

I cross the marsh to the east side.  The lower marsh is pretty much flooded and there are few birds.  A mature Bald Eagle heads up the east shore going past Cat Island before I lose sight of it.  I head into the Central Phragmites Patch.  The channel in is closing in and I don't know whether this is just summer spartina or mud blocks shifting about.  It is definitely a tighter fit than ever before.  I flush a Green Heron on the way in, but otherwise no birds.  It has been a preferred Night Heron hang out in the past.  Five Glossy Ibises fly over.

Newly fledged NIght Heron still with bad hair

I head up Beaver Brook.  Find a couple newly fledged Night Herons, both which are not quite sure of what to do when a canoe appears on the scene.  I go as far as the last bend before the culvert, where I spin the canoe and find a white tail doe with a pair of spotted fawns.  They walk into the water and make a quick swim across and disappearm literally, into a stand of phragmites. I spot the Bald Eagle again as it flies off to who knows where.

White tail fawn

On my way back, the Terns are stil camped at the long dock.   

Something New

I put in on the Quaboag River.  I've never been here before and it has been on my list.  It is a sunny day with temperatures in the 70's and a predicted 6-8 mph wind.  A fairly ideal day for canoeing, especially in mid-summer.

I make a wrong turn or two on my drive, but once I figure out to toss the shithead google map route, it's easy.  In fact, it's not much more than 10 miles away from the Quinabaug put-in, which I know well. The start is a hand-launch parking area very near the intersection of Rt 9 and Rt 67.

I head upriver with a tailwind.  Having not been here before, I start out paddling against the current, just in case.  But, the current is a nothing burger, just enough movement to bend the water plants and show the direction of the current.  

The first mile is in the forest with the river being about 5 canoe lengths wide.  There are a few shallow spots, but nothing that can't be paddled through.   About a mile in the forest begins backing away from the river.  Now the river is more like 10 canoe lengths wide, meandering casually through a wide treeless marsh.  In fact, there will not be a spot of shade for the remainder of the trip.

The river is beautiful, but I find it lacking in intimacy.  I am so much more used to paddling up against the swamp plants and near the forest.  The edges between ecozones have so much more going on with variety in flora and fauna.  In the Quaboag, I feel as if I am kept at an arms length.  Anyway, the paddling is good and there are few people.  I go just over 6 miles to the mouth at Quaboag Pond and return.  I see 4 dippers and a pontoon boat tour during the 4 hours.  Also, several Great Blue Herons, a couple Osprey, Kingfisher, some Geese and Mallards, an maybe a dozen beaver lodges.  

Worden Pond

An unusually perfect day for being outside has shown up.  After four very smokey days in the last five, the day is particularly special.  It is sunny with a temperature that will top out in the upper 70's and the wind will be light all day.

We put in on Worden Pond in Rhode Island.  The pond is 1-1/2 by 1 mile in size.  It is also quite shallow and develops a wicked chop in wind.  The pond is also surrounded by low swampy forest land and lies only 4 miles from the sound, so any wind finds the pond. The light winds for the day influenced our decision to come here. 

At the put in, we have a nice talk with a young man who works for the state's environmental agency.  He's spending the day talking with boaters about cleaning their boats and preventing the transporting of invasive species. Luckily, he has a book to read because there is only one boat on the water and that is a work boat doing a survey of invasive plants in the pond.  

The well built beaver dam near the bottom of the Chipuxet

We head up the east side of the pond, following the edge of the bullrushes that grow near shore.  We head into the Chipuxet when we get there.  The river enters the pond as the Chipuxet, and exits the pond as the Pawcatuck.  It is always narrow, but at this point in the summer, the beautiful pickerel weed and other plants have made the passage even narrower.  We cross one beaver dam and weave through the tight meanders for a few hundred yards, but decide to go back and explore the the edge of the pond.

We head across the top of the pond, often paddling through the bullrushes. We head down the Pawcatuck a short ways.  It is much different than the Chipuxet.  The Chipuxet runs through marsh - it is surrounded by low plants - cattails, shrubs pickerel weed.  The Pawcatuck runs through swamp with a forest canopy overhead in most places, although there is very little dry land anywhere.   Once S gets the idea of what this stretch of the Pawcatuck looks like, we head back to the pond.

