Spending time with the wren

I run the Harrison Portage on a day that promises to be something like spring with a seasonally delayed warmth and a thinly filtered sun.

There is a north wind on the big lake but the waves are small, smaller than I would expect. Rounding Potlatch Point I have to fight a headwind and I think that I cannot remember ever having to fight anything here. Usually, this is a point of calm, my first spot for a short break.


A pair of rental kayaks lead me to the big lodge and while I examine the goose nest one last time, they paddle into the beaver forest. It is one of my favorite spots, so I leave it to them to explore on their own terms while I squirm into a passage farther south. I find a beaver canal heading west where I must stop, a canal for beaver but not for canoes. With the others gone, I work my way circuitously through the stumps and humps of the beaver forest. I pick up the faint smell of death, a frequent odor in the marsh, and I wonder how much this has to do with people's negative views on swamps. I eventually catch the smell full force and find a dead beaver some 20 feet upwind. I find a lot of dead beaver in the spring and I think that this might have something to do with the adolescents being kicked out of the lodge. They are territorial and all of the bay has pretty much been taken. So much of the other shorelines are sea walled that there is almost no place for them to go.

In the east marsh, the north wind has moved the floating cattail island a bit to the south and east. Now, the west channel is open again. I hang onto the island for awhile to see if it is moving, but it seems stationary, so I paddle off.

I spend some time with the male marsh wren on #2 island. He is once again singing a storm, seemingly so proud of his 6 nests.


As I head out, I hear voices. I know these people, although not by name, yet. I stop to talk. We talk about more subjects than you would imagine. I have seen M and D walking around town during the last 20 years. I have always been amazed at the sphere of peace and gracefulness that they seem to exude. It is so nice to talk at length with them. They are, pretty much, what I imagined them to be and I look forward to bumping into them again.

On the portage home, J. stops on her bike to admire and talk with me about my cart. It turns out that we have mutual friends. I think about how much I would miss if I used my car to get to the water.

A river not a river

I put in on the south lagoon after a nice portage where I ran into and talked with B and E again.

But, something behind me tells me that I am on a slow moving river and not in a wetland in a bay. The scene of cattails and marsh plants and a nearly drowned birch forest is correct. The current comes from the light wind and when I sit I drift downstream watching it all pass.

I find four week-old goslings with their parents as I paddle over to the workbench lodge. The nest there is vacant and the goslings may be the result. The timing is right. The high water has taken two birch trees from the burial island. They have fallen towards the water, their rootballs pried loose from the minimal earth of the marsh. They will provide easy food for the beaver come fall and they will serve to extend the edges of the land a few inches farther into the water.

The scent of beaver castoreum is heavy in the air as I enter the east channel of the burial island. I am still 50 yards from the first scent mound. I wander the narrow passages of the east marsh, my eyes sharp for redwing blackbird and marsh wren nests, which should be starting soon. The cattails are shoulder high to me kneeling in the canoe, but it is still a green and tan mix of the old and new. I go down the long winding dead end channel, just wide enough for the canoe, and at the very end, just around the last slow bend, I find a mallard sitting on a nest.

How can one not believe in something?

I cross to the NE lagoon (Yesler Swamp), where I spot a pair of cinnamon teal.
An eagle flies by, circling once before continuing to the north nest.
A sharpshin hawk streaks by at eye level and weaves through the forest as it goes.
At the north point I find a goose nest still tended.
Thirty feet north of the nest is a large beaver scent mound.
A pair of northern shovelers is on the north side of #1 island. I thought they would all be gone by now.
I remove a 50 year old tire from the side of west keg island.

Marsh wren nest

I hear the marsh wren at the same place on #2 island as I did before. There was one nest there, but I though it to be an old one. Now I find six nests. He might need to build ten more to attract a mate. He has staked a claim right next to the beaver canal that leads into the island.

I talk with some school children as I take out. We exchange our animal sightings.

The Grand Tour

It is a grey and calm day. I start my portage to the big lake, a plan that will take me through the marsh so that I can check on the goose nests, but at the first corner, I turn west instead of east. I will go to the dead lake and from there to the salt water. It has been a very long time since I have paddled in the Salish Sea.

I cross the dead lake and paddle down the Fremont canal without much to comment on except for the stillness of the water. The canoe always travels fastest in calm water. An occasional seagull pin feather, sitting on the dark water is the beauty of this stretch. At the west end of the canal I enter the fresh water section of Salmon Bay, a half mile of industrial water with Foss tugboat and their drydocks on the south and the dozens of the fishing fleet all around. As much as I miss the wildlife habitat that could be here, this shipyard/working fleet use of the shore is palatable to me, unlike the massive pleasure craft and houseboat moorage back in the dead lake.

I arrive at the lock just as two boats are exiting at my level. The Yachts are directed into the big lock and I, after waiting no more than two minutes, am waved into the small lock alone. Passing through a lock is a transformation. Not only do I drop from one level to another, but I go from fresh water to salt. I go from beavers and mallard to seals and sea lions. I go from small water to wide open expanses.

