Tag Archive | Mississippi Backwaters

Canoeing in December (Part I)

December 1, 2017

The morning was a little colder than we had anticipated the other day when we made our plans to get the canoe out this morning. However, it was forecasted to be a nice day. I was excited we were going to canoe on December first. I can’t remember what the temperature was when we set out but I think it was twenty eight degrees with the promise it would warm to almost forty degrees today. I waited until I arrived at Larry’s to add my layers. As I pulled my coveralls on, Larry laughingly asked, “Will you be able to move?”

“Yeah, I can still move but it will take more effort.” We headed out. Larry drove slowly along Highway 84, observing the marsh areas and the rolling prairie. I took in the landscape as we drove to Halfmoon Landing. Larry backed the truck up close to the narrow foot path leading to the water. I helped him unload the canoe and then patiently waited while he moved the truck. Hank explored with his nose to the ground traveling at a fast pace, zigzagging here and there. We carried the canoe to the water and set it in. A thin layer of ice topped the water.

“I thought this would be more open,” commented Larry. “We’ll just have to push through.”

I didn’t mind the ice at all. I found it thrilling that we’d be canoeing through ice; a whole new experience for me. I was excited for the adventure. I stepped into the canoe first. Then Hank leaped in, rocking it in the process. Last, Larry stepped in. He didn’t even bother handing me the other paddle. Expertly he pushed the canoe forward. A loud screeching noise echoed around the channel as the canoe collided with the ice and then pressed into it, not quite as cringingly as nails on a chalkboard but close to that pitch. The ice cracked with a loud but dull sound. With that kind of noise I’m not sure we had any hope of seeing an aquatic mammal. The ice broke into rectangular tile pieces. Sitting in the bow, I could feel the canoe breaking the ice. I don’t know which adjective to use to describe the way I felt – thrilled, elated, child-like glee. There’s just something about taking a canoe through ice that makes it adventurous and therefore awe-inspiring. Of course there is an element of danger in taking a canoe through ice – but not here, today. This ice was thin, broke easily and the current was slow – and Larry knew what he was doing. There was no danger for us.

Being December, the landscape was subdued; various shades of gray and brown, with a brush of white from the morning frost and a bit of blue sky reflecting in the water, but not brilliant blue because of mostly cloudy skies. The ice gave way to open water near the large beaver lodge situated on a side channel flowing to the Mississippi River. Now that we were in open, ice free water the canoe glided easily and quietly along. On the edges of the open channel reflections of trees were broken by spider web cracks in the ice. There was some gold left in the long grasses on the bank. The now naked trees, the fading grass, and lack of bird song lent to the appearance of barrenness. And yet there was beauty in the starkness. The dusting of frost highlighted the beauty. I said a silent hello to the willow tree that touches my heart like a dear friend. It glowed in the little bit of sunshine glimmering through the clouds. The snags mostly immersed in the water were another source of beauty and delight. I took in the many beaver scent mounds on the opposite bank, I could see at least ten. Seeing all those scent mounds thrilled me for it indicated the presence of resident beavers. Perhaps if I sat long enough under the willow I would see one of these industrious locals. Four gulls flew overhead, high up in the sky. We passed near the tree with the eagle’s nest as we went around the bend.

The even larger beaver lodge loomed up ahead of us. Oak trees on the hill beyond, still held on to their russet leaves. In this part of the channel there wasn’t any ice on the water at all. The beauty of Halfmoon, the seclusion, and floating on the water was so relaxing and refreshing. I cherished this outing, knowing that it would be a few months before we’d take the canoe out again. I took in the loveliness of the snags in the water, each having a different character, though their branches all seemed to remind me of bones. Three branches on one snag were thin and curved just a little, reaching upwards like the bones of fingers, from a hand reaching out of the water perhaps trying to grasp something, anything on the shore. Another was a fallen antler. The golden cattails curving at the top, tipped with dark brown, in thickets, added contrast and texture to the painting, touched with frost – yes, there’s beauty here.

We drew nearer and nearer to the grand beaver lodge. I scanned it as we approached, as silently as a canoe can, searching ever hopeful for a sight of a beaver. But alas, there wasn’t an animal to be seen on or near the lodge. I marveled at the size of the wood cache, which was the best way to tell this lodge is occupied. Larry was also awed by the size of the wood cache.

“That’s a big wood cache,” I marveled.

“Yeah. I’ve never seen one so big. Makes you wonder if the beaver know something about the severity of the coming winter that we don’t,” replied Larry. (Note: as it turned out the winter of 2017 – 2018 was especially long.)

