Tuesday, December 31, 2019

Just One Moment

Before paddling into 2020 and the new decade, thought I'd reflect on my most memorable paddling moment from 2019.  It occurred on a cloudy spring morning in western Maine where, after awaking in my tent, I'd driven to a lake said to possess Native American pictographs.  While finding information regarding the pictographs was relatively easy, finding information concerning their actual location proved anything but...I'm sure for good reason.  Therefore my quest that morning was to find a particular rock face or cliff reported to be near one end of the 7-mile long body of water.

After launching my boat and scanning the shoreline, one such cliff in the distance (opening photo) caught my eye and I began paddling toward it .  However upon closer approach it didn't look very promising...
...as the only reddish markings I could see looked related to iron staining.  Despite the urge to move on to other potential sites something told me to look a little closer...and with the aid of binoculars some pictographs began to appear...

Upon seeing this I began the process of maneuvering my boat through the aquatic shrubbery to the cliff's base where several human shaped figures became more and more distinct...

Once landfall was made I waded through knee-deep water to a point where I could ascend the cliff.  There, to my surprise, was a shelf of sorts where the artist must have stood while creating the image.  Standing with my feet placed on the same shelf I was able to view the art from the artist's perspective...
...and subsequently place the palm of my hand upon the image while trying to connect with the artist across time and space.  Perhaps a Native American shamen? When was it drawn and why?   Perhaps it depicts a warrior or a hunter? For whose eyes was the image intended?  Was the natural line in the stone deliberately incorporated into the image to represent a lance or spear?  Was the artist in a trance-like state?  Was red ochre used to paint the image and how much effort did it take to embed the paint so permanently into the rock surface?  What kind of brush or instrument was used in applying the ochre?  Were fingers used to rub the paint into the rock? Might the artist's spirit be able to see me here at his work?  If so, what would he or she say/think about the world I occupy?  Could he or she possibly comprehend my world as compared to his?   Could I comprehend their's?  My guess is "mindblowing" in both situations and plenty of food for thought for my paddle/drive back to my waiting tent.  I've long sought to make some sort of connection with a soul who lived in this land before European influence and always envisioned it occurring while holding a piece of hand-worked stone such as an arrowhead in my hand.  I never expected it would happen while standing at the face of such a very large hand-worked stone? 

While recollecting this moment I recall an illustration I purchased in Boyd's Cove, Newfoundland that comes very close to what I imagine could be a Native American shamen on a vision quest paddling to a spot where he'll permanently paint his vision...
The artist of this drawing is David Preston Smith, an internationally recognized Canadian Artist and Illustrator.  His drawing is of a Beothuk man paddling a Beothuk style canoe. 

Since I'm here I'll recollect my favorite wildlife encounter of the year.  It was in a secluded cove off the Kennebec River where this hawk and I locked eyes...

2019 was a year filled with bald eagle sightings...24 in all with 7 being on my local Assabet River.  This eagle graced the Assabet near Lake Boon's outlet...


Also should include favorite wildflowers (one red and the other yellow)... 

...both found along Maine's Kennebec River. 

Just prior to springtime I said "Goodbye" to my Squamish ...
...and "Hello" to my new "Squall"...
 ...which along with my Surge kayak has me in good stead for entering a new decade. 

Happy New Year fellow travelers!


  

Year End Closeout


Thought my paddling year had come to an early end when Arctic conditions set in near the middle of  December.  At that point I began reading a book recommended by a fellow paddler The Boatman (Henry David Thoreau's River Years) by Robert M. Thorson which, in addition to being a great read, provided a bunch of place names I'd not previously been aware of.  Just as I resigned myself to planning paddles for next spring, the Arctic conditions retreated almost as fast as they had appeared and the iced-up rivers gave way to open water.  Consequently, I was able to get in several more paddles thinking that each one would be the last of the year (and decade).

One of these "last paddles" brought me to a section of the Assabet River where a pair of bald eagles looked to be considering an existing nest site...

Additionally, receding water levels allowed one more passage through my favorite portal into Fort Meadow Brook...

...and a final visit to the burned-out railroad trestle...

On yet another "last paddle" Nashoba Brook provided an almost urban feel...

One other brought forth this curious deer, the last of the year...

Finally, on the 29th of the month I saddled-up for the year's real "last paddle" and, taking inspiration from The Boatman, decided to follow the route H.D.T. might have taken to a place he knew as "The Holt".  With knowledge gained from maps within Thorson's book, I paddled a route from Thoreau's "Boat Place" on the lower Sudbury River (almost directly across from the house he lived in)...
...down to Egg Rock which Thorson calls "T-junction"...

From that junction (opening photo) of the Assabet and Sudbury rivers I paddled down the Concord River and under Lowell Road which, back then, went by as many as three names: Barrett's Bridge or Hunt's Bridge or the Red Bridge...
...before going under the Old North Bridge replica...

...which hadn't been built in Thoreau's time.  Only the abutments of the original bridge remained at that time.

Then under Flint's Bridge which had replaced the Old North Bridge...
...to where the river widened out a bit past Barrett's Bar and is shown as "Rapid Reach"...

Then after passing Great Meadow and "Ash Tree Hole" I reached the point where the river takes a hard left in order to pass around "The Holt"...

Of all the place names mentioned in Thorson's The Boatman it was "The Holt" that intrigued me most.  What the heck is a Holt?  An internet search found Kevin Dann, in his book Expect Great Things: The Life and Search of Henry David Thoreau, stating "The Holt was a little copse at a bend in the Concord River...",  and Brian Donahue in The Great Meadows: Farmers and the Land in Colonial Concord has "The Holt, which suggests a willow swamp".  The most complete dictionary in my house The Random House Dictionary of the English Language, Second Edition Unabridged has the word "holt" being Archaic and meaning "a wood or grove".  This map shows its location...

Shortly I arrived at "The Holt" and looked for a spot to make landfall (if you could call it that).  Just across the river from Saw Mill Brook a spot was found where water flowing into the Holt created a tiny harbor of sorts.  Once ashore I found water-proof boots to be essential as "The Holt" is for the most part swampy except for this one section of relatively high ground...

Because of its low elevation the river in flood sweeps over it delivering debris such as this old Hitachi television set...
...and several bright orange construction site barrels...
...perhaps from the Monument Street bridge repairs several years ago.

The only house within The Holt was located at its northeast edge...

...and across the river was evidence of the homeowner's workmanship...
...where it appears he became tentative at the critical moment.

My favorite riverside cabin sits just across the river from "The Holt" and it seems to have been built with its view in mind...
Unfortunately this idyllic cabin always seems unoccupied.

Some gathered up trash from my several "last paddles" of the year...


My final "final" last trash haul of the year and decade...

One positive development regarding aquatic trash during 2019 was Dunkin' Donuts decision to eliminate Styrofoam cups and the practice of providing Styrofoam insulators with cups of iced-coffee, lattes, etc.  Their decision gets a tip of my cap.  When I first encountered a plastic cup being held in a Styrofoam embrace I was puzzled and posted about it near the start of the decade in 2011.  While the new cup they've switched to isn't perfect, it's still a step in the right direction.  Here's to less Styrofoam and plastic litter in the new decade!

Sunday, December 15, 2019

Cloud Paddling

That's what it felt like while paddling bits of the lower Sudbury and Assabet rivers yesterday in Concord.  The Elm Street Bridge (opening photo) was approached after passing beneath the fog-shrouded commuter rail and Main Street bridges...