Where it becomes the Pawcatuck

We continue following the bullrushes along the west and south shore until we get back to our start point. 

 

Smoke and Rain... and Bowling Dwarfs

Too restless to let a day go to waste, I put in from O' Sullivans Island.  It is, again, smokey.  For real, it is nearly twilight. Less brown than the previous days, I suspect that the murk is smoke and water particles, as it is humid as heck.  But, as happened on previous days, the murk is so thick that the temperature is cooler than one would expect.  There are a good number of people fishing from the banks.  Although the river is greatly improved over its industrial low point, I would never eat anything caught here.

I head downstream.  The tide is past low, but this far upriver, I won't notice the reverse flow, unless I want to really focus and pick at gnats. 

It is calm with an occasional light upstream blow that doesn't amount to anything.  I spot several Osprey, a few Great Blue Herons, an Egret and a couple Kingfishers.  It's as if most of the birds are grounde due to bad visibility.

I turn back at Wooster Island, the island that I can never remember the name of.  I usually remember it as Crescent Island, as it is crescent shaped.  Of course there is no Crescent Island in this area.  

I start hearing thunder when I make my turn.  It is quite distant, somewhere south and east of my location. It is rolling thunder.  I grew up in the upper midwest and mom would tell us the Dutch colonial folktales about thunder being the sound of dwarfs bowling in the sky.  This never made too much sense to me, even as a kid, because midwest thunder is a great booming explosion coming from a point source.  But, in New England, thunder usually travels across the sky.  Today it is starting southeast of me and rumbling west. The stereo effect is quite remarkable.  It is not at all difficult to imagine a damaged bowling ball rolling down a lumpy bowling lane.  Anyway, it is, so far, well south of me, and we have dwarfs in the clouds.

It starts sprinkling as I paddle back.  The wind comes up - a nice steady tailwind. The thunder continues for about a half hour, mostly traveling east-west well behind me. The sprinkle becomes a steady rain during the last mile, but it is warm enough that bothering to stop to don raingear would be pointless.  The fishermen have all run away by the time I take out.

Blue Sky and Bird Threesomes

Blue sky!  We didn't see any blue sky during the previous three days due to all the forest fire smoke that came our way.  The previous two days the smoke was down to ground level to the point of smelling it and almost tasting it.

I decide to make the run up to Lover's Leap.  I didn't feel like dealing with the tides, which are not timed ideally right now, so a fresh water route was in order.  I put in at the state launch in Bridgewater, on the Housatonic River.  It is calm, still under 70F, and sunny with a partly cloudy sky.  I can see a little haze in the trees if I have a long enough line of sight.  This could be the last of the smoke, or it might just be some humid air.  Anyway, the air is overwhelmingly improved over yesterday!

I spot a set of 3 Great Blue Herons.  This is the third time that I've seen a threesome in the last week or so.  It is unusual as Herons feed alone and usually keep a few hundred yards spacing.  The only time that I've seen them congregate is during mating in the spring.  But, this reminds of the threesomes of Oyster Catchers that I've seen in the last week.  I could be wrong, but I think that all of these occurrences might be recent fledglings with an adult bird, school in session for the young birds so to speak.  Birds that must fly in order to leave the nest, such as Eagles, Osprey, Herons, etc. have to be fairly close to full size for their first flight. And some, but not all, make that first flight in adult feather colors, or something close to it.  I saw this school session with Bald Eagles not too long ago.  Osprey will do this in a couple of weeks.

In the upper end of the paddle, I find a very large flock of Mallard Ducklings - 35-40 birds with a few adults.  This is quite unusual.  While Canada Geese often team together to create a flock of young birds, Mallards usually tend to their young as a family unit.  I spot and hear Bald Eagles in this same area and perhaps the Mallards have flocked together as a defense.  I have seen Coots do this where Eagles habituate.  Eagles hunting Coots is reminiscent of lions going after herd animals, isolating and focusing on an individual that might not have been paying attention.