“Yeah.”

We could clearly see fresh cuts on the ends of the branches in the pile. The cache extended into the channel many yards, almost blocking it. It looked almost like a dam but it wasn’t tightly woven together and packed with mud. It was quite impressive. Larry steered the canoe around the end of it. Just beyond the cache, Larry said, “Kingfisher over there on the right.” It only took me a moment to spot the bird perched atop a snag in the water. White breast toward us, cape tied across his neck, blue grey head turned away. A kingfisher is not a large bird by any means but nor is it small; bigger than a pigeon but smaller than a duck. I watched the kingfisher as we drew closer and closer until suddenly it decided we had come too close, and with great speed it took off, disappearing.

Halfmoon Lake is an odd shape with turns and many outlets; it’s hard to keep track of when we turned. Looking at a map doesn’t help because the map doesn’t show all of the wet areas. We went around the point with the willow, turning right, then the channel curved ever so slightly that when we came upon the beaver lodge we had turned to the left, but with the shape of the channel it was as if we hadn’t turned at all. I could see the top of the stranded boat ahead and a little to the left. We passed a canoe trail sign.

An Autumn Outing

October 11, 2017

With the passing of about two and a half months, Larry and I decided it was time to get out in the canoe together. We had every intention to canoe in August and September but those two months expired quickly and without us paying much attention; being farmers/gardeners with time sensitive tasks, time has a way of slipping by without our noticing until it’s already past. So with very little wind and a break in the rain we headed out this morning. We pulled off Highway 84, alongside the bridge to explore our usual spot of McCarthy and Schmoker’s. The sky was heavily overcast and there was a bit of a chill in the air. I didn’t actually look at the temperature but it probably was around 40 degrees. Before we left Larry’s he said it wasn’t too cold, I mentioned I thought about wearing my insulated boots but he said I wouldn’t need them, I should be just fine. However, it didn’t take very long before I was quite cold, my nose became runny and I wore gloves even while taking photos. As usual we took Hank, the black lab, with us. It was around 8:00 am when we put in. Usually Larry gives me a paddle in case we’d both need to paddle but this time he didn’t. Larry guided the canoe around, back under the bridge we went, heading up McCarthy. While we were still in the truck, Larry said the Mississippi was full enough again it is backing up, raising the water level after last week’s rain. He also told me he went wild ricing on McCarthy with a buddy just for fun – it was a lot of work but they harvested a lot.

There’s a lot of wild rice growing in McCarthy Lake now. It amazes me how filled in it gets. What was open water all the way out to the island in May is now mostly wild rice. There’s only a small pool of open water near the bridge. Larry had to steer the canoe in a very small channel of water that wound through the wild rice. A lot of the rice had fallen down, lying prostrate. There was no green left in the plants – all completely golden brown. Thoughts were far from me, my brain seemed to be temporarily disconnected – I was in full relaxation mood. For the most part we went along in silence. We were somewhat following the route we took in May – but had no choice in where to go because we had to go where the water was. I absentmindedly held wild rice plants away from my face as we slid past them, trying to keep from being slapped in the face. One of the trees on the island was robed in yellow orange leaves. It seemed so still, quiet, I thought.

Larry stopped the canoe in line with the island. He asked me, “What do you hear? What do you notice?”

“It’s quiet, peaceful.”

“No birds. There aren’t any ducks,” he explained. It hadn’t even sunk in that we hadn’t seen or disturbed any ducks so far in until Larry pointed out their absence. Of course, the silence was from the lack of birds. Larry said there haven’t been very many ducks in here this fall. There should have been lots migrating through.

“Why aren’t there ducks?” I asked. He didn’t know the reason. Now that I realized they weren’t here, I felt their absence and was saddened by it. Larry continued to paddle the canoe through the tangle of wild rice plants. Finally, we came to more open water where we came upon the huge lily patch. The lily leaves were now shriveled and beginning to decay. We spotted Canada geese but that was it. We hardly even saw any red wing black birds; I maybe saw one or two.

