Northern Shovelers Have Returned

I started today at the newly refurbished Portage Bay boat launch. I always avoided this spot in winter because I would have to wade 20 feet out in the mud just to float the canoe. I met the grounds keepers who just happened to be doing some follow-up work and complimented them on the excellent job. In the photo is the Portage Bay beaver lodge. A track up the side and fresh branches piled on top confirm that it is still in use. Once through the cut into Union Bay, a heron skims the surface, a pied billed grebe sinks as I approach, and six Canada geese fly directly overhead in an echelon. A work crane is to the east, a bad sign signaling the beginning of new bridge work - work that will widen the ugly and noisy highway that runs through this pretty spot. More coots are in the bay and they form a large mass out in the middle. The lily pads are so thin now that I can paddle the marsh edges with ease. I surprise some ducks and coots rounding a point. They have not yet learned that they are easy eagle food when they are so close to the shore. I retrieve a little trash and see mostly tennis balls. This may be a good sign because tennis balls are deliberately tossed into the lake, and if they are more obvious than other trash it may mean that trash takes longer to accumulate than I thought. From the north point, I see one eagle sitting at the lunch counter. I paddle over to a down wind location to see if it has been eating, but there are no feathers in the water. I spot some northern shovelers today also, the male which is very beautiful.

Buffleheads Return

Land based artwork has kept me out of my canoe, but at least I was outdoors while that was going on. I put in today on the big lake. The water is all chop, a SE wind blows, but in this part of the lake, which is bounded both north and south by floating bridges, regular waves never seem to occur and the junk comes at me from all directions. The chop is always a foot high and sometimes two and I paddle from a kneeling position for extra stability. Rounding the point into Union Bay, the water calms and I pause to write and drink a cup of coffee. A small flock of black and white buffleheads is in front of me. They have returned from the arctic while I was in the woods making maps. -paddle - I near the biggest beaver lodge, which stands out more now that the summer vegetation has turned gold and begun to drop. A very large eagle sitting on a light pole signals to me that once again, it is duck eating season.

Speedwell

It's all politics rolling around in my head as I walk my canoe to the south lagoon. As soon as I am in the boat it is all birds in my head. Turning the point of the little island, a heron is frozen in hunting position. I see the first hooded merganser that I've seen in awhile. A northern flicker looks for ants on a downed log before flying to the side of a rotten tree, and a stellars jay sits at the tip top of a tall tree. I head out on the east channel of the burial island, grabbing a dozen golf balls from the bottom. I reach in up to my elbow to get them. The water has returned to a hypothermic temperature - cold. Then straight across the bay to the lunch counter in a light east wind. It is cloudy, but they are winter clouds and it seems that the light is filtering through high ice crystals and not through water droplets. A kingfisher sits in a tree at the railroad island (formed by the remaining pilings of an old railroad stub. Ducks are in loose flocks with some widgeons and gadwalls returning to the mix. Coots are carelessly near shore, so the eagles are not intensely hunting them, yet. Half of the cattails are yellow, and half of the cattails are still green. They are all mixed together though, and this makes a beautiful patterned wall. I scare up a dunlin... I spot one large western grebe in the bay and a smaller look-alike in Lake Union.

Evening

We put in at the south lagoon just as the sun dipped behind the false horizon. The water was very still, the evening air motionless. The birds are busy - this is a busy time of day for the ducks and geese as they finish their feeding. There is frequent chatter and quacking and also the tipping of duck butts into the air. We get closer to them than we would in broad daylight. I show S the dirt atoll that has risen from the bay. A small sandpiper picks bugs from the mud of one of the little islands. Near the north shore of the bay we let the canoe rotate. There are dramatic differences in the sky depending on the direction we face. It is gray to the east and the color changes gradually until it becomes yellow-orange in the west. As we sit and the sun drops farther past the horizon S says that it is like watching an oil painting change into a watercolor.