No sooner than leaving the lock do I find two harbor seals moving in to watch me. To see one at distance is to see a marine mammal. To see one from a few feet is to look into eyes so black and bottomless. One could fall endlessly into those eyes and the selkie becomes believable.

I pass a few goldeneyes and a few buffleheads. I stop around the point and stretch my legs finding what look like faint river otter tracks with their odd pairing of prints. As I continue I spot another seal up ahead. I see it once again as I near. It comes up again, very small. It takes a moment and I now realize that it is actually a very large river otter.

Brant

Near West Point I spot a flock of 15 brants. They are an understated goose, less noisy and less flashy than their Canada Geese cousins. They pass through this area in spring and fall. I know where they are going, which is why I like them so much. They will continue north flying all the way to the arctic islands off of northern Canada. Of all the birds we see here, these will go the farthest north.

I spot a harlequin duck sitting on a boulder in the water as I reach the turn into Elliot Bay.

There are many new landslides all along this bluff. The people with the excellent sculpture collection have tempted fate. My favorite piece of their collection still stands having missed tumbling to the sea by no more than a few inches. It is all bubble wrapped and prepped to be relocated, a mummified stone standing a hundred feet above.

I am getting tired. I portage the two miles across the lowland to Fishermen's Terminal. Then back through the Fremont Canal and the dead lake. It has stayed calm. I do my final two mile portage up and over the hill. I occasionally smile or nod at people as they pass, but I am too tired to talk.

The First Hatch

I stroll the Harrison portage to the big lake. For some reason, it seems a leisurely and casual walk and I savor whatever it is that is in today's air. My conversations along the way are brief and not much more than a nod or a greeting of just a few words.

A southeast wind blows on the big lake and I paddle north with a moderate wave and chop that comes to me behind my right shoulder. It goes well and I round Potlatch Point and move up to the big lodge to check on the goose nest. It has not yet hatched - it should be a few more days, but all is well and the female rolls her eggs while I am there. Then, I just poke around in the back corners of the east marsh. The floating island is still where it was on my last trip, sealing the west channel. I find a scent mound (beaver) in the center of the north patch, just a splatter of mud on top of a grassy hummock, but with my nose down to it, I can pick up the odor of castoreum.


I head out and around the bay, a survey to see what is changing in the May marsh. There are very few ducks left. I spot a few buffleheads, a few ringnecks, and. up north, a small flock of common mergansers. Most of the winter migrants are well off and the bay is Canada geese, and the resident ducks. When I get to the South Railroad Island, I find that the incredibly wealthy asshole that lives nearby has view pruned city property once again, in nesting season. It's not enough to have a ten million dollar property... f-ing pig.


As I enter Yesler Swamp, I find two Canada geese herding four golden goslings. This the the first hatch of the year and it was the first nest that I found. The nest looks like it was abandoned within the last day or two (once the goslings hatch, they have no use for the nest...and goose nests are pretty primitive at that). The big female bald eagle from the north nest is perched nearby.


I wonder how many eggs hatched. Anyway, those two adults are not giving the young much room. Crossing the north shore, I find another 75 lb block of foam. As I wrestle the pig into the canoe I stand in a soup of foam pebbles that have crumbled off. This junk should be banned from use as floatation material. I dispose of it in the usual spot where the grounds keepers can get at it.

I exit at Portage Bay. Just as I come to shore, I catch a serpentine dive out of the corner of my eye. I pause, and while watching, catch a second brief serpentine dive, again out of the corner of my eye. This time I spot the bubble trail and I sit still until a small river otter pops up all too close to the canoe, as they often do. Then, it's gone. And soon, a mother duck with a large brood of ducklings takes to the water. They were most likely on shore while the otter was near, as otters do eat baby ducks.

The Finest of Days

On my way to the south lagoon, I stop to talk with a man, J, who lives not far from me. At first, by his opening question, he does not comprehend that I am portaging "all the way to the lake" - as it is so often phrased. We have a very nice chat. I think, as I continue, how likely it is that this will happen again before I get to the water.

Three blocks further, just below the steepest part, T stops me. He has seen me before, so he already has in mind what is going on. We too have a very nice talk about the things that I see on my journeys. But, we talk long enough for me to tell him how important the portages are. How, without the portage, I would not meet so many people and get a chance to tell them about the wonderful things that happen in the marsh.


I was here not long ago, the winding dead end in the cattails, in the place I call the east marsh, because it is east of something. The sky is bigger today than it was then, last years cattails continuing their descent to the water as this years cattails rise up. They are knee high, if I could stand where they are, but if I tried to do that, they would be chest high. A mated pair of mallards weedled through as I reached this point. There is the ever present trilling of redwing blackbirds, two chickadees pull fuzz from the head of an old cattail - nesting material, no doubt. I saw an eagle by the south nest on the way in, but the sky in this place will never be open enough to see it. A crow calls, a marsh wren does likewise, and a dozen more noises are there that I have no name for.