Larry took the canoe to the far side of the lily patch. He paused, thinking about whether or not we should try to go further – the vegetation was extremely thick ahead. He stood up to get a better view – looking for water. He decided there wasn’t enough water to try to keep going forward. (We’d said at the beginning we’d only go as far up as we could, not wanting to get stuck.) So Larry sat back down and turned the canoe around, a somewhat clumsy action with just one person paddling. We went back across the lily patch but rather going back down the channel we came up on, Larry steered the canoe southwestward to the other channel which took us on the other side of the island. This channel was quite narrow too, also filled in with rice. I could glimpse the top of the bridge in the distance. Some trees were completely naked. One had a few red orange leaves left. There were a few green cattails left. The channel widened a little bit, in most places it was wider than the other channel. We went around the bend and continued under the bridge. Schmoker’s also had a different shape to it than this spring but was less filled in than McCarthy. The trees on either side were stunning in their autumn dress. A few had yellow leaves which contrasted attractively from the dark bark of the trees. We passed the willow tree and went down the channel until it began to turn left. Then Larry turned for me to photograph the duck hunter cabins on the east bank because he liked the look of them reflecting in the water. I was sad that the canoe outing was at an end, I would have liked to keep going down Schmoker’s channel. I hoped we’d get out yet again this autumn.

Canoeing Through A Lotus Meadow (Part II)

Larry continued taking us further east toward an island. The closer we drew to the island the higher my excitement climbed. The reflection of the island was a water color painting; dark forest green, blurred with sky blue. This was as much of a paradise island as any in the Caribbean or south Pacific (though I’ve never been to either). I don’t think it necessary for people to leave Minnesota to find their little slice of paradise. The north part of the island was covered densely with trees and had a rocky shore with no beach. The southern side was also tree covered but had a sandy beach. The middle was open, void of trees though there were other plants growing there, and had a nice sand beach.

“There’s a pair of cranes walking on the beach,” Larry pointed out. I saw them instantly and was elated. I hoped we could get fairly close to them but they were getting edgy and nervous by our approach. We’d only come a tiny bit closer and they flew away. I was bummed to see them go but thrilled we’d seen them even for a brief moment.

Larry indicated a spot to the north of us, “You see that white cluster way up there by those trees?”
“Yeah.”

“Those are pelicans.”

“Really? That’s so cool!” Unfortunately they were too far away to actually see, to distinguish them as individuals, and even too far away for my 300mm lens to photograph well. But it was still awesome they were there.

Larry beached the canoe. I stepped out on the sand and pulled the canoe further on to the beach. Larry said, “That’s good.” After Hank and Larry were out, he pulled the canoe a little further up on to the sand. He then took his shirt off and jumped into the water. Hank plunged in too. I lingered on the beach looking at the bird feet prints in the sand. Hank was having a blast in the water. After taking in what I could see of the island from my position on the beach, I put my camera back in its case and secured it. Then I took of my shirt, shorts and sandals – I wore my swimsuit underneath. I also removed my sunglasses; putting these items into the canoe.

I walked into the water, delighted to find it wasn’t ice cold nor was it nearly as warm as a bath, but wonderfully refreshingly cool. I dropped into the water once it was about waist high, no longer walking but swimming. Water slipped over my back – it felt so good, far more than the refreshment of plunging into cool water to escape from the heat of a scorching summer day, this feeling was deeper. I’m not sure why I love being in water so much, but the reason is soul deep. I was excited to go swimming again after a few years of not getting a chance to but I was even more thrilled to be swimming in the Weaver Bottoms. Swimming here allowed me to experience the area and connect with it in a whole new way then I had before. Walking the sand dunes and prairie, canoeing the wetlands and hiking them in winter are wonderful in allowing me to connect to and experience the area but plunging myself into its water allowed me to really feel it. I swam out to where Larry was standing. He picked up some mussels from the bottom to show to me. He handed one to me. They were much heavier than I was expecting them to be but I haven’t held one that still housed a live animal.

“The water’s colder out here.” I said.

“It’s from the Whitewater River.” It was noticeably colder and the water became too deep very suddenly. Larry swam back to the shore. He walked a little, threw sticks in the water for Hank to fetch. Then turned the canoe and sat in it, sipping a beer. “Take your time. Swim as long as you’d like.”

I still held the mussel. I was unsure of what to do with it – Do I just drop it? I felt like I needed to be careful. Looking back it seems silly since it was in water – it’d float gently to the bottom. I put my hand under the water and simply let go of the mussel. I swam around for awhile; I’m not sure how long. Although I really enjoyed being in the water and swimming, it felt a bit weird to swim on my own. After I had my fill of swimming alone, I returned to the beach. I asked, “Is this a natural island or is it manmade?”

He explained, “The island is manmade. The islands were created in a misguided attempt to reduce over-sedimentation of the Weaver Bottoms so plant life would proliferate which would habitat for fish and other wildlife. Like so many things, it did not work as planned.”

