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.