When Evrything Seems Broken

We've been recovering from a summer flu that seemed particularly nasty.  Laying around the house, napping, and checking in altogether too frequently to see what the Mango-Shit-Gibbon is doing to our country and planet is hard on the soul. Everything that the creature touches turns to shit.

It is cloudy and humid and aiming to be somewhat warm, but not overly hot.  I put in for a short trip down to the marsh, and with the tide hitting bottom not long after I start paddling, it will be short trip with almost all of the internal marsh routes being reduced to muddy ditches.

The tide lag provides a good current, better than you might expect. Although just 15 minutes before low tide, there is a lot of tidal water upstream of here that needs to find its way toward the sea.  I pass a Great Egret, a Snowy Egret, an immature Night Heron (probably Yellow Crowned), an adult Yellow Crowned Night Heron, a few Osprey, a few yellow Legs, and the usual Common Terns sitting on the last dock before the marsh.  I head down Nell's Channel, there is not much of a choice to be honest.

There is about 5 feet of exposed cut bank.  I figured, by collecting and dating glass embedded glass bottles, that the marsh accumulates soil at about 50 years per foot.  This means that at the water level, the mud bank dates to about the Revolution.  If you are wondering, I never find glass bottles at that level. In fact the lowest level where I've found a bottle is not quite 3 feet down - 1890-ish.  I've never seen anything other than drift wood at the current water level.  200 years ago, glass was rare enough that it would not have been casually discarded.  Rather, it would have been re-used as long as possible.  On top of that, the simple fact of a much smaller population limits the chance of it ending up in the marsh at all. 

I round Nell's Island and head back up the main river.  I spot only one boat on the move during the trip.  It is a quiet day, for sure. It has been good for the soul.

The Juveniles are Arriving in the Marsh

I talk S into and early afternoon trip through the Wheeler Marsh.  It doesn't take too much talking.

It's a bit over two hours to high tide, so the water in the marsh isn't too low, and the paddling will get better as we proceed.  It is cloudy and humid with a light wind.  If it was sunny it would be unpleasant. 

The last dock has about 10 Common Terns and one Laughing Gull.  The Gull lets us pass, the Terns circle around and scold us.  

We head into the Nell's Island maze.  Right away, it is a good bird watching.  Juvenile Night Herons and mature Yellow Crowned Night Herons (a close look is required to differentiate juvenile Yell0w-Crowns from juvenile Black Crowns) are taking flight every few moments.  We don't count, but by the time we leave the maze it's probably been 30 birds.  The number of juveniles is up by a factor of ten over my last visit just a couple days back.  This happens every year as the fledglings leave the rookery on Charles Island, which is a mile away as the crow flies.  We do see a few mature Black Crowned Night Herons as we go.  And, we flush a small flock of a half dozen of what are probably young Snowy Egrets.  

After a short stop at Milford Point, we head east towards ten Egrets that are perched in the trees on the east shore, a short mile away.  The white birds do stand out.  Not far into that leg, we spot one of the two Long Tailed Ducks that I spotted a couple days ago while walking the point.  Long Tails winter on the sound and the two that I saw are the earliest that I've ever seen, by far.  Long Tails differ from other ducks in that their mating colors are drab and camouflaged while their winter non-breeding colors are bright and spectacular..  Today, it is just the female that we see.  Males have long tail feathers that the females do not have.  The Duck is not perturbed by our present and goes about diving and feeding while we watch.

Female Long Tail Duck

We continue across, pass by the Egrets and head back into one of the inner passages.  Another thing that is really noticeable are the calls of unseen Night Herons as we continue.

We head back up the river. 

 

Selden and Eagles

It's a great day with sun, light wind and temperatures that will top out around 80F, and I slept well last night, so I am full of pizazz.  

I put in at Elys Ferry.  I don't decide on my route until I am seated in the canoe and floating a few feet off  shore.  I had thought about heading down river and then into Lords Cove, but turned upriver feeling that I had unfinished business with the Selden Channel.  My last trip in there was low on energy and enthusiasm, and I got no farther than the Elf Forest. The tide is still low and there is some current in the river. It is less than 2:1, but it is noticeable.

The bottom of the Selden Channel

I start spotting Bald Eagles and Osprey along the beautiful forested stretch below Hamburg Cove.  It might be 6 Eagles, all immature, but it is at least 4.

A few motorboats pass, but only one is particularly obnoxious, and once past Hamburg cove, there's nothing going on out on the water except for a Cessna float plane that makes three landings and takeoffs.
I spot a mature Bald Eagle and another immature.