We decided it was time we headed back. Hank wasn’t too eager to quit swimming but he obeyed Larry’s commands to get into the canoe. We hadn’t brought any towels so we just sun dried in the canoe on the way back to the landing. Larry steered us back across the open water. Through the lotus blossom meadows, the white water lilies, cattails, rushes and sedges, through thick patches of coonstail. And just like that, all too soon we were back at the boat landing. A train was going by. – It was cool to be so close but it was loud too. We pulled the canoe out of the water then Larry went to get the truck so we wouldn’t have to carry the canoe as far. My swimsuit was still a bit wet, especially the bottom, but I slipped my jean shorts and sleeveless button up shirt back on. We loaded the canoe and were on our way.

“Well that was fun,” Larry said as he pulled the truck on to the highway.

“Yeah, sure was!” I replied.

Canoeing Through A Lotus Meadow (Part I)

July 29, 2017

Over two months had gone by since Larry and I had a chance to go canoeing – June is always so incredibly busy for both of us. So when a beautiful day with both of us free came around, we seized the opportunity. It was late afternoon, not quite 5:00 pm. Larry decided we’d canoe the Weaver Bottoms this time around. We put the canoe in, from the Weaver Landing, just before 5:00 pm. The sky was blue, dotted with white fluffy clouds.

If you haven’t figured this out yet, I have a love affair with water, lakes, rivers and streams in particular. So at the end of May, when Jesse and I were helping Larry build a fence, Larry asked me what I wanted to do this summer. I replied, “I want to go canoeing and swimming. I got a brand new swim suit two years ago and still haven’t worn it. We haven’t gone swimming for at least two years, maybe three. So I want to make sure I go swimming this year.” Now, I’ve never had swimming lessons, all just self taught. I’m slow but I absolutely love swimming. People have jokingly checked me for gills. Larry had asked how my summer was going – I told him it’s been so busy and I haven’t gone swimming yet. So when we made plans to go out in the canoe, I asked him if I should wear my swimsuit. He said sure – we’ll get you in the water, give you a chance to swim.

I was elated to be heading out in the canoe once more. The day wasn’t so hot that sitting in the sun was extremely uncomfortable but it was still warm – in fact it was the perfect temperature, with only the slightest breeze. The water near the boat landing was thick with vegetation on all sides, brilliantly green; cattails, rushes, sedges, sagittaria and yellow lotus. It feels magical floating through these aquatic plants. Larry guided us along the boat path going through the lush, aquatic meadow. There weren’t many lotus plants and only a few in bloom. The color and smooth texture of the lotus blossom brought to mind a bridal dress. We were canoeing in roughly the same place and general direction we had last July. The plants above the surface began to thin dramatically while I think those beneath the water had thickened; mostly a tangled morass of coonstail, barring any glimpse of the watery world beneath them. A little further on, the canoe slid through a field of water lily pads. The pads were storybook; I almost expected to see a frog sitting on one, pleading with me to take it in and feed it and offer a warm bed to it. No frogs in sight, even though there are leopard frogs living in the Weaver Bottoms. Frogs are awesome, so I would have loved to see even one. In a moment, we were out of the lilies.

We came upon the vast yellow lotus meadow. Although this was my second time seeing it, I still marveled at its breadth and beauty. Just breathtaking. I was expecting it to be fragrant too but I was disappointed. It wasn’t as strong smelling as I hoped – but that may have been due to my slightly stuffy sinuses. The white  blossoms with a dash of gold dazzled in the afternoon sun, almost sparkling at a distance. Some of the large leaves floated on top of the water, others stood above the water by several inches. Plants grew so thickly only patches of water could be seen between the pads. As we glided along, Larry asked, “Is there a better way to spend a beautiful Saturday afternoon?”

“I don’t think so. This is so relaxing.” Other than napping, which I usually fail miserably at, I’m not sure there is a better way to relax after a stressful morning of working at a Farmers Market. Indeed, it was relaxing – out here on the water my soul could find rest.

The lotus forest began to peter out with individuals growing increasingly further away from each other. The stunningly blue sky with its fluffy clouds reflected off the more open areas of the water, giving it the appearance of being blue as well. Larry had ever so gently turned the canoe southward, taking us south and east. We didn’t chatter on but when we talked it was about the Bottoms and my book, about his family and my friends and family, and photography. We went through another lotus patch. This one didn’t grow so densely and had far less blossoms. Some of the leaves were beginning to curl and senesce. Then we were out in open water again – floating on the reflected sky.

