Introducing the Maze to M

It's been warm enough the last few days that I didn't feel like getting out in the canoe and melting.  Today, the temperature is down to a more reasonable 80F with a light wind out of the east.  M joins me.  It has been a couple months since we've been out. She wants to see the maze. 

We set out about a hour before high tide, perfect timing to go into the maze.  There is a minor current against us as we head down river.  This close to the ocean, the tide will completely reverse the natural river current.  We spot the Swans with the three white cygnets and one gray.  They are near the lowest bridge.

It's a usual mix of Snowy and Great Egrets as we head into the maze.  There we pass a dozen Swallows perched on the reeds, see an occasional Yellow Crowned Night Heron, some Ducks and some Willets.  Marsh Wren calls are a constant although we don't spot a single one. 

I find our way through the maze with no problem today.  As we get near the lower end of the island, we flush a flock of sandpiper types.  They fly in a tight coordinated formation.  The long bill and white streak up the back identifies them as Short Billed Dowitchers.  I spotted them last year at about this time. They are early migrators - nesting in the arctic, but heading south by July. We spot several flocks while in this part of the marsh - a total of 50 to 75 birds, and while I never get a chance to photograph one (same problem last year), the flocks fly quite close to us on several instances. In fact, I had seen a flock on my last visit, but didn't recognize them. 

We head down to Milford Point hoping for some other shorebirds, but come up blank on that.  We do get to watch a submerged terrapin rooting in the bottom for food.  It is duly surprised when it surfaces to find us about a two feet away staring it straight in the eye.

We head across to the east shore, and then into the central phragmites patch where we scare up three Black Crowned Night Herons.  From there we run out and back along the upper side of Cat Island, and then head back up river. 

Extra Credit

Menunketesuck - It is almost like I get extra credit just for paddling in a river with such a name.

It is the last day of a holiday weekend and the roads are busy with unhappy people who insist on hurrying from one place to another and back again.  I keep my travels short.

It is still cool when I set out from the usual place. The tide is high, although not so high as to flood the salt hay - the short version of spartina that grows in high salt marshes.  Turning the first bend, a Little Blue Heron comes flying straight up the river and lands in the shade on the right bank. At the next bend, there is a Great Egret out in the spartina 30 yards to the left.  A moment later, a Snowy Egret followed by a Glossy Ibis flies up the river and past me.  If I was a bird list check-off person, I would have done quite well in just a quarter mile.

There is a pleasant wind, which will be appreciated as the day warms. Except for the first four birds, it is rather bird quiet.

As I near Opera Singer Point, I hear the raspy whistle of a Bald Eagle.  Eagles often perch in a tree over the opera singer's abandoned house.  The Eagle comes out from the trees and crosses the marsh.  It is an immature without any white feathers. A few Blackbirds and an Osprey fly up to harass it - all have chicks in their nests at this time of year.

I head up the east fork and return seeing only one Great Egret, but enjoying the meandering trip.  On the way out, several Glossy Ibises fly past heading up the main branch of the river. A second Eagle, this one mature, comes in and circles over the marsh before returning to the trees on the east side.

Glossy Ibis and Great Egret

 

Mature Little Blue Heron

Then, I head down to the railroad bridge, turn and head up and into the west fork. I spot two more mature Little Blue Herons, and several Willets.  With that, I head back out. 

 

Timing

The 4th of July is not one of my favorite holidays, although based on my interest in history, it should be.  It has, unfortunately, become little more than an excuse to blow off huge amounts of fireworks while drinking large quantities of beer, and maybe a reckless driving of "the boat" - basically nothing more than a day off for too many people. A friend asked what I was doing for the fourth, and I told him that if there was a Reservation rodeo anywhere in the area, I would go, but there isn't.  The best and most meaningful 4th of July that I have ever had was attending a 4th of July Powwow/rodeo.  The actually had speeches!

A Willet in the maze

I start early and catch the last 20 minutes of the rising tide.  There are several boat trailers at the launch, which no doubt belong to fishermen who are already out wherever they think the fish are biting.  I head down river on a wavy glass surface.  In the mile to the marsh I see only one small fishing launch anchored near Pepe's Rock.

