Meryl Grandy

I didn't write anything today, at least not while I was in the canoe.  There seemed to be nothing much to say.  Instead, it was a trip where things flowed into me.  It was a great autumn day where any chill in the air was more than compensated for by the sun. 


I head out paddling down river toward the sea against the flood tide with a quartering wind from behind on my right.  I circled the big marsh before returning.  The spartina was tall and turning gold...it was rich.

I saw few birds of note.  It was mostly black ducks and mallards with just two Canada geese.  Behind Peacock Island I flushed a mated pair of wood ducks and saw two great egrets.  It has been awhile since I've seen egrets, most of them are now gone.

I took some photos, but most of the time I seemed to have some crap on the lens.  It just didn't matter.

The guardian of the feral cat park canoe launch

The wild rice was laying down, a fuzzy matt of tan fibers and stalks.  The river was getting wider, the winter edges pushing back to the edge of the cattails as the summer growth of rice disappeared.


The big river was running 2 to 1, my shorthand for twice as long against the current as with the current to cover a distance.  But, with such a fine sunny day, a spectacular late autumn day for sure, I went farther up the river than necessary, rounding all of Wilcox Island before entering the Mattebasset on the way downstream.



The trees and brush have long since dropped their leaves, exposing the surface of the wetland and most of what is there, and what has been left there.  It's a time of dormancy, but I always find it a time of hope.  The trees are just waiting for the right time to regrow their leaves, they are just adding one more ring to their measure of time. 

There are just a few big birds, a couple great blue herons, a few hawks, two swans.  Mostly, it is smaller songbirds, and woodpeckers - lots of woodpeckers, primarily the downy, but I also spot one of the larger hairy woodpeckers. 



The near lack of breeze creates clear reflections of the silver grey trees on the water and sometimes I just navigate by watching the reflections instead of the actual river's edge.  It's all the same except upside down. 

I turn at the tavern put-in, where the tavern no longer stands.  I have no reason to push farther up the river, and I have good reason to take my time and explore unvisited inlets on the way out. 



I turn up a backwater that has a thin sheet of ice, using the bow of my canoe to create a small vee.  The view of frozen water and the sound of frozen water cracking will never cease to hold me.