We’d come rather close to a tree covered bluff that stuck out into the water to the south. Some houses sat among the trees at the base of the bluff, Highway 61 probably threads near them and the railroad too. Then a floodplain forest and a marsh filled with aquatic plants. I was too far away to see if there was an actual strip of sand or just sand suspended in the water. A lot of bleached snags stuck up like old bones. I could just make out seven Canada geese; there could have been more that I couldn’t see. Larry had pointed it out, explaining that all that slit and sediment is being discharged by the Whitewater River as it flows into the Weaver Bottoms. Scary how much sediment is carried by a relatively small river, although the Whitewater does flow quite quickly, though nowhere near the swift speed of the Zumbro. I’ve never been this far out and south on the Weaver Bottoms, and therefore have never seen where the Whitewater pours into it, I was enraptured by it.

Canoeing into the Fog (Part II)

Larry noticed another bird singing that interested him. “There’s a yellow headed black bird. Do you see it?” He steered the canoe closer to the sedges, trying to get close enough for me to photograph the bird. “They sound like an old pump handle that needs lubricating, creaky.” He then imitated the singing bird. I have never seen a yellow headed black bird before so it was fun to make a new acquaintance. He clung to the long stem of a sedge plant, hoping to a different stem when we got too close.

The fog over Goose Lake was the thickest yet. We came to the end of the channel and could see nothing – it was just gray nothingness. It felt like the edge of the world. I felt like I was Lucy on the Dawn Treader, voyaging to the world’s end with Caspian. Visibility in the direction of Goose Lake couldn’t have been more than five feet. Larry didn’t venture out into Goose Lake but rather turned the canoe to our left and guided it along the edge of the lake staying close to the vegetation. We continued along the sedges – the fog was quite as thick here as it was further out on the open water. The sedges were beautiful; I admired them as we past. Our route took us very close to a clump of sedges with shorter stalks and the stalks had little green balls on them. Stretched between the leaves/ blades of the sedges was a wisp of spider’s web. A red-wing black bird was perched on a mass of dead vegetation; puffed up to make himself look bigger, red spots appeared large, and he sang, trying to attract a mate. We headed toward the tree filled bank. The fog wasn’t nearly as dense along the bank. Leaves on the trees were so thick, you couldn’t see through the trees. Larry turned the canoe to our left heading into the slough between Schmoker’s channel and the “main” land. He pushed the canoe into the slough a little ways, but then paused.

“I was hoping there was more water in here. I’m not sure we want to chance it; don’t want to get too far up and run out of water. We’ve done that before.”

“Yeah, best not do that again.” Larry stood up in the canoe for a better look. “There’s just not enough water.” Larry turned the canoe around heading back toward the channel and up it. We glided through a yellow lily patch. I saw a kingbird perched on a tree no bigger than a stick. I could see a water mark on a tree trunk, easily six inches higher than the current water level. It still looked wet though, suggesting the water level had just gone down recently. Another tree next to it had been girdled all around it, above the water level by a beaver. We crossed over the beaver dam again. I noticed a small clump of trees had beaver marks too, some of them their tops missing entirely. We paused by the side channel to admire a sedge plant. I wondered what they were; Larry isn’t confident in identifying sedges. I admired flowering dogwood currently in bloom.

We continued up the foggy channel, observing the silver maple trees along the way, one had fallen into the channel but was still alive. We passed the larger beaver lodge that was partially concealed by young silver maples. We were drawing near to the bridge, though with the fog we couldn’t see it yet. We’d come to the small duck hunting cabins on the east bank. Larry stopped the canoe so I could take a picture of them. He thought they were cute and looked cool in the fog. We continued onward, past the willow leaning over the water, nearing the end of our canoe outing. The canoe slid under the bridge. Our canoeing for the day was done. Once we had the canoe loaded and were back in the truck, Larry said, “It’s only 7:45, I like canoeing this early.” Before turning on to the road, he asked, “Do you have time to go check out Halfmoon Landing?”

“Sure, I have time.”

We saw two cranes on the state land across from Schmoker’s as we drove along. We also observed many rabbits along the roadside, both along 84 and the West Newton road. We wound around on the West Newton road, passing the row of cabins/houses, prairie and then through the trees, down a slight hill. Before we’d come to the creek that usually runs under the road, Larry slowed the truck considerably because the road ahead was covered in several inches of water. He drove onward, into the water. This was a whole new experience for me and therefore a bit exciting. The water rolled away from the truck in waves. Where the stream normally ran under the road, the water was rushing over the road, its ferociousness creating foam. The stream was spilling over its banks filling the forest with water.

