In Pursuit of Wonder

Larry didn’t keep going down the channel like we did last year but turned right; about the same spot we had seen the mink swimming last year. A forest stood ahead across the water. I spotted an eagle’s nest in one of the trees. Larry steered the canoe slightly to our left, not turning but going at an angle instead of a straight line. We were headed for the tree studded hill. The hill had a red orange carpet. Far off to the left, a muskrat lodge was covered thickly with frost. This area of water was much wider, more like a lake and less of a channel. It was bound by a thin layer of ice. Larry pushed the canoe into the ice. It cracked with a loud noise as we pushed through, not a shatter like glass, no, this was more of a thud, a deeper, lower noise but loud – a low roll of thunder. There was a lot more ice to push through this time. The volume of the sound of the breaking ice was incredible. Any animals nearby were warned of our presence and certainly hid long before we would have been able to see them. Another few strokes and we were back in open water; still heading toward the hill.

Larry said, “Bunch of gizzard shads.”

I peered into the water but I was unable to see a single one of those small fishes. How could Larry see them?

Instead of turning right and following the small stream along the hill, further back, upstream, like we did last year, Larry turned the canoe left following the ridge and water down the channel. The stranded boat was ahead of us again. This time I could see a little more of it over the tall vegetation. I reveled in the beauty of the bare trees reflecting in the water as we continued on. The ice was to the left of us now but Larry skirted around it. On the bank ahead of us was an open spot of mud, from that distance I couldn’t tell if it was a beaver mound or a beaver slide or just a bare spot on the bank. Larry turned the canoe to the left again; we were back in the channel with the beaver lodge. Further along the bank, on our right, I observed a beaver slid. Far to the left, I could see the eagle’s nest. It was fun to see the back side of the sign marking the canoe trail and having a different look on the snag in the water near it. The beaver lodge and its large cache came into view. We had made a complete circle or rather more like a “D”. My eyes were briefly drawn to the perfect reflection of the cloudy sky and trees mirrored by the water. Again, with the hope of seeing a beaver, I studied the lodge as we drew nearer to it. And once again I marveled at the size of the cache as Larry guided the canoe around it.

We drew near to the willow tree and the tree with the eagle’s nest again. Larry commented, “There are a lot of gulls.”

“Where’d they come from?”

“Probably Lake Pepin. Attracted by the gizzard shads.”

Before we came to the willow tree or the eagle’s nest tree, Larry turned the canoe into a very narrow side channel, opposite from the willow. I was a little surprised, for the channel was just barely wider than the width of the canoe. Then again, it’s Larry, so not too surprising really. I marveled at the tiny spikes of hoar frost coating the frozen mud and grasses along the channel. There was some ice on the channel but it broke up easily and made far less noise. As Larry eased the canoe into the narrow channel, we heard a plop in the water ahead of us; an animal had dived into the water at our approach. “Most likely a muskrat,” Larry explained.

We were unable to go far into the small channel; it divided into two directions, too small of a space to turn the canoe one way or another. The channel was hardly longer than the length of the canoe. Resigning to not being able to go further Larry instructed, “Grab a hold of the left bank and step out.” It was a little hard to do all bundled up, but I managed to clumsily step out of the canoe. Larry told Hank he could get out, and then Larry stepped out and secured the canoe.

We walked along the even smaller channel on the left, heading southeast ward. Rushes, sedges, and grasses rustled as we waded through them. Soon we were among the trees. After a few paces, Larry would stop, bend over, brush away leaves, looking intently at I’m not sure what, I didn’t ask but he repeated it over and over again the entire time we were walking. I probably should have asked. I think he was looking for saplings. Other then curiously watching Larry, I took in the trees. A beautiful oak. One, perhaps a river birch, two trunks, one on the ground, carpeted heavily with moss. The other still attached to their base by threads, a few feet of it suspended in the air, the remainder of it resting on the ground. I turned around to look back the way we’d come, we were many yards south of the tree cradling the eagle’s nest. I find it a little comical that there is a bend in the tree trunk creating the illusion that the tree is straining to hold the large nest, bending with its weight. I turned back around and continued walking. Another dead tree caught my attention. This tree was split at the base; trunks spread out, like a creeping vine. A few trees had been gnawed on by a beaver, one appeared quite fresh, the other may have been years old. We looped about, making almost a circle. We came to a pool, channel of water; it was murky in color. Hank came up alongside me, down to the water’s edge. He drank heartily, thirsty from his running about. Larry said, “Apparently he’s not choosy about what he drinks.” We had walked along this spot last December. A few moments later we headed back toward the canoe. Back in the canoe, Larry backed us up and we continued on our way. Past the willow and the eagle nest tree, around the bend, past the little beaver lodge, soon we were back at the canoe landing.