Bantam

S surprised me this morning, "Let's go to the East River." 

I checked the weather as it was already suspiciously windy at our house, and the East River salt marsh is even more exposed.  I suggest Bantam as the wind would be lighter and the temperature about 5 degrees cooler, in exchange for an extra 20 minutes of driving.

We put in at the boat launch at the bottom of the lake, with me promise of a close up look at the "Thomas the Tank Engine" house.  We headed up the west shore to avoid a pair of expensive day waterski boats that were doing circles towing kids that would be better off paddling or learning to sail.  Once away from that mess, there was almost no traffic of any sort.  We don't paddle lakes that often, so it is a pleasant change, even if it isn't particularly wild - because it isn't.

Spotted 4 Great Blue Herons in close proximity to each other as we headed toward the Bantam River. They are usually not that near each other. 

We headed into the outflowing Bantam River, and then up the more interesting Butternut Brook. Spotted a muskrat on the way in.  We turned back at the first beaver dam, as there is only about a half mile more of paddling, and it gradually becomes more work the farther in one goes.  Spotted a small beaver on the way out.

Headed back to the lake and then went east along the lakeshore to the inflowing Bantam River.   Stopped and took a rest at the first beaver dam.  Then headed back down the lake on the east shore, making sure to stop an marvel at the "Thomas the Tank Engine" house (my name for it) and it's stern paddlewheeler boat.  The owner certainly put money into the decorative features.  It has a clock tower, gargoyles, and a chimney that is reminiscent of what you see on old buildings in England.  eE cross the lake from there and call it a day.

Chipuxet - Thirty Acre and Hundred Acre Ponds

I stopped at Worden Pond, my intended start point, but with just a 10mph north wind, it was choppy as hell.  Paddling the 1-1/2 miles up the lake on a calm day is a nice way to access the Chipuxet, but Worden is no fun with any wind.  I swear that the lake would form a chop if anyone in the county so much as sneezes.  I divert to the Taylor's Landing put-in a couple miles north.

The water is up with the recent rain, but not at any problem level. I decide to explore the river upstream (Worden Pond is downstream).  I have wanted to head up before, but kept putting it off and so far have only gone to the bottom of 30 Acre Pond, where there is a well built beaver dam.

Approaching Thirty Acre Pond

I duck under the road bridge and dodge the poison ivy tree on the other side, which serves as a good reminder to mind the many turns.  This river would be beginner water except for the proliferation of poison ivy planted precisely where a beginner would struggle to make a tight turn.  The beaver dam is a third of a mile up and is partially breached.  While I do have to step out, it is an easy crossing as the dam is old and makes for solid footing - as much so as the river bank.

Thirty Acre Pond is pretty much what I expected.  It is mostly marsh land with a 25-30 foot wide channel running through it.  The upper section is open water. It is beautiful with lots of pond lilies, lotus plants and pickerel weed.  Apparently it is peak pickerel weed - purple cone flowers and bees everywhere.

Above the pond, the river is shallow, but only briefly.  After passing under the railroad bridge the river goes deep again on its way to Hundred Acre Pond.  Swampy and forested, a docked pontoon boat surprises me.  From the maps, I expected to find a larger version of Thirty Acre Pond.  Instead, I find a small open lake - about a quarter mile by a long half mile.  There are about two dozen houses spaced out around the shoreline. 

The river enters in marshland on the northeast.  It is deep and 25-30 feet wide.  About a third of a mile up is another dam and the river necks down substantially.  The dam is solidly built, but the channel is indistinct above it.  The water is deep enough, but the river has no channel, rather it flows through a tangle of marsh shrubs. It would be nice to push in, but I am pretty sure I would end up with a massive dose of poison ivy.  One thing that I notice is the water temperature is cooler than the water below. I am a full hour out from my start point.

I head back and continue down past the put-in.  There is more current than I remember from past trips, probably due to the extra water, but it isn't bad.  Some narrow turns careful doding of the poison ivy take me into more open river.  I cross two beaver dams, both just slide-overs.  It is hot in this part of the river with no shade - it is open marsh, mainly cattails and shrubs and stunted maple trees.  I;m getting close to Worden Pond but feeling that it is time to head back.  I get to a beaver dam where the river narrows - a spot I remember as the first beaver dam up from the pond.  I'm probably a 1/4 or 1/3 of a mile away.  It is close enough and I retrace my route.