When I get up to Lover's Leap, I do some exploring on the downriver side.  I'd read of an access point, and while I find it, I also find a "no water entry" sign courtesy of the state.   

I head back.  It is getting warm and shade comes less often with the sun high overhead.  Motorboat traffic is also building, although it is still well short of a bother... just an occasional bozo speeding by. It is still mostly fishermen. 

Smoke... It Smells Like Manitoba

It is, as it has been since Tuesday, smokey.  The forecast for the temperature is five degrees less than what was predicted yesterday, and I'm guessing that the amount of smoke in the air is reflecting that much sunlight, but I could be wrong.  Of course, the smoke is from forest fires in Ontario, Manitoba and Northern Minnesota.

I put in at Foote Bridge.  It is very quiet and there is no one around.  It is calm and the air smells of smoke.  If there is the slightest of air movement, the smoke smell becomes stronger, probably from soot particles being raised off of the foliage.

The tide is low at the bridge even though low tide was about 3 hours earlier at the mouth of this river.  The low water gives me a chance to stumble over the loose boulders under the bridge.  Then, back in the canoe, I pick my way through the shallows, adding only two or three small scratches to the hull.

A Great Egret waits out in the center of the Gravel Flats, which I fully expected to have to wade.  However, the tide has reached this spot and I coast easy with six to eight inches of water depth.  I spot a Yellow Legs, the first since they flew north to nest, about 2 months back.  They are in this river most of the year, overwintering if it is mild, and only leaving for their nesting grounds, which aren't too far north. When I look closely, I can see a barely perceptible upstream flood current.

 Spot a few Osprey, a Great Blue Heron, Snowy Egret, and a Yellow Crowned Night Heron.  There is a real flood current at the Clapboard Hill Bridge.  It is not bad, but it is there.

Another Yellow Legs at the Big Bends, plus a few Willets.   

Below the Railroad Bridge, I take the Sneak, then the Side Sneak, then up to the top of Bailey Creek. Out here in the open salt marsh, the taste of the forest fire smoke is less noticeable. A solo Glossy Ibis flies over. I head all the way down Bailey, then the Neck River.  The flood tide and a head wind that has developed make the last bit of the Neck a slow crawl, but I know there will be a reward.  The dock Osprey Nest has 2 adults and a chick - the chick has some adult coloring, but also still has some downy fluff.

Some guy seems to be practicing backing his boat trailer into salt water. No idea what he is doing as he doesn't have a boat, but he gets out of his truck to check his work several times.  I turn the point and head up the East River seeing no point in finding out what is going on.  The current is strongly in my favor and I zip along upriver.

The flood current dies off near the Big Bends, but with no wind, it is still easy paddling all the way back to Foote Bridge. 

 

 

To the Elf Forest... and Back

I paddled out of the North Cove at Essex with the tide falling, but still quite high.  It is quiet with a light wind out of the SW, a partly cloudy sky, and temperatures rising from the 70's to early 80's.  A Snowy Egret and a Great Egret are working the shoreline of the island that divides the cove from the main river.  Several Swans are in the cove, a couple hundred yards away but easily identifiable.

I follow the west shore upriver.  There is always at least one Osprey in sight all of the way up to Selden Neck.  Motorboat traffic is light, this being a Monday, and paddling this side of the river keeps the motorturds as far away as possible.

I cross the river once I am even with the lower entrance of the Selden channel.  

The wind is increasing.  It isn't a problem, just something to note as it will be a headwind on the return.

I decide not to paddle the length of the island, but instead head back into the Elf Forest. It is pretty quiet in there today, not much in the way of wildlife, but I always like paddling next to the mature forest that grows on the southern shoreline.  With a full canopy, the floor of that forest is shady and open with little brush.

I return coming down the eastern shore.  I prefer the cliffs and steep forest of this side of the river with the downside of having motorboat traffic to deal with.   Two of the motorturds blow by in large cabin cruisers at full speed and although it isn't a problem for me, it is rather rude.  Spot a mature and two immature Bald Eagles circling near the Ely House.  Probably school session for the immatures.