Rain

I set out in the rain. Fall has arrived with the steady winds that come with it although today is calm, the first calm day in several. The rain drops absorb the traffic noise that one usually hears on the big lake. Only a whir of industrial toys that are nearby is discernible. This weather will mean few others on the water today. After a mile the rain lets up some, and the noise of cars on the floating bridge returns. As I near the north
marsh I recover my first 1970's beer can of the fall season. The lake level has dropped two feet and the marsh is giving up it's treasures as the bog stuff contorts. The ducks and coots are up here today, as usual. There are dozens of exposed pilings now. At one time a railroad stub ran out onto a pier in this area. I do not know for sure if these pilings are the remains, but they are in the right location. The trees and shrubs are beginning their shift to fall colors. Shades of purer green are giving way to tinges of yellow and red. The cattails and irises now have yellow edges on their spears and the collective effect says, "fall"

Beaver

I get up early and put in at the south lagoon before sunrise. Something in the back of my mind, imprinted long ago, always tells me that a small amount of self imposed torture will have disproportionate benefits.It is calm and not dark, but the world is in shadow. I head up the east channel of the burial island, preferring not to come out into open sky too quickly, but I really didn't think about it... direction by hunch. As I near the north end of the east marsh, a beaver swims across my path towing a branch. It doesn't seem to notice me until I am 10 yards away and it dives with a slap of the tail sending water 4 feet in the air. I continue on to a distance where it might feel safe, I pour a cup of coffee and then I sit still and watch. While I wait, there is a splash closer to my left and a moment later a second beaver surfaces. I decide I had better look all around, and there is number 3, just 50 yards behind my left shoulder. 1 and 2 continue to the lodge, but 3 swims a big wide S, watching me carefully. This leads my eye to number 4, which is motionless in the water. I figure out that I am interfering with their business, so I move back 20 yards. The sun comes up. A kingfisher flies overhead chattering all the way. 3 has now moved off toward the lodge and I see it no more. 4, however, continues to swim slowly back and fourth. Twice it dives with a slap of the tail, even though I haven't moved. 4 seems to be the guard beaver. After I back off another 50 yards, it watches for a few minutes and then disappears. I wait 10 minutes and with no more sign of beaver, paddle off across the bay. A 4 man shell rows by at speed heading into the sun. The coxswain, perhaps the wife of one of the rowers tells how beautiful the morning is by the expression on her face, which is brilliantly lit by the new sun. She glows golden. If it was my wife and I were rowing, I would stop and watch her and damned be to the other three in the boat. I find geese, ducks and coots on the north side of the bay. A redtail hawk lands in a tall alder tree. There are lone coots around. The eagles are probably still eating salmon. Independent coots, the rebels, are eagle food during the winter.

Twenty Questions

Just as I'm putting in on the big lake, a guy comes up and starts a conversation. I had no aims when I left the house and had decided to let the canoe find it's way and already I was going in an unexpected direction. He asked if there was a reason that I used a canoe instead of a kayak. I replied that it was somewhat intangible and gave the surface answers that satisfy most people, but he didn't buy it. He asked then if I was from the upper midwest and I answered, Minnesota. "There, he said, "you've been imprinted." He was as right as anything and I know that my subtle Minnesota-Norwegian smile appeared, briefly, but even this perceptive fellow most likely missed it. Those smiles are not classified as such in dictionaries as they don't resemble smiles. They are only recognizable in relation to the previous facial expression. Very often, my canoe trips bring back the memories of Boyscouts paddling up the Ottertail River, crossing Round Lake and continuing up to a beaver dam that seemed far larger than I would have thought possible. Before returning we would take a short swim in the beautifully named lake, "Ice-crackin". Anyway, we exchanged names and shook hands and I headed north. It took 15 minutes to get my head back into my canoe, but it was all worthwhile.

Soon, I spotted a lone horned grebe that was catching small fish on almost every dive. As I rounded the point into Union Bay, a flock of canada geese in v-formation materialized from gap in the trees. As I reached the east marsh, an eagle coasted down and set on a log boom to my right. Ducks scattered, but this eagle has probably been eating salmon bits as there is a run of coho right now. A green backed heron sits on a branch protruding from the "workbench beaver lodge". More grebes near the cut, and I continue through Portage Bay and down Lake Union.