I head into the maze having met rule #1 (don't enter at low water) and checking carefully to meet rule #2 - don't let anyone see you enter the maze.  This isn't a selfish secrecy thing; I just believe that exploring should provide rewards and anyone else that figures out the maze will be duly rewarded for their curiosity.  I flush a couple Great Blue Herons and spot the usual several Egrets and Yellow Crowned Night Herons.  The Willets do a reasonable job of scolding me, and I scare up a mix of about a dozen Mallards and Black Ducks. More surprisingly, I pass all the way through the maze without making a wrong turn.  
 

An injured terrapin.  Able to swim, but unable to dive.  

From there, I zig and zag eastward across the marsh and then make my way back up the river, without seeing anyone else in the marsh.  I'm out before the holiday boaters are awake.

To the Logjam

It is a sunny Sunday - a perfect day for everyone who has not seen their kayak in the last year to put it in the water. The big water will be overrun with the Mai Tai navy.  S wants to go canoeing and I have to get slightly creative - shade would be nice, but better would be a river with no motorboats.

We put in on the Lieutenant River, at the usual spot with no issues other than Mr. Doofus who, most likely being a rookie, hasn't figured out that he shouldn't block the access with his car.  He asks me if I need help, as I carry the canoe from the far end of the parking area (I don't), and slip past his car, and set the canoe down in the water next to his rear bumper. "He will learn our ways," unless he drowns first.

We head up river, and the pleasant aspects of this route return from my memory. The boundaries are a little bit of cliffs and a lot of cattails. We pass a couple kayakers on the way up, but considering the weather, I would expect more people.  

The tide is up and Boulder Swamp is easy with all except the largest boulders submerged.  It takes me a few minutes, but I finally locate the Eagle nest.  It is quiet and hard to see when the trees are leafed out.  The parental units are definitely not up there, but I can't see well enough to determine if any young are at home.  We continue up the ever narrowing river.  
S asks, "How far are we going?" 
"To the blocking log jam."
This is only two or three hundred yards of narrow forested river.  A couple miles of this would be nice.

We return to the Boulder Swamp and take the other fork that enters.  Some maps call it the Lieutenant River, but I think they are in error.  The narrow section we were in is the actual river, running down from Rogers Lake.  Anyway, it is a meander through the cattails until it peters out.

We have a headwind on the return, but with the warm day the cooling breeze is well worth the extra effort. We have successfully dodged the barbarian horde, again.

Doing the Maze All Proper

The sky is overcast, the bottom of the clouds just high enough to not be fog.  It is calm and about 70F, there is a very light drizzle every so often.  The Mai Tai Navy will not leave port in such inclement weather and it is common knowledge that a jet ski engine will never fire up under such conditions.  The twice-a-summer plastic kayak drivers huddle in fear in their stately hovels at the thought of getting lost.  I have the marsh to myself.

 

The tide has been coming in for about 2 hours. It is still quite low and the current is not bad, yet.  I have limited choices in the marsh until the water rises some.  There are many Great and Snowy Egrets working the edge of the water near the top of the marsh.  I head up Beaver Brook, not having been in there at low tide for some time.  It is quiet and I am hemmed in by two or three feet of pre-peat banks topped by tall grasses and reeds.  I flush several Yellow Crowned Night Herons.  When I come back out, the water has risen enough to paddle the eastern channel to the lower end of the marsh.

I have no particular distance or place to reach today.  I wander the channels of the middle marsh as the water comes up.  Following a channel to a dead end, I back out and find the water a few inches higher, and the number of possible routes increased.  I eventually get over to Nell's Channel and paddle into the lower entrance of the maze.  After a couple hundred yards of known channels, I start exploring. Everything is going to dead ends - winding channels ending in small ponds with no exits.  I backtrack and try another unknown.  By the time I decide to head out, I have trouble getting back on track.  After dozens of forks and bends, the ones I need to recognize don't stand out.  Finally, I find the long deadfall that blocks one of the better channels. It is a rare and important landmark, but I am on the wrong side of it.  On the second attempt, I find a set of channels leading to the other side.  From that point it is fairly simple (for me) to get to the exit.  I have spent the long part of an hour in the maze and most of that time I was bewildered.  I keep thinking that the route finding will get easier, but it doesn't.  Maze is the correct word for this spot. 

I head back out after three hours of paddling.  I have not seen anyone else in the marsh the whole time.

Surrounded by Significance

When I find a good place to canoe, I most often return there repeatedly. In part, this is to experience the area under different conditions and in various times of the year.  But, it is also to give me a chance to explore the surroundings and research features that I can see from the water.  