Cross the river, bouncing off of chop and old boat wakes and head into North Cove. 

East River in the Calm

I put in at Foote Bridge on a quiet and humid day with a weather forecast of possible rain and thunderstorms, although there was nothing threatening to the naked eye. 

The tide is falling, but still somewhere near the high point.  I pass under the bridge and then under the half-fallen tree that has formed an entryway arch for the last couple years.  A Goldfinch lands in a tree on the right bank.  At the first bend, a croaking from the phragmites produces a Green Heron that is being harassed by a Redwing Blackbird.  The Blackbird probably has a nest in there. The Heron flies to the next bend.

Goldfinch

It is calm as I cross the gravel flats.  I am still groggy from last night's restless sleep, but groggy seems to fit the conditions perfectly.

Green Heron

At the Big Bends, I spot a single Glossy Ibis feeding next to a Snowy Egret.  The Ibis flies over and past me as I fumble with my camera.  The Egret soon follows suit. 

I start seeing Willets as I near the railroad bridge.  When I get into the Sneak, the Willets are more interested in me.  I'm not sure if the young have fledged yet.  I'd expect more attention if the young were all still nest bound but even so, I regularly get a Willet flying a half circle around me alerting all the others that I am there.

From the Sneak, I head down Bailey Creek, then the Neck River, and back to the East River.  The Osprey still have their young in the nest, but the chicks do occasionally poke their heads out to see what's going on. I pass a kayaker who is still upriver a hundred yards in the Neck.  It is the only person in a boat that I will see.  I spot two sets of Oyster Catchers in the Neck river - three birds in each group.

Oyster Catchers

I have an opposing current and a headwind when I turn up the East River.  The headwind is more than worth the extra effort bringing some cool to a humid day.  The groggy feeling has passed, the day has turned out to be quite beautiful with blue sky and a few clouds.  I pass nonstop through a river-long herd of turtles, each one sticking the tip of it's head out of the water and disappearing in a blink when I get within ten yards or so.

My timing has been good and I avoid having to wade on my return trip. 

Bantam

S surprised me this morning, "Let's go to the East River." 

I checked the weather as it was already suspiciously windy at our house, and the East River salt marsh is even more exposed.  I suggest Bantam as the wind would be lighter and the temperature about 5 degrees cooler, in exchange for an extra 20 minutes of driving.

We put in at the boat launch at the bottom of the lake, with me promise of a close up look at the "Thomas the Tank Engine" house.  We headed up the west shore to avoid a pair of expensive day waterski boats that were doing circles towing kids that would be better off paddling or learning to sail.  Once away from that mess, there was almost no traffic of any sort.  We don't paddle lakes that often, so it is a pleasant change, even if it isn't particularly wild - because it isn't.

Spotted 4 Great Blue Herons in close proximity to each other as we headed toward the Bantam River. They are usually not that near each other. 

We headed into the outflowing Bantam River, and then up the more interesting Butternut Brook. Spotted a muskrat on the way in.  We turned back at the first beaver dam, as there is only about a half mile more of paddling, and it gradually becomes more work the farther in one goes.  Spotted a small beaver on the way out.

Headed back to the lake and then went east along the lakeshore to the inflowing Bantam River.   Stopped and took a rest at the first beaver dam.  Then headed back down the lake on the east shore, making sure to stop an marvel at the "Thomas the Tank Engine" house (my name for it) and it's stern paddlewheeler boat.  The owner certainly put money into the decorative features.  It has a clock tower, gargoyles, and a chimney that is reminiscent of what you see on old buildings in England.  eE cross the lake from there and call it a day.

Chipuxet - Thirty Acre and Hundred Acre Ponds

I stopped at Worden Pond, my intended start point, but with just a 10mph north wind, it was choppy as hell.  Paddling the 1-1/2 miles up the lake on a calm day is a nice way to access the Chipuxet, but Worden is no fun with any wind.  I swear that the lake would form a chop if anyone in the county so much as sneezes.  I divert to the Taylor's Landing put-in a couple miles north.