Selden Channel is absolutely peaceful.  It is quiet and the water surface is smooth.  There are a few Osprey around, as usual.  Instead of the Elf Forest, I head up into the dead side channel on the river-left side.  It's been awhile since I've been up there, and it usually has some beaver sign.  I flush a couple Great Blue Herons and a couple Green Herons, but see no beaver sign at all - no scent mounds, no drags, no lodges.  I'm sure there are some in here, but there are many narrower channels for them to be in, and those narrow channels are closer to the trees.

I head back out and continue up the channel.   I don't see much in the way of animal life - it is the peacefulness of the day that is the most remarkable.

At the top of the channel, I contemplate turning around and heading back down the way I came.  But, I decide not, partly because I'd like to remember that part of the trip the way it was.  So, I cross the river and head down towards Eustasia Island.  I spot another mature Bald Eagle along the way. Although I will see more boat traffic on this route, most of it will be on the far side of this wide spot in the river.  I recross the river below Brockway Island an follow that beautiful forested shoreline towards my put-in.  All goes well right to the last 50 feet when some dicknose (this is a 100% correct term for the bunghole) in a massive cabin cruiser throws 2 feet of wake just as I get to the shallow rock bar above the old ferry landing.  I cuss the asshole, and deftly jump into water to unweight the canoe and guide it by hand over the rocks.  

It's a good day. I've probably seen 8 to 10 individual Bald Eagles today.

Housatonic 4

I put in at Pond Brook. The parking lot, such as it is (it's a big field), looks a bit like a county fair.  Apparently, a hiking club and a mountain biking club are both using the nearby trail system. There are only two other boaters, a pair of dippers who don't look like they will go very far. 

I pass four more kayakers before getting to the confluence with the Shephaug, all dippers, but wonders of wonders, 3 out of the 4 are wearing PFDs.

The day is very humid, so much so that I feel lethargic.  The sky is overcast with cumulus clouds and while it opens up a bit as I paddle, it never gets less than 90% clouds. When I get to the main river, I let the wind decide on my course.  It seems that the breeze is slowly increasing.  It is coming up the river, so I head down, following the shore closely.  It is my "Natty Bumpo" canoe technique - weave in and out of the overhanging tree branches up close to the forest so that no one "out there" will see me, while I pay close attention to everything.

I see a few Osprey, a few Great Blue Herons, and a Mallard with seven ducklings in tow. 

The wind is at my back on my return, and it feels like 10-15 mph.  I pass a herd of 6 dippers. Two of them are working their paddle boards as if they were galley slaves.  Looks like fun (end sarcasm font).  

I'd expected more motorboats, but once I left the confluence, I saw no one until my return, and that was almost nothing. 

The Advice Column

It's a nice Friday. The temperature will be about 80F, the wind is moderately light and there is plenty of sun. Low tide is around 7:00am, and I don't feel like dealing with summer highway mayhem, so I aim for something close by where the tide will be unimportant.  I put in from O'Sullivan's Island near the top of the tidal section of the Housatonic.  There is a pretty good current at the start, but it fizzles away as I head downriver. 

At the confluence with the Naugatuck, I cut over to river-left where I can paddle in the shade of river bank trees.  The water is higher than I expected. That may be a combination of the incoming tide and extra water being released from the Derby Dam. I noticed yesterday that the reservoir above that dam was higher than normal.

My mind drifts off to deeper thoughts.  This happens often when I am canoeing.  This is my spiritual place.  It was not something I planned nor was it something I was looking for.  I bought a used canoe and put it in the water, and then put myself in the canoe, and I knew it was where I belonged. It just happened. 

Recently, I watched an interview with a well known mountain climber.  Currently in his senior citizen years, he still climbs and described it as his way of staying sane.  I wouldn't put words in his mouth, but I interpret that statement as, climbing is his spiritual place."  I did a fair amount of mountain climbing when I was younger. While there were many moments of excitement, fear, physical and mental challenges, there were on occasion, these moments that transcended the earthly bounds.  Usually, in what some place where you realized that you were so small as to be no more significant than a grain of sand.  It might be a deep in a gully with thousand foot high walls on either side, on a thin ridge with a thousand feet of air on both sides, staring into a seemingly bottomless crevasse. All it took was a moment to pause and see the wonder of the surroundings.  

After climbing, I road raced  bicycles.  It was competitive, intense, and often fun.  It was never spiritual.  When I quit that, I started mountain biking in the backcountry... not racing, but just exploring. A few times each year I went on solo rides to explore trails that were seldom biked or hiked.  Those rides often had a good degree of spiritual qualities.  Being alone in the backcountry will do that.  One more thing, I grew up going to a lot of church, and never found one thing spiritual about it. It was joyless doctrine and obedience and being told that you weren't trying hard enough if it wasn't working for you.  So, what's this all about?  Find a spiritual place. I don't think anyone will be able to lead you to it... you're on your own for that.  You'll know it when you get there.