Larry said, “The water was much higher. Last night, I saw a beaver lining up willow branches along the side of the road, taking advantage of the high water.” I leaned out of the window taking pictures of the flood waters. I could see lines on the trees where the water had been, again at least six inches above current water level. It was incredible seeing the flood. The road must have been a little higher just before the driveway into Halfmoon Landing, there was a spot that wasn’t covered in water. Larry pulled into Halfmoon Landing, dropping me off to take pictures while he continued to the parking lot. I was thankful to be wearing boots when I stepped into the water. He came back to pick me up a few moments later. As we drove back up the road, Larry pointed out the willow branches on the side of the road. He paused so I could take a look at them. It was amazing how the beaver had lined them up in a row, laying them straight. I wish I had been there to see the beaver collecting the branches. With that we headed for home.

Canoeing into the Fog (Part I)

May 25, 2017

Despite the patchy fog this morning, Larry and I decided to take the canoe out, thinking the fog should burn off quickly in the morning sunshine. It seemed to be our only chance to get out around rain and wind – we’d had seven inches of rain in one day a week or so ago, plus a few other days with rain. The temperature was forty three degrees when we set out. I wanted to get an early start so we put in at McCarthy at 6:20 am. When we were driving to the canoe landing, just before the bridge, we saw two pairs of Canada geese with goslings. Larry said, “They [goose families] like to hangout in mobs, it offers better protection.” The geese waddled off the road all too quickly. (It would have been fun to photograph them before they disappeared.) We saw two other pairs of geese with goslings on McCarthy.

The plants covering the landing were wet with dew. Tree swallows were busy under the bridge, flying out over the water and back again. Of course they weren’t going silently about their business, but were all chattering away. It’s amazing how much greener everything got in only twenty days. Trees had put on all their green summer finery. The new growth of cattails, sedges and rushes had totally overcome last year’s detritus. Although everything was green, there were several shades of green giving some variety. The fog was not very thick, allowing for good visibility, from the landing, I could see trees far beyond the island, further up McCarthy than we’ve ever canoed. The yellow water lilies were beginning to blossom. The water level was quite high thanks to all the rain we’ve had – much higher than last time. The wild plants had grown considerably, but they were still young and not yet sticking up above the water surface. Larry kept saying, “Turtle,” every time he spotted one. I saw a few, just noses above the water that quickly disappeared as we neared. Sometimes I actually saw the entire turtle swimming under the water. The painted turtles were mating like crazy.

We didn’t go very far up McCarthy but turned aside to the small pond-like alcove (where we saw the beaver last year). Larry did all the paddling. The canoe sliced through frothy green algae that coated the water’s surface. He wanted to check out the pond area. He glided the canoe through the water to the far end of the pond and then looped back. Red -wing black birds perched on cattail stalks singing cheerfully, trying to attract mates. We left the pond alcove and headed back toward the bridge. Under the bridge, Larry paused the canoe so we could watch the tree swallows fly out of their nests – first a tiny yellow beak would peek out, then a white and gray flash as they came streaming out and darting away as fast as they could. I was in awe that two birds could fit in each of those tiny nests. We only lingered a moment before Larry glided the canoe forward again, down Schmoker’s channel. A thin mist lingered just above the water surface. The beauty of the channel was refreshing, relaxing, and a healing balm to the soul. The channel was deceptively deep with excellent water clarity. The channel curved ever so slightly to the left, east, and then widened considerably. I only noticed one very large scent mound where there had been several two months ago – the others were probably still there, just obscured by the lush vegetation. The mist hovering just above the water seemed to give way here. With the absence of the mist the water mirrored the trees – such spectacular beauty. This was more uplifting than church. Yellow water lilies dotted the water in this part of the channel. They were not beautiful in the traditional sense, yet still lovely.

We came to the snag which had been drilled by pileated woodpeckers. The channel took a sharp turn to the left. A few lovely snags that lay partly in the water caught my eye. Suddenly it was quite foggy; we had canoed into a cloud. Some dead, branchless trees stood like pillars, although not quite so straight. Each clump of these dead trees had at least one live tree, decked out in deliciously green leaves. I was elated to see the plants in and along the edge of the channel coming back to life, covering the area in green. We passed along colonies of cattails. The fog thickened as we headed down stream; I almost couldn’t recognize familiar landmarks until we were passing them by. We passed the island where the channel seems to split in two to go around. The fog grew so thick that nothing could be seen beyond a picket fence of trees in the channel. My head began to hurt from my eyes straining to see the landscape through the dense fog.