I exit the cattails to find the floating island all rearranged yet again. The calved off south section has now drifted all of the way to the west, sealing off that channel, which I know has been open for over 20 years. Now, the eastern channel that closed last May is open to its original width of some 70 ft.

I head over to the Big Lodge to check the goose nest. I sit for quite awhile and the goose rewards me by standing up and rolling her eggs. She then sits back down and repacks the edges with plants that she can reach with her long neck. The eggs well protected once again from the drafts of this unusually cold spring.

the middle of the east marsh beaver forest

Then, I find myself lucky. The water level is such that I can enter the east marsh beaver forest. Two inches higher or two inches lower and the way is blocked. Only twice before have I been able to go the hundred yards into the tangled wood to the point where passage is blocked, no matter what. I have yet to take anyone in here, but only because the canoe will not make it with the extra person on board. With all the time I have spent in this area, this is still the most special and the most beautiful. There is no creature that could do better with this place than have the beaver.

Exhibitions in May

I'm a bit under the weather with the chest cold stuff that's going around here.
However, I have artwork from the View from the Canoe Project up in two Seattle galleries during May.

The Time Between Memories
a group exhibition at West Seattle's ArtsWest gallery.
Zanetka Gawronski, Rebecca Deren and Emily Cooper with my work in the alternative media platform (AMP). I'll be showing a 9 minute video loop and fourteen hand-carved functional art canoe paddles from my View from the Canoe Project.
April 26 - May 21 with a reception on May 12 from 6 to 7:30pm.
artswest.org for more information


E4C Gallery -
And, a custom four screen piece based on my video, 'The Drydocks', begins showing at the E4C gallery at the King County 4Culture space in Pioneer Square in Seattle. The E4C features the work of several artists, rotating all day long. The gallery turns on at 7am and runs until 10pm. The screens face the street and are viewed from the sidewalk.


There are also 4 View from the Canoe photographs on James St. between 3rd and 4th avenues. There up for a few more months and since they are 4 x 5 feet, or so, you can't miss them.

Two Canoe Day

I rise early, too early for the head cold and raspy throat that yesterdays canoe trip extended. But, I have a meeting in the marsh to attend. I have to be at the big lodge at 7 to meet up with B and MA, two local activists working on having the ridiculous backwards plans for a new SR520 bridge redesigned (I often refer to the current bridge as the stupid bridge, which is an accurate statement - the new bridge plan is stupider) .

I put in about 6am at the east end of the ancient portage. It is still and grey but the clouds are not a solid blanket, a sun event may happen as the morning progresses. Two heron fly overhead and I notice them by the reflection in the water to the left of my canoe. A brief glance and I decide that I prefer the reflection. I watch carefully the surface of the still water. Moving animals such as beaver and otters are easy to spot on an unbroken surface. As I near the workbench lodge, I see nothing and I disregard the workbench itself as it is now under a few inches of water. I pass by listening to the zip of my paddle as it recovers submerged. A splash. I didn't see it, but there was a beaver near the workbench although all that remains is the expanding ring of waves from its tail slap.

Castor Canadensis - The North American Beaver

At the next point, now between the workbench lodge and the hidden lodge, I spot a beaver in the water, then a second and eventually a third. I sit. They spread out and then return. One swims directly to and into the hidden lodge. One swims behind me, near the point, slapping a tail every few minutes. Another disappears behind the point and then, if it is the same beaver, comes to the shore and rips a dry cattail out at the base and swims off with it. The tail slapper slaps again. I stay as long as I can, checking my watch and heading off around the burial island towards the meeting spot.

wind up for a tail slap

note the webbed hind foot

As I turn the cattail point near the big lodge, I find a large beaver ahead of me, swimming with a cattail, which it abandons as it slaps its tail 15 feet from me. It moves into the cattails, unseen now except that it slaps its tail three more times as I continue, the noise turning my head to see the last of the fountain of water as it falls behind the cattails.

Near the lodge, I find a big block of foam, a 75 pounder for sure and I just herd it to land with the canoe. I see the big beaver once more as it approaches the lodge. At the same time, a canoe is approaching and I am sure it must be B and MA, who I do not know, but who impressed me so much by their willingness to be in the marsh so early in the morning.

We chat some of the politics, the concerns, an exchange of information. Then we head off on a tour.


My new friends both have canoe experience, so the tour is mostly me pointing out the things that I have been noticing and watching, the things that I track on 3 or 4 days a week, a frequency that few get to experience. I point out the brand new goose nests and we find the scent of castoreum on the beaver scent mounds between the hidden and big lodge. They've not seen the hidden lodge before. I show them the feed spots where the beaver have left cleanly stripped branches and we head north where I show them the fine stand, or partially standing stand of alder trees that the west lodge beaver have been eating. At the NE lagoon I send them in first, knowing that they will flush any ducks. A dozen common mergansers come out as they go in. We sit here awhile and talk history. 150 years of so called progress has altered this area so much. Then we head back, finding more wind as we reach the main bay. I bid them farewell after a final talk at the ancient portage. My cold has the best of me and I need a nap, but I wouldn't have missed this morning for anything.