I set out for Rocky Hill where there is a nice stretch of the Connecticut River that I paddle a few times each year. But, I change my mind while on the drive and divert to the Salmon River, just because I find it a comfortable place to be.  I found this spot after crossing the Connecticut River from Haddam and being confronted with an absurd number of U.S. Government No Trespassing signs - about one on every third tree along the river bank.  It turned out to be the former site of a nuclear power plant, which had been removed prior to my moving to the area. Coming back and entering from the better located launch at the bottom of Salmon Cove, I found a large area of undeveloped forest land in an area that is prime property for the various concoctions of the infamous Mr. and Mrs. Moneybags.  More research turned up the fact that the spent nuclear fuel rods are stored onsite, but well out of view.  The entirety of the power plant property and some former private property remains as a rare no trespassing National Wildlife Refuge. Reading one day about Connecticut archaeology, I discovered that Dibble Creek, which tumbles, or dribbles, into the cove, if you know where to look, was the site of a hunting camp dating to 3000-6000 years ago. This same reading uncovered Venture Smith.  Smith's farm is on top of the hill overlooking the Salmon River as it enters the cove.  It is about a 100 acres. The interesting part of the story is that Venture Smith was captured in Africa in the 1730's and brought to America as a slave, eventually ending up in Stonington, CT.  His master allowed him to work odd jobs in his spare time to earn money, which he used to buy his own freedom.  He then set about farming and fishing until he could buy the freedom of his wife and children, after which he bought and began farming and fishing the land I paddle under.  His grave is in a nearby churchyard cemetery.  

The Moodus Beaver Dam

I end up talking too long to the State safety person - the state has a team of summer job employees that drive around to different state launches to check and educate people about such things as PFD's.  They're always interesting and pleasant to talk to and we both have some stories to trade. A second safety person shows up - she is a budding bird watcher, so I tip her off on some good places that I know of.  Then, I am in the water,

The Dibble Creek Dam

I head up the cove and into the Moodus River.  The lowest beaver dam is out of the water about 3 inches - I can slip over it without getting out of the canoe.  The next beaver dam, which is not maintained anymore, is submerged.  I turn back at the tight bend below Johnsonville, the wade to get by the gravel bar not being worth the effort for the last 200 yards below the old Johnsoville Dam.  Johnsonville is the lowest of 13 yarn mills that were on the Moodus.  I'm glad to be coming back out as the greenhead flies are excited.  They are a biting fly, although not as voracious or numerous as the black flies that NE canoeists are familiar with (I've never seen black flies in Connecticut).

The wind has come up, so it is a bit of work getting back down the cove.  I stop briefly at the bay below Dibble Creek.  There is an old beaver dam here that can be crossed at high water - actually, you can cross it anytime, but the other side of it is much too shallow except at high water.  Anyway, it looks nothing like a dam today as it is fully vegetated and camouflaged with shrubs and saplings - that's how I know it to be an old dam. 

From there, I head out.  It was not just a canoe trip, but a day out surrounded by and connected to a landscape of significance. 

A Day Like Ice Cream

It's been a busy and hot week - art opening, panel discussion, a closing reception, and then three 90F+ days in row.  Today, I hang some art and still have time for a short afternoon paddle.  The temperature has dropped overnight to the low 70's, and stayed there - a drop of 20F overnight.  It feels positively humane. On top of that, it is overcast with a 10mph east wind.

I put in about an hour after a very high tide peak.  Having been in the marsh quite often on recent trips, I cut across the river and head to the quad islands.  The current is already zippy.   

I head up between Carting and Peacock Islands.  The channel is 50 feet wide with the tide up.  At low tide, it is not passable.  I spot some Great Egrets, Yellow Crowned Night Herons, Red Wing Blackbirds and I hear a good number of Marsh Wrens back a few feet in the weeds.  

Out of the many times I've been here, my trips probably never coincided with this timing of the tide.  I just don't remember having such a stiff current.  I ferry over to Long Island, then Ferry from there to Pope's Flat. The current might be about 3mph, which is my distance cruising speed with this canoe. From the tip of Pope's, I head the rest of the way across the river.  I didn't expect it, but the current is slower over this stretch, which is also the main boat channel. 

I head up, side track to explore a channel, which turns out to be a backwater.  Then, I continue up and across to the Peck's Mill site, and return through the islands by the west channel around Peacock Island.