The channel seemed quieter, more subdued, cut off from the outside world. The fog completely isolated us, putting up a sound barrier between us, the channel, and everything beyond the channel. It was so peaceful, and therefore refreshing, despite our low visibility. A wall of trees on our left separated our channel from another section of water, which is more filled with vegetation. We passed a patch of tall sedges and a beaver lodge. The fog was a bit disorienting – still hard to tell exactly where we were. The beaver lodge must have been built recently because I haven’t seen a lodge there before. It’s a modest sized lodge. Shortly after passing the lodge, we came upon the beaver dam. If you didn’t know it was there you’d probably not have noticed it – with the fog and the high water, I barely noticed the dam. Larry said, “The water’s running so high it’s spilling over the beaver dam.” Larry was able to paddle the canoe right over the top of the dam. The only sound besides Hank’s whining was that of various birds. As we neared the end of the channel, Larry said, “There’s a yellow throated marsh wren. Do you hear it? It sounds like an old treadle sewing machine.” After he imitated the sound the wren was making I could distinguish it from the other bird song.

“Yes, I hear it.” We were unable to see the singer. We drew near to the big willow tree growing near the end of the channel.

Birds, Turtles and Canoeing

May 5, 2017

Finally, a beautiful morning without fog and both Larry and I were available for a canoe outing. Beginning of April would have been a better time to go canoeing to see all the migrating waterfowl, however, between the weather and busy schedules, Larry and I didn’t get out in April. There are still things to see in May. It was about 6:40 am when we pulled into the area by the bridge, the canoe landing; we decided to go up McCarthy from there.

We stepped out of the truck quietly, not yet letting Hank out or unloading the canoe. Swimming in the water only a little ways out was a beaver. Only its dark brown head stuck up above the water. Each time I see a beaver I count it as a precious gift. At first it was facing our direction – big nose, half way under the water; rounded bear-like ears just above the water; small, gentle eyes – aside from it being wet, it looked like something you could cuddle, like a teddy bear. It turned, giving us a side view. From the side it looked plainly like a beaver, with the better view, its head clearly looked like a rodent head rather than a bear – more elongated instead of round. I could see part of its back but the rest of it was just below the water surface. The water whorled around its body, clearly indicating where its body and tail were. It turned back toward us again, and then it noticed us. It didn’t consider us too much of a threat, so it didn’t slap the water with its tail but it quickly slipped under the water and didn’t resurface any where we could hear or see it. Once it disappeared, Larry let Hank out of the truck and we proceeded to unload the canoe.

The beauty of the lake was awe-inspiring. The sky was perfectly reflected in the water giving the water a deep, dark blue color at a glance. Trees were also beautifully mirrored in the water. As always, the relaxing power of being out on the water in the canoe could be immediately felt in the release of tension from my body.

“Can you get a picture of the young wild rice plants?” asked Larry. I did my best but I really need a CPL filter to sharpen the image. Larry was a little surprised how much the young plants had grown already. The vegetation along the edges of the water was greening up quickly. Trees were not yet completely decked out in summer leaves; the leaves were still small and developing. New cattails provided a dazzling green to the area. The lake channel was open water, the wild rice had not grown tall and thick enough yet to fill it in leaving just a small passage through it, as it would be later in the season.  Larry glided the canoe up the “main” channel with ease. Geese bobbing on the water far to the left began honking, making all sorts of ruckus as we drew closer. I admired their graceful bodies as we passed. Some people think they’re irritating, I find them majestic. There was a pair of Canada geese and further away from them was a lone goose. The sun illuminated the large birds beautifully – still the golden hour. The bulrushes were growing thick and green too. Many trees on the bluffs still had to leaf out so the bluffs weren’t very colorful yet. We continued gliding gently up the channel. Across a strip of rushes, we spotted another pair of Canada geese; they were nesting on an old muskrat house. They talked amongst themselves but weren’t too bothered by us. High up in a tree ahead of us, on the right, perched an immature eagle. Its feathers gave it a mangy, scruffy look; its white feathers only just starting to come in. At first, I thought the pair of geese weren’t disturbed but then they took off northwestward when we drew a little closer. Once they flew off my attention returned to the young eagle. But it too thought we were getting too close. With a magnificent display of strength and agility it took to the air as well. Even in its scruffy juvenile stage it’s an incredible bird. It didn’t go too far away, it perched once again in the trees up ahead where the tree covered land juts into the water a little bit. Again, I was just amazed by the grand size of the marsh. I marveled in the loveliness of the trees springing to life, the new baby leaves shimmering brilliantly in the morning sun. Larry pointed out turtles here and there, hovering near the surface – I spotted a few turtle noses before they disappeared. We’d passed the islands and come into the big open area where the yellow water lilies, years past, have grown abundantly. The lilies were growing well too, but so far only a few leaves stuck up above the water. With the vegetation not so thick, the canoe sliced through the water with ease. I spotted another Canada goose standing on a muskrat lodge behind a wall of rushes and cattails.