To the Crux

The weather has decided to cooperate.  The heat dome was pushed aside by two days of heavy rain and wind - almost 5 inches during that time and a lot of downed trees in parts of the state.  

I put in at Indian Well.  It is overcast with a very light mist starting as I get into the canoe.  Puffs of fog rise out of the hillside forest, that 100 degree weather meeting the heavy rain meeting the under 70F temperature of today.  I have the entire river to myself - it is a well known fact of science that motorboats can not be started when there is any hint of precipitation in the air. The mist is so light that it does not wet my clothing.

I head upstream.  Not 10 minutes in, a large mature Bald Eagle comes in from upriver and flies a wide circle and heads back from where it came.  I pass a Great Blue Heron every 1/4 mile or so.  It is a very pleasant day and makes up for not sleeping well last night.

There is a noticeable current when I reach the Boy Scout launch.  This section of the river is an old reservoir held back by an 1870's dam, which is quite a bit lower than the dam that might have been built 50 years later.  The reservoir is 5 miles long and narrow, so water has to move through it steadily.  If it has been raining a lot, the flow has to increase.  I usually see this during winter months, but after several inches of recent rainfall, it is no surprise.

The current really picks up at the bottom of the S-turn - no surprise.  I hop eddies on river right until I get up to the "shelf".  I believe that the shelf is a patch of bedrock that spans the river, forming a shallow where the current accelerates. The water depth is uniform bank to bank, so there is no easy route over the shelf.  I have a hunch that it might be possible to wade the river at the shelf when the water is low and moving rather slow. Today, you would get knocked off your feet.

I come out of the highest eddy and head out into the current.  It's maximum effort paddling at a pace that I can maintain for fifteen minutes or so, the time it might take to get over the shelf.  I gauge my progress by eyeballing a shoreline stump.  A canoe length might take two minutes, the smooth water above the shelf is tantalizing.  I've been here before and I now that the crux is the upper edge of the shelf - the spot where the water is fastest.  I've been at it for ten minutes as I get to the top of the shelf. I can see the bottom.  I no longer watch the shoreline stump, but instead keep an eye on my progress by watching the river bottom.  And, it doesn't take a few seconds to see that I am no longer making any headway. A few more paddle strokes and I begin losing ground.  I turn and ride the current.

The mist has slowly increased since I started, though it never rose to the level of a sprinkle. 

I spot an Osprey butterfly swimming a large fish to shore.  I've seen Eagles do this with large dead fish.  The Osprey perches on the dead fish and watches me.  It will not eat or drag the fish farther until I am gone, so I leave.

I have a second Eagle sighting about a mile from my take-out.  I suspect that it is the same Eagle that I saw when I started out. 

Where - Housatonic2.

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.

 

Wheeler - Very High Tide

The tide is nearing high as I set out, with maybe an hour of flood to go. It is sunny and 75F with a 5mph wind out of the east.

I head down river to the maze.  At the entrance, I take a quick look around before going in - The first rule of maze club is don't tell anyone about the maze.

Red Wing Blackbirds and Willets are very actively bitching.  It takes a minute to figure out that I am not the problem, but rather they are chewing at each other.  And, I think it is the Blackbirds that are being the most defensive as they are also chasing Ospreys.

The tide is so high that the maze is pure beginner stuff - I can short cut between the usual channels. In fact, the most interesting thing about the island at this tide level is that there is no island - just submerged marsh with spartina managing to stick up above the water surface, in places.  

The gnats have hatched and they are a nuisance whenever I am paddling with the wind. A couple times, I paddle a circle to get the wind to carry them away.

I head east out and across the marsh, zigzagging through open water that would normally be land.  There are a good number of Yellow Crowned Night Herons, Great Egrets, Osprey, Mallards and Willets.  The Willets are probably concerned about the water level flooding their nests.

Baby Willets

From the East Side, I head back and through the maze once more before heading up river.  About a 1/4 mile above the marsh I hear some Willets - wrong place for Willets to be.  Up against one of the floating docks is a mass of floating marsh reeds.  A pair of adult Willets are watching over two small Willets.  They have drifted out of the marsh on the high tide.  The current will change soon, and hopefully the Willets will drift back to the marsh. If they get that far, they should have no trouble finding a safe spot as the tide drops and gives them more land to walk on.  Note that in all the time I've been in salt marshes with Willets nesting, this is the first time that I've seen baby Willets.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Over the Threshold

The canoe is nested in the branches of a deadfall.  Two more inches of water and I would have slipped through without any effort.  In fact, the gap in the branches where I sit was caused by other paddlers squeezing through during higher water.  Anyway, it is a nice place to sit as it took 3 hours of steady paddling to get here.  I guess that I might be a mile or so short of the Jay Cronin launch site, but there aren't any landmarks to go by - especially since I am not carrying a map to refer to (my guess is pretty close).  