I hear the raspy whistle of a Bald Eagle.  Near the sand bar that the fishermen often use, I find a mature Bald Eagle in a tall snag. But the raspy whistle alerts me to the immature fledgling perched on a branch below the adult.  Farther down, I spot another mature Bald Eagle. I continue past Wooster Island, where I often turn back, and continue down to the unnamed island. I circle that island and head back.  Four Osprey are feeding on the submerged sandbar above the island.  Instead of high dives, the Osprey are down low, four or five feet above the water, and making last moment dives into the water.  There must be a school of small fish, but the water is too murky due the recent rainfall for my eyes to spot them.  

I spot another immature Bald Eagle as I near O'Sullivan's Island.  This one is a second year - some white feathers coming in on the head and tail.

 

 

Third Try

The weather was a little unsettled, some rain, some chance of more rain, and some wind. I headed to the first stretch above the tidal section of the Housatonic where the best start point is Indian Well State Park. However, the roads at the Derby choke point were completely choked for some unknown reason, although I suspect some road repair due to recent rainfall, but that is just a suspicion. I diverted to the Eagle Scout put in, a bit farther up and on the near side of the river, but I got a good look at the water level from the road, and it was quite high.  This section of the river is an old style reservoir from the days when engineers couldn't build hundred foot tall dams.  The normal water level is probably no more than 25 feet above to original river and the reservoir is in a 5 mile long narrow valley.  This means that the water steadily flows in and out.  High water means a lot of water is moving through, and that means that there is a real current, which is damn stiff in the upper mile and a half.  So, I divert again.

I end up putting in under the highway and paddling down to the Wheeler Marsh.  The tide is coming in, and although the water doesn't look particularly high, it feels high for some reason.  Anyway, I have the wind at my back and the opposing current is of little count. 

Laughing Gull

Common Terns are still hanging about at the last dock, but today there are a couple small black headed Gulls.  I think they are Laughing Gulls.  The only good photo that I get is an almost mature bird, its head not completely black.  At the dock Osprey nest, there is a young Osprey that is not yet ready to fly.

The rising tide shows itself as I enter the marsh.  The Wheeler is a mile by a mile and a quarter and roughly oval in shape.  Tidal currents don't move upriver and downriver in most of the marsh.  Rather, they flow in or out, much like a sponge soaking up water.  In a falling tide, if you follow the current, you'll have a good chance of finding an exit.  In a rising tide, if you follow the current you might find an open channel, or you might end up in a long dead end.

I refresh the memory by exploring channels that I have not been in for a long time, knowing that there is a reason that some of them don't get visited.  I find a few dead ends, but I also find some passsages that I had forgotten.  I see quite a few mature Yellow Crowned Night Herons, and a few more immatures than on earlier trips. It is notable that the mature birds scare well before the immatures.

It starts to rain.  It is light rain.  I look around at the clouds and where I am, the clouds do not suggest a thunderstorm.  I do not mind canoeing in the rain, but the marsh is far too open for stormy stuff.  

All in all, it is a very nice trip and I have an easy return back to my start point. 

Marsh Memory Game, and Birds

I set out from under the highway and head down to the marsh.  High tide peaks in about a half hour, so the current is just about non-existent. There is a light breeze of no significance with mostly clear sky other than some high dappled clouds. The temperature is in the mid to upper 70's.  It is a pretty good day to be on the water.

There are 31 Common Terns perched on the last dock before the marsh with another 10 or 15 in the air. By this time, I have solved all of the worlds problems, which is what canoeing is all about.

I cut through a favorite short-cut and head to another internal channel that I found earlier this year and still need to burn into my memory.  With most things in the marsh looking alike, repetition is the only way to remember which inlet leads to someplace that you want to go.  I find the internal channel on my second try, and get through it with only one wrong turn. There are a good number of Yellow Crowned Night Herons, mostly adults, just a couple fledglings.  

Short Billed Dowitchers with their usual photo cooperation

I head into the maze using the Nell's Channel entry, almost.  I take a wrong inlet, but with the high tide I can push through a canoe length of weeds to get where I was supposed to be.  I flush some Mallards, and find a good number of Yellow Crowned Night Herons - maybe 15 by the time I leave the maze.  There are several flocks of waders rising up and circling around the marsh before settling back in.  I am pretty sure that they are Short-Billed Dowitchers.  Flushing before I can get a photograph and circling around the marsh in a flock is exactly the behavior that I've seen them use in the past.  I spot only 5 or 6 Willets today, all near the bottom of Nell's Island.  When their young are fledged, they leave the marsh for better feeding. 

Immature Yellow Crowned Night Heron

I cut across the marsh somewhere near the midpoint, still amazed that I always manage to get across without running up a long dead end channel.  I head up the east side and back to the main river, where I turn upriver towards my start point.