The Color of Temperature

We set out from the Foote Bridge, the crossing of the river of Bearhouse Hill Road, with the tide coming up to meet us. 

It was grey and so standard for November in the north, except that it was unseasonably warm.  We talked little, but instead listened in the still air and kept our eyes aimed well out ahead of the canoe.  The wintering ducks flush from much farther out.  We spotted a pair of downy woodpeckers at Pocketknife corner, and S found a bluejay not too much farther on where we flushed a small flock of ducks too far off to be identified with any certainty.

A light sprinkle came on, but it was not enough to wet our clothes.

After the stone arch bridge where the marsh opens up into big sky, we spotted a single yellow legs and then a hawk, which was actively vocalizing...skreeee...and it led us to a second hawk perched in a tree by the big bends.

The Sneak was well topped up with water by the time we reached it and we paused to walk around.  S had not stepped on the spartina before and wondered if she would sink in.  "No, it is as firm as a soccer field.," I replied.

We headed up Bailey Creek as far as the old boathouse, because I knew that we would see some ducks along the way. 

aerial photograph of spartina marsh

And, we talked about how this day would be called a steely grey day, if it were not for the balmy temperature.  That unusual heat colored the day in our eyes.  We saw warmth in the golden spartina grass while the grey bare trees that would dominate in normal weather faded away.

Out return was on the flood tide with a light wind in our face.  Only in the last mile was it less than ideal as a light rain began and held until we lifted the canoe from the water.