Someday I'd like to do the full trip to Jay Cronin, but I figure the round trip between here and there might take 45 minutes to an hour with all the weaving through deadfalls.  I even toyed with referring to the mile below me as the "woodpile." Fortunately, someone has cleared passages through the deadfalls, although it still requires a lot of tight maneuvering.

I slide back out of the nest and head downriver.  I am three hours out, and at least two since I saw the last person.  It's threshold time - the point where I become part of the surroundings, when I stop quantifying and identifying.  It is the deep soak of a wild surrounding.  I spot a pair of Osprey after seeing one splash down into the river.  But the big bird is the treat - a Great Horned Owl that flushes silently and takes a perch to watch me pass.  

The trip down is easy with the current faster than I though as I paddled against it on the way in.  I portage the Burdickville dam remains, but take a moment to look over the old mill turbine that is in the mill race.  I've never bothered to walk over and see it up close and I am impressed that it is a 4-foot diameter cast iron turbine, which explains why it isn't decorating the lawn of some nearby home.

I pass the owner of the weird catamaran fishing bug cage, which is made of 2 canoes and a wood deck - truly a Jethro Bodine invention if there ever was.  That ends 4 hours of seeing no one else.

I take out fairly tired, and washed out. 

A Quiet Day in the Mattabasset

S had an errand to do just a few miles from the river, so the plan was set in stone.  We put in on the Coginchaug and headed upriver.  It was in the mid-80's and a bit on the humid side, but there was a light breeze and a mostly overcast sky.  That's pretty good conditions for canoeing on a warm day.  

The water was higher than I expected - we apparently met high tide by chance.  

With a late start, we were not the first in the river, so we were not going to see as much wildlife as usual.  Great Blue Herons, Cormorants, and a some songbirds were all we saw.  But, the day was pleasant and quiet and all in all, a peaceful day.

We got to the big gravel bar just below the old railroad trestle.  This gravel bar is a wade at normal water levels, and at that level not always worth the effort as a portage under the trestle and fast water under the next bridge deliver a one-two punch before coming up against a logjam, and more of that. 

We turned and headed back out, a very quiet day.

Birds

Morning was the hurry up and wait show.  I set out early in the afternoon when the tide was just about bottoming.  I had to stare at the water to see any current.  The temperature was in the 80's with the air rather humid, but with a light wind that made it all feel rather pleasant. 

I crossed the river right away and followed the west shore down towards the sea.  It took an hour to get down past Milford Point, this section of the river a large arcing turn counter clockwise around the Wheeler Marsh.  It is always impressive how much longer the west shore route is than the east side.  

Spotted a couple of Oyster Catchers on a small rock bar that only appears at low tide.  I went a little farther out, then crossed the river back to the east shore and followed the edge of the expansive bar outside of Milford Point.  

I spend a fair amount of time just drifting in the canoe and observing what surrounds me.  It is a good day for this. 

I had just barely enough water to take the first shortcut towards Nell's Channel.  A long sliding tone whistle caught my attention and I turned to spot two Black Bellied Plovers.   Continuing on into Nell's Channel, spot a few Yellow Crowned Night Herons, some Willets, and a few Least Terns near the island, where there are also a dozen Egrets feeding in the shallows.  The Terns and Great Egrets are feeding on small fish that are schooling in the shallows.  One more Black Bellied Plover watches as I leave the marsh and head back upriver. 

The Huldrafolk

Last night, I dreamed of huldrafolk.  The huldra and her male counterpart, the huldrekarl, are the hidden people of Norsk folklore. Huldrafolk have the ability to shapeshift - the female huldra often appears as a beautiful woman and may use that to lure a man to her people where he might become a captive.  I suppose that this tale may have been a more palatable excuse for why a skilled outdoorsman disappeared without a trace.  A huldra can be recognized by viewing it from behind, where it will either appear as a burned out hollow log or, have a tail.  I dreamed of a tall skyscraper, something similar to the Empire State Building, and when I walked around behind it, I found it to be a burned out hollow log.  Our modern huldrafolk are the obesely wealthy who often appear as brilliant and talented, but just as often turn out to be ruthless, self-centered, and greedy people with little in the way of a soul.  Waking from my dream, I realize and think about how our current President is very much a huldrekarl - a shapeshifter who lures people into his circle where only too late, they discover that he is burned out hollow creature.

