Eagles

Mike and I portage to the big lake. It is early evening, very calm and overcast. We haven't paddled together, but once I get his cadence up to a normal pace it all flows nicely. We spot an eagle perched in a tree just before we get to Union Bay. I haven't seen an eagle there ever before. Things are different with a second pair of eagles in the bay. The eagle habits that I learned last winter don't apply. I tell Mike that we probably won't see the eagles hunting, they usually eat in mid-day. And then, we see one of the eagles, hunting. I spot the north nest pair sitting together on the largest dirtberg, so the hunting eagle is from the south nest. It seems less experienced, definitely less experienced. It circles on a coot, gives up, takes after a duck in flight, gives up, circles on another coot, then another. It's haphazard compared to the north nest eagles. When the north nesters hunt they circle on a coot. If it escapes or the eagle tires, the eagle retreats to a perch and lets the coots all calm down and regroup. The north nest eagles are very methodical, very deliberate. This south nest eagle just wears itself out. Down in the south lagoon, we spot a beaver swimming and just to make sure we close in and it slaps its tail. It then backs off to the small and hard-to-see lodge than most people don't know exists.

Wind

I set out from the east end of the Crossing Over Place on a windy day with dramatic clouds, multi-shades of white, gray and blue and moving across the sky. In the midwest, where I grew up, the clouds always moved across the sky, sometimes with amazing speed, but here, clouds usually move at an almost imperceptible pace. A very dense flock of coots and widgeons lies just north. Maybe it is the wind that causes them to form a denser group than normal. I drift with the wind and the widgeons get up and fly 200 yards east. The coots just swim, keeping their distance by forming a big black crescent to my left. (except for the coot below)The cattails are nearly white when the sun strikes them bright, all of the life bleached from them and just waiting for wind and rain and animals to lay them to the ground.

I work crosswind along the north shore. It is windy, it is fresh and energizing and the waves slap the side of the canoe while sun comes through and the lake shimmers and then the sun is clouded over and the water goes wavy green, and the sun returns and it goes on.

Outside of the NE lagoon, I lay the paddle across the gunwales and the wind carries me in. I should have coffee. Hot coffee is never better than when I drift downwind in my canoe. Ducks spook and leave when I get into the lagoon. I didn't see the heron until it got up and flew off, just 10 yards away. I write the occurrence because my camera is safely stashed.

In the brush are many red wing blackbirds, most of which I cannot see. They trill and chirp, overlapping and responding to each others calls. It may be me, or it may be the Stellars Jay sharing the bush. It is one of the bluest Stellars Jays that I can remember.

It is a good struggle with the wind to leave the lagoon.

Stay in the Canoe

A cold front swept in yesterday bringing the fewest of snow flakes at first, but leaving some sleat on the ground where I portaged to the lake. This frosty morning, my head needs to go someplace where it can think by itself without my help. As usual, lately, this is more likely than not my canoe. The canoe is not for everyone, or hardly anyone for that matter, but it works for me and I don't question it, but just accept the fact.The water is up some more and I paddle the edge of the marsh in the south end of Portage Bay. In mid-winter, the water is too shallow for me to get within 30 yards of the shoreline. Then I head through the "crossing under place" into Union Bay, following the north side of marsh island, passing a favorite nurse log along the way. I turn south into the lagoons, and find many geese mixed with the typical ducks and two great blue herons. While sitting still, the geese come to examine the side of the canoe. I try to record some sound effects, but operating the laptop computer while canoeing is too damned difficult and it removes me from "the canoe". I put the bastard away and enjoy the rest of the paddle, weaving through cattails and taking a raw cold wind on my skin.

Pairing Up Time

I want to paddle someplace different, but I delay the decision and the decision is made by time.
I portage east to the big lake. It is sunny and clear and it will be warm enough that there will be a minor idiot-fest in the lake today. I aim north towards Union Bay, passing an occasional flock of buffleheads and sometimes, a common merganser. The buffleheads spook at 75 yards, but the mergansers stay put.In Union Bay, an eagle sits in the evergreen perch on the east shore. Rowers have scattered the ducks and coots and I figure that the hunting will begin once the flocks have reformed. I spot a thin black dagger disappearing into the water about 50 yards ahead. I slowly paddle towards it, wondering what that was. Instantly! an otter pops up just five feet from the boat. It is surprised as all get-out and dives away. I can't help but to laugh. Good thing it wasn't a polar bear. And the dagger? It was the otter's tail.

