Kayaking

Baby Beaver

in , ,

Horned GrebeI am an optimist. But on Tuesday morning as I launched my kayak onto the Hudson River at 7:30 in the morning I was not filled with my usual sense that just around the corner was the next glorious sight. I wouldn't say I was feeling pessimistic, but rather more grumpy. And I was grumpy because the height of migration has passed--it comes and goes so quickly it is excruciating. I decided that nothing special could come my way ("all the best birds are gone" I said to a friend, sounding like a twelve year old having a tantrum). Armed with this bad attitude, I stroked south under a bluing sky toward Magdalen Island and the entrance to the North Tivoli Bay.

 

Read More

Back on the water, 2014

in ,

I woke to fog. To a duck perched in a tree. It was beautiful and felt out of place., the tree high on a ridge in my front yard. Still, this seemed a good omen: wonders for the day.

Four of us carted our kayaks down the wooden stairs at the North Tivoli Bay launch at noon. Sun, blue sky, a light breeze had taken over. We eased our wetsuit-cloaked bodies into our sleek boats and pushed off. It seemed so normal. And yet but two months ago we were walking this same spot on ice, hefting through snow that reached to our thighs. Now it was all liquid and freedom. To paddle out, under the railroad trestle onto the Hudson River, cold and brown, wide and empty. We skirted the eastern shore, trailing the rip rap, and the still bare trees; the wake of a tug and barge knocked us around a bit. Then we popped back into the bay through a southern passage.

Read More

Morning on the River

in , ,

Juvenile Bald EagleFall migration is underway. Lots of intriguing birds will pass through—although less brightly colored and less tuneful than in spring. What I hope for here in the Hudson Valley is the chance of seeing shorebirds. A few have been appearing—last weekend Black Bellied Plovers at Greig Farm. So as I headed onto the river this Sunday morning I had high hopes for what might be flying or floating through.

The weather report claimed rain and the sky over the Catskills loomed gray, but electric. I stroked to the Western shore of the river and wove through the water chestnut mat. A Spotted Sandpiper bobbed about and a dozen Great Blue Herons posed in the shallow water.

 

Read More

Southern River Kinship

in , ,

Camp on Goat Island, Broad River, SCOctober 14, 2012. Dawn, Goat Island, a sandy perch of land in the Broad River, South Carolina.

I unzipped my tent and slipped out into the cool of the South Carolina October morning. The sun, if it was trying to shine through, had a challenge in the gray cloud cover. I walked toward the still river hoping to see some sandpipers working the sandy shoreline. Perhaps in the night, while the Barred and Great Horned Owls hooted, some small bird had flown in. But the sandy shoreline wasn’t there anymore. Had I mis-remembered the soft bank of this island?

I walked past a half dozen stilled tents to the kitchen area, where I hoped to find some coffee. Bob, who runs river trips and had orchestrated the details of this float, had the pot set up. All I had to do was turn the knob and light the propane burner. This was cushy camping.

I looked over at the four sit on top kayaks, two regular kayaks, the wooden hand made canoe, and the supply raft. Something was missing.

“Where’s the second raft?” I heard Bob’s voice to my left.

Indeed, it had floated off in the night.

 

Read More