As we went along through the lily patch, I looked down into the water. “A fish! I saw a fish! A big one!” I was just so thrilled to have actually seen a fish.

Larry identified the fish, “Northern pike”.

We neared the trees in which an eagle sat; I think it was a different eagle because it had a white head. As always, I delighted in the snags sticking out of the water. We saw a few muskrat houses but not as many as Larry would hope to see. The bluff closer to us was greener than I first thought. Across the marsh a little ways, I spied another bald eagle perched in a tree. Larry took us beyond the lily patch a ways before turning the canoe around to start making our way back.

Back in the lily patch, “Is that two turtles ahead to your left?” asked Larry. I scanned the water ahead, not seeing anything that could be a turtle or two. But then I saw it, with further guidance from Larry. They looked like a rock or stump at first.

“Yes, there are two turtles together, mating. Big turtles!”

“Blanding’s turtles,” Larry responded. He eased the canoe up alongside them. Unlike the other turtles we’d seen, these didn’t immediately disappear under the water as we neared. Larry put his paddle down and reached his hand into the water to grab the turtles.

“Sorry guys for interrupting you.” Larry apologized to the turtles as he pulled them out of the water and apart, holding one in each hand. I turned around to take a look at the turtles. He held them so they were facing me but angled their bodies downward encouraging them to stick their heads out. Their tell-tale yellow necks were clearly visible. Hank looked at them eagerly, hoping they were something for him. Larry scrutinized their shells. (Larry is a scientist, former employee of the DNR and knows how to properly handle turtles; please, do not pick turtles up or separate mating pairs. He only disturbed them to further teach me about the turtles to aid in my ability to write about them.)

“This one’s been marked. I think its Pappas.” He held it up, shell facing me. “Can you get a picture of the mark?”

“I think so.” I turned my camera and zoomed in on the shell.

“I need to tell him we saw it.” (This was another reason he disturbed the turtles – Pappas has been studying the turtles in this area.)After I took a few photos, Larry gently released the turtles into the water. Hank was disappointed they weren’t for him.

We continued across the lily patch but not heading the way we came. Instead we headed for the other channel on the other side of the cattails and rushes. Larry spotted a lone swan over there that piqued his interest. He eased the canoe closer and closer, pushing through the vegetation, seeing how close we could get to the swan before it had enough. “He’s getting a little agitated, “remarked Larry, continuing to move closer. “I’m going to get close enough to get him to fly so you can get a photo of him taking off.” He moved the canoe closer yet; I had my camera at the ready. The heavenly bird turned around, with wings flapping, running on the water, splashing, it glided into the air – gracefully transitioning from walking on water to gliding in the air. I took three photos of the process but unfortunately they’re all a bit out of focus. The white feathers of a swan are dazzling – like they’re glowing. Its head was stained orange red from pulling up vegetation from under the water. The swan was gone, but I think he landed again not too far up the lake. (Again, our intrusion was minimal; we didn’t completely chase the bird away and it was for educating purposes. Larry and I are very careful to not disturb the animals too much that they’re completely disrupted. We both have the utmost respect and love for these creatures.) A pair of eagles sat side by side in a tree some distance away from us.

Soon my attention was pulled to the vegetation under the water, curled water lily leaves, long stalks shooting up from them with a ball at the top that in a week or two would open into yellow blossoms. The shapes and patterns of the various plants form a wonderful mosaic beneath the water surface. Larry continued to glide the canoe along not having to paddle too much. Trees grew on narrow islands on either side of us. Larry said, “More of them have senesced. [Due to stress].” A little kingbird perched on a branch of one of the trees that may not be alive. It flitted away as we got close. We came to the spot where we’ve seen a muskrat a few times, we didn’t see any this time. I was a bit disappointed. The channel bent sharply to the left. We rounded the bend. The bridge was ahead of us. I’m always sad to return to the bridge. However, instead of landing right away, Larry carefully steered the canoe under the bridge. We didn’t go down Schmoker’s though. He turned the canoe around before we got to the willow leaning over the channel. We completed our canoe outing in an hour. I was thankful for the chance to get out in the canoe again but sad to leave the water.