It is pairing up time for the Canada geese. Maybe six weeks ago you might have seen them in groups of 15 or 20, but for the last few weeks it has been pairs only. They are seen more often on shore also, a sort of shopping for a nesting site. In 6 or 8 weeks, they will set the first nests. Then they will get quite defensive about their space. By that time, many of the other ducks will be gone, heading north to build their nests.

At the mouth of the NE lagoon, I find and cast a good shallow beaver hind track. I find the bleached bones of two geese nearby. It was, most likely, an unleashed dog kill. The bones aren't scattered. The predator killed the birds and left without eating.

On the walk home, I meet an interesting fellow and we talk for quite some time about this canoe project. I say it over and over again, but meeting someone new is one of the best reasons to walk my canoe to and from the lake.
(Note on "idiot-fest" - I try to be nice about everything, but this refers to the dozens of people that will rent canoes and with very limited abilities paddle without life jackets in 45 degree water.)

Beaver sign...and paddling

The peeled branches and logs are leftovers from the beaver. They eat the bark. In the center of the photo is a beaver drag (the thinner spot in the cattails). They drag the branches to the water where they can evade predators if necessary. The lodge is about 100 yards north from here.I portage to the lake during morning rush hour. It is a strange time to walk a canoe through the city. People in cars are so rushed and so cut off from everything else. Cars are convenient, but there is more than a monetary cost to them. I stop and talk for five minutes with the crossing guard at a school. We have seen each other several times before. This time he wants to know more, and so I tell him about my project and where I am probably going today. Mostly, I enjoy the brief unplanned meeting with someone that I don't know. It is something to savor. It makes the city a home.
The big lake is calm, the sky overcast, but the air near the surface is clear and distant features are distinct. As I paddle north, thoughts race through my head. Most have nothing to do with canoeing except that canoeing has brought them forth. Then I settle on paddle strokes, a remembering of an article that I read on wikipedia. The write told all about dozens of distinct paddle strokes. I think he was a Brit... it was neatly categorized in the way that British sports writing often is. He told about the power stroke, the J stroke, the Canadian J stroke, the feather, the draw and more. Nice and neat, clean and precise. Exactly like paddling isn't, at least once you have become one with the canoe. In reality, the power stroke merges with the J, which might or might not become a Canadian J, which slides into a feather if need be, and the feather becomes a C or a draw, to avoid a rock. They overlap, they merge, they blend. And they do it without thought, like piano players working a fast piece. The arm, the wrist, and the paddle simply do what is needed to point the canoe where it should point. It's hard to explain, it's pointless to teach. Put your time in. It will happen.

Hunting

I put in on the big lake and paddle north with a steady south wind behind me, strong but not making too much of a wave. A large western grebe surfaces 50 yards to my right, close for a grebe, and it performs its graceful surface dive, lifting itself free of the water with its hind feet and arcing its body, neck and head into a streamlined curve, and disappearing head first with hardly a ripple. It is an occurrence worth noting.


While looking for animal tracks in the NE lagoon, the eagles fly over, both times while I have my head down and my camera put away. The lake is up 3 or 4 inches and the beaver highway is now awash. It starts to rain steady. It is a rain that would depress someone who is sitting inside looking out, but I am in it and I find it fresh and rejuvenating. The wind here is over the dead beaver that lies 50yards back in the brush and I can just pick up the scent. As I leave the lagoon, I spot one of the eagles stampeding coots in mid bay. It circles, swoops and hovers, hunting a singled out coot. This goes on for quite some time. It goes for at least 15 minutes. It should be about time to give up when the mate joins in on the hunt, and a half minute later the first eagle flies off with its quarry.

There are ten herons sitting together on the south tip of #1 island.

Hissing of winter cattails

I paddle 50 yards and then I drift with the SW wind for 100 more and while I do that, I eat half of my peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Why do they taste so good when you eat them outdoors? The homemade plum preserves are the perfect balance of cool, sweet and wet. I stop and put the other half away, just so that I can eat it when the memory of the first half has faded. Once through the Crossing Under Place, I stop in the west islands. The cattails are completely spent for this season. They are as white as they will get before falling down for the next season's growth. As the wind blows, they hiss, so many rubbing against each other. An unseen redwing blackbird zips at me and it begins to rain.
(I forgot to mention - I saw eagles in both the south and north nests. Union Bay has two pairs of nesting bald eagles this season)