The water is up with the recent rain, but not at any problem level. I decide to explore the river upstream (Worden Pond is downstream).  I have wanted to head up before, but kept putting it off and so far have only gone to the bottom of 30 Acre Pond, where there is a well built beaver dam.

Approaching Thirty Acre Pond

I duck under the road bridge and dodge the poison ivy tree on the other side, which serves as a good reminder to mind the many turns.  This river would be beginner water except for the proliferation of poison ivy planted precisely where a beginner would struggle to make a tight turn.  The beaver dam is a third of a mile up and is partially breached.  While I do have to step out, it is an easy crossing as the dam is old and makes for solid footing - as much so as the river bank.

Thirty Acre Pond is pretty much what I expected.  It is mostly marsh land with a 25-30 foot wide channel running through it.  The upper section is open water. It is beautiful with lots of pond lilies, lotus plants and pickerel weed.  Apparently it is peak pickerel weed - purple cone flowers and bees everywhere.

Above the pond, the river is shallow, but only briefly.  After passing under the railroad bridge the river goes deep again on its way to Hundred Acre Pond.  Swampy and forested, a docked pontoon boat surprises me.  From the maps, I expected to find a larger version of Thirty Acre Pond.  Instead, I find a small open lake - about a quarter mile by a long half mile.  There are about two dozen houses spaced out around the shoreline. 

The river enters in marshland on the northeast.  It is deep and 25-30 feet wide.  About a third of a mile up is another dam and the river necks down substantially.  The dam is solidly built, but the channel is indistinct above it.  The water is deep enough, but the river has no channel, rather it flows through a tangle of marsh shrubs. It would be nice to push in, but I am pretty sure I would end up with a massive dose of poison ivy.  One thing that I notice is the water temperature is cooler than the water below. I am a full hour out from my start point.

I head back and continue down past the put-in.  There is more current than I remember from past trips, probably due to the extra water, but it isn't bad.  Some narrow turns careful doding of the poison ivy take me into more open river.  I cross two beaver dams, both just slide-overs.  It is hot in this part of the river with no shade - it is open marsh, mainly cattails and shrubs and stunted maple trees.  I;m getting close to Worden Pond but feeling that it is time to head back.  I get to a beaver dam where the river narrows - a spot I remember as the first beaver dam up from the pond.  I'm probably a 1/4 or 1/3 of a mile away.  It is close enough and I retrace my route.

To the Crux

The weather has decided to cooperate.  The heat dome was pushed aside by two days of heavy rain and wind - almost 5 inches during that time and a lot of downed trees in parts of the state.  

I put in at Indian Well.  It is overcast with a very light mist starting as I get into the canoe.  Puffs of fog rise out of the hillside forest, that 100 degree weather meeting the heavy rain meeting the under 70F temperature of today.  I have the entire river to myself - it is a well known fact of science that motorboats can not be started when there is any hint of precipitation in the air. The mist is so light that it does not wet my clothing.

I head upstream.  Not 10 minutes in, a large mature Bald Eagle comes in from upriver and flies a wide circle and heads back from where it came.  I pass a Great Blue Heron every 1/4 mile or so.  It is a very pleasant day and makes up for not sleeping well last night.

There is a noticeable current when I reach the Boy Scout launch.  This section of the river is an old reservoir held back by an 1870's dam, which is quite a bit lower than the dam that might have been built 50 years later.  The reservoir is 5 miles long and narrow, so water has to move through it steadily.  If it has been raining a lot, the flow has to increase.  I usually see this during winter months, but after several inches of recent rainfall, it is no surprise.

The current really picks up at the bottom of the S-turn - no surprise.  I hop eddies on river right until I get up to the "shelf".  I believe that the shelf is a patch of bedrock that spans the river, forming a shallow where the current accelerates. The water depth is uniform bank to bank, so there is no easy route over the shelf.  I have a hunch that it might be possible to wade the river at the shelf when the water is low and moving rather slow. Today, you would get knocked off your feet.