The day was windy near the coast, but much less so inland.  I put in near the route 133 bridge over the Housatonic with an aim of paddling to Lover's Leap.  On my last trip here, I was met by high winds coming down river that convinced me to abort the trip after little more than a half mile.  Today is sunny, temperature in the low 80's, and a moderate wind.

As I head upriver, I find the wind to come from all around the clock, tailwind in places, headwind in others, crosswind or calm at times.  While the forested hillsides are not particularly high, the geography someone whirls and redirects the wind. It is noticeably odd.

I sight and flush Great Blue Herons more than any other bird, and it maybe totals a dozen.  Otherwise, it is just a pleasant cruise with little boat traffic or distraction.  It is an easy cruise and I am surprised to reach Lover's Leap, a distance of 6 miles, in several minutes less than 2 hours. 

I head back, finding the wind to be no different than on my way out - no stronger than before and still coming from any direction depending on where I am.  The exciting moment is finding a mature Bald Eagle eating a large dead carp.  

Ibis Day on the East River

I set out with a friend from the old ford on the East River.  The tide was still coming in, but the water was well deep enough that we didn't have to dodge any of the boulders in the upper section and the flood current was very light.  It was sunny and in the mid-80's with a light wind out of, more or less, the south.

Midday and already warm, it seems that much of the wildlife is laying low, or at least keeping things to a dull roar.  W is not from here, so I point out some of the historical features and we stop at the Parmalee dam ruins. As we continue I introduce W to the idea of tidal freshwater marshes and the salt marsh that makes up the majority of the trip.

Things get going in the center marsh as we approach the Big Bends.  We start spotting Glossy Ibises, and as we near they continue to multiply.  By the time we get into the Bends, we've spotted about 40 birds. The first Willets show up in the Big Bends, as usual.  And, there are a couple of Great Egrets in the area, and the usual Osprey ilk. 

Out of focus proof of Glassy Ibis presence

Below the railroad bridge, I turn us into the Sneak, then up Bailey Creek, and then back to the East River via the Long Cut.  Spot more Osprey, of course, but we alarm the Willets in that last area and they fly over while sending out their warning call to the nesting Willets in the area.  

We head back through the upper end of the Sneak and head up the East River.   The Ibises are still in the middle marsh, although dispersed into different areas than when we first saw them.  We have seen at least 50 Glossy Ibises today.

Near the Duck Hole Farms, we flush a mature Bald Eagle that we did not notice until we were underneath it.   

Great Swamp

Weather came through yesterday and it was a cold and windy one at that, but today is calm and sunny.  It is a day to take full advantage of - I head to the Great Swamp.  It may be my last trip of the summer there as the waters usually become weed bound with non-native invasive things as the summer comes on.  

I set out from Green Chimneys.  The temperature dipped to about 40F last night, but it is already in the upper 50's by the tie the canoe is set in the river. It is obvious that I am the first one here, and as I say, "first one in sees the most wildlife".  The water is down from my last trip, as it should be, but it is more lor less normal for this time of year.  Man, is the sky ever blue or what.

I pass a fluffy brown mammal - perhaps groundhog sized, but I don't get a good enough look to identify it.  As I haed up, I find that the first 2 beaver dams have been breached.  I think about it for awhile and figure that it was probably the Green Chimneys summer school program, to make it easier for the kids to get in to the swamp.  The next dam is a almost 2 feet high and intact.  Into the wild!

Just before entering the forest section, I flush a Bittern.  It's a nice sighting as I often go a whole year without seeing one.  They are rather secretive.  Unfortunately, I don't see it until it is airborne, so my camera is not ready. 

Things go pretty good up to the half-way log jam.  I portage that, then do a log step over a 1/4 mile later.   

I don't see anyone else until I am within 20 minutes of Patterson.

I turn at Patterson and head back.  The minor current is a noticeable addition to my cruising speed. It will be a 13 mile trip.

I don't see anyone else until I am in the forest section, passing a half dozen Barcalounger kayakers that managed to cross that 2 foot high beaver dam.  Two more watch me cross that same dam when I get to it and ask me questions about the route, in heavy New York City accents.  

It was a very god day.