I come out of the highest eddy and head out into the current.  It's maximum effort paddling at a pace that I can maintain for fifteen minutes or so, the time it might take to get over the shelf.  I gauge my progress by eyeballing a shoreline stump.  A canoe length might take two minutes, the smooth water above the shelf is tantalizing.  I've been here before and I now that the crux is the upper edge of the shelf - the spot where the water is fastest.  I've been at it for ten minutes as I get to the top of the shelf. I can see the bottom.  I no longer watch the shoreline stump, but instead keep an eye on my progress by watching the river bottom.  And, it doesn't take a few seconds to see that I am no longer making any headway. A few more paddle strokes and I begin losing ground.  I turn and ride the current.

The mist has slowly increased since I started, though it never rose to the level of a sprinkle. 

I spot an Osprey butterfly swimming a large fish to shore.  I've seen Eagles do this with large dead fish.  The Osprey perches on the dead fish and watches me.  It will not eat or drag the fish farther until I am gone, so I leave.

I have a second Eagle sighting about a mile from my take-out.  I suspect that it is the same Eagle that I saw when I started out. 

Where - Housatonic2.

Frankenpaddle

The oppressive heat done has moved on to the Hell it belongs in and morning comes twenty some degrees cooler with almost calm wind.  It is humid and overcast, but the temperature makes it comfortable.

I head to Pond Cove.  Yesterday's thunderstorms hit this area harder than at our house and I have to make a short detour off of my normal route where a large tree has fallen onto heavy duty powerlines.  It looks like a half day job for that tree removal.  

I set out and find it quiet for an Independence Day weekend. I head out of the cove and follow the shore down river, following the shore somewhat closely so that I can stare up into the forest keeping a sharp lookout for the huldra.

Frankenpaddle is in my hands today.  I carved this paddle several years ago from a single piece of western red cedar.  The blade was pointed trompe l'oeil to resemble a cedar basket, western red cedar being a superb basket material used by the first people of the Northwest coast.  As a paddle, it was light and reasonably tough, and easy to carve.  It's not a great canoe paddle wood, but it is not a bad one either.  One day, I split the blade after striking a rock while paddling against a stiff current.  Usually, a split blade is easily repaired by opening the split with a thin saw and gluing a piece of wood veneer into the gap.  Unfortunately, the cedar blade split in a jagged mess.  A couple attempts at gluing it back together failed, so I cut the split section out and glued a scrap from a poplar paddle into the large opening.  The trompe l'oeil artwork on the blade disappeared with this fix. 

Frankenpaddle

This worked for a while, but the flexing of the blade eventually caused this fix to fail.  After a few months, I decide to fiberglass the blade.  Although sturdy, the paddle was no longer well balanced.  It felt like a cheapshit department store paddle, and got benched for a spell. By this time, the repairs were a project into what was required at a minimum. So then, I peeled the fiberglass off and went to work removing wood.  The blade at it's thickest is about half of what it originally was.  I re-glassed it and it immediately became my favorite paddle - well balanced, light, and sturdy.  Unfortunately, in time, the crude glue joint at the top of the poplar piece flexed too much and eventually broke the fiberglass and I benched it once more.  This time, I peeled a small section of fiberglass off of the problem area - about the size of a playing card on each side.  Then, I cut 3 thin slots across the problem joint and glued in thin strips of wood, and patched the glass.  Today, I took it out for the first time and once again, it is my favorite paddle, not only because of how it feels in the hand, but also because it wears the scars of many trips in the canoe.  The new fix, the three strips of glued in wood look something like the sutures on Frankenstein's forehead. 

Salmon River with P.

 I set out with P in the bow from the launch at the bottom of Salmon Cove.  We started reasonably early, unreasonably early for P by the growling and groaning that was going on as he tried to move his self, but reasonable for me, knowing how warm the day would become.  As it was, we were the only boat in attendance.

Right off, we started seeing Osprey.  The nest on the point doesn't look to be in use this season, and a minor brush pile in the top of a snag indicated that another nest might have gotten wrecked in the winds that we had a couple weeks back.  It certainly looked like a deconstructed nest.

Made our first stop at the Dibble Creek Beaver Dam.  Although most of it is well concealed in the summer growth of cattails, a narrow channel led up to the dam with  the lodge just 20 feet on the other side.  The dam that we could see was exceptionally well packed with mud and holding back about 15-18 inches of water - noting that this is low tide.

We continued up the west side of the cove and on into the Salmon River, where we soon spotted a mature Bald Eagle heading up river away from us.  Also saw some Great Egrets, more Osprey, and a couple of Great Blue Herons.  

Took the back channel around the first island, which just had enough water for passage, and then the narrow back channel around the island below the Leesville Bridge, which also had just barely enough water.  Paddled up to the dam.  Very little current today...scraped a couple of rocks, and then headed back down the main channel.  Flushed and immature Bald Eagle somewhere in there, as well.  Came across a white tail deer splashing through the cattails at the top of the cove as we headed over toward the Moodus.

We took a short run up the Moodus, not quite getting to the 90 degree bend below Johnsonville.  We had to cross one low beaver dam to get there, but the second dam would require too much work considering that above it we would run out of water in about a hundred yards.

Headed back out following the east shore.  Saw not a single person on the water until we got back to the launch. 

Out and Back Between the High Bridges

I put in under the big highway.  It is overcast and humid although with the temperature still in the 70's, it is not uncomfortable, and there is little wind.  I head right across the river just downstream of the railroad drawbridge and follow the west shore up into the quad islands.  The tide is dropping and there is a stiff current in places.  I flush several Yellow Crowned Night Herons, one of which flies three circles around me all the time scolding me. 

I cross over to the east side below Fowler Island and continue up until reaching the high Merritt bridge, where I cross back to the west shore.  There are surprisingly few boats in the river on what is a pleasant Friday afternoon. Go figure.  It is an easy paddle back with the current behind me. 

I head back through the islands, passing around the west side of Peacock Island, where I flush a few more Yellow Crowned Night Herons.  I also spot a family of Mute Swans.  They have 6 cygnets, 3 of which are white. 

Cygnets are usually gray and I have only seen a single white in any brood before. I cross back from the bottom of the islands and take out.

Shephaug Redux

S and I set out from Pond Brook on a calm somewhat humid and warm day.  Tranquil would be a good adjective. There were clouds, but just enough to shield the day from the sun without making it seem cloudy.

We paddled down Pond Brook, which is a cove ever since this section of the river was dammed about 70 years ago.  At the main river, we cross straight away and follow the shoreline down and around the point into the Shephaug.  There are some kayakers and boaters, but almost all of them are fishing and they don't move about very much.

We paddle, we talk, and we relax.  Such calm conditions can almost lull one to sleep.  It seems that the wildlife might agree with us. We see some high soaring Vultures, a few Osprey and Ducks, a junior high school field trip of Canada Geese, and S spots a white tail deer in the orchard of the old house above the wide place.  We don't see any Eagles today.

We turn back about a half mile below the cascades, both of us already feeling quite washed out.

Restlessness

I set out from Indian Well.  I got a late start, but the motivation for the day was restlessness.  It was about 80F, sunny, and with a north wind of about 10mph.  It was windier at the coast, which did influence my decision for heading to this section of river, being a few miles inland as well as set in a valley. 

I headed upriver for about 45 minutes, spotting one immature Bald Eagle, some Canada Geese and a Common Merganser with three ducklings.   I then turned and headed back.

Hunting Training

It is a calm day with a thick overcast and a for-sure chance of rain.  In fact, it will lightly sprinkle for more than half of the time I am out.

I put in on Pond Brook.  No one is here other than a woman walking her dog.  Her dog was rambunctious all day yesterday, and I tell her that one of our cats was the same.  Something in the weather I suppose.

When I get out to the main river, I cross straight over and follow the far shore down to the confluence with the Shephaug.  Paddling close to shore, my attention is up the hillside into the woods.  Soon, a rock wall appears up near the top of the ridge.  It is a feature that definitely predates the Civil War.  Then, I start thinking about how we date and refer to things by significant events.  More likely, the wall dates to a time near the War of 1812, when merino sheep were smuggled into the country.  I spot several Warblers flying through the trees that overhang the riverbank. The rambling train of thought about how we often date things by connecting them to significant events continues until I notice a deer swimming the river about 75 yards ahead of me. I pause to watch, and also to flag down Jimmy Jetski, just in case he should come ripping up the river with a head full of stupid. Fortunately, I seem to be the only one on the water.  The deer makes pretty good time crossing some 500 feet of river and I watch it disappear into the forest.  

I head up to the cascades.  Just as I get there, I see a guy pull about 30 inches of Northern Pike out of the water.  I tell him he should put a saddle on that fish.  He tells me that he had just hooked a small bass and was pulling it in when the pike came up and ate the bass.  He's going to photograph it and release it.

Snapping Turtle

On the way back down, I spot a medium sized snapping turtle giving me the "eyeball."  I spot a pair of Orioles flying along pretty much like the Warblers did earlier.  In fact, I thought they were Warblers until I was able to see their orange feathers.

The parental unit

When I get to the "wide spot", I see a mature Bald Eagle perched well up the hillside. I know from previous trips that there is a nest nearby, so I am always on the watch in this area. Although I've never seen the nest, I have heard the racket of Eaglets at feeding time. I spot a pair of newly fledged Eagles in a dead tree about 20 yards away from the adult, which is watching them carefully.  This is definitely school time of one sort or another.

Fledgling Eagles learning to eat on their own

When I zoom in with my camera, I find that there is a third bird with the fledglings.  It seems that I have come across just as one of the parental units is teaching the young ones to feed on their own.  The third bird looks like it might be a dead Great Blue Heron, and I suspect that the elder Eagle stashed it in the branches of that tree for the fledglings to feed on.  I take some photos and while I am checking my shots, I hear an Eagle whistle.  When I zoom back in, I find that the two fledglings have dropped the dead bird, doh!

"You dropped it!"  "No, you dropped it!"

I continue on out.  It has been a most excellent day for wildlife.

The Bottom of the Connecticut

A Great Egret, a Yellow Crowned Night Heron, a Cormorant, I hear Marsh Wrens and Red Wing Blackbirds.  I sit among things I do not understand.  I find comfort in mystery.

A climber/writer that I have followed for about 50 years said in an interview that he still climbs and that he climbs to maintain his sanity.  I would never put words in his mouth, but I interpret that statement to mean that he finds something spiritual in the act, or place of climbing.  And, it is probably both.  I used to climb and I remember being in places that were a hundred times more spiritual and magical than the great cathedrals that I have visited.  Now, I canoe. It is the same.

I put in on the Lieutenant River.  It is calm and serene with the clouds mirrored on the water's surface. The birds are as I mentioned, until I reach the Watch Rocks.  A Green Heron, then some Common Terns, Snowy Egrets, Willets, Osprey and Gulls. The tide is out and the water is shallow. But the water is also clear, and what I read as a foot deep is closer to two feet deep.

I head all the way down to the Sound, deciding to skip, this time, the excellent Black River.  There are lots of Common Terns at the bottom of Great Island.  I head across to the Old Saybrook Side of the River.  I haven't done this in a few years.  The crossing is a bit over a mile although there are several miles of open water to my left, and it does feel big.  The Mai Tai Navy is just waking up, but they are restricted to a narrow boat channel on the far side, so I am alone for most of the distance.  I aim for a part of the channel that is a no-wake zone. The water is choppy, a combined effect of tide, river current, wind and boat wake.  By the time I am across, I remember why I haven't paddled the crossing in a few years. It is work.

I make my way up the west shore, which becomes a large salt marsh.  A mile up since making the crossing, I find an entrance into the marsh and explore a few long dead end channels.  It is worthwhile as I find several Glossy Ibises feeding in the mud that has been exposed by the low tide.  This marsh is worth visiting again. I see no one else in this area.

I head upriver towards the railroad bridge.  There is another no-wake zone here where I won't have to deal with idiots in too fast speedboats.  It is an easier and shorter crossing and I feel welcomed by the narrow channel of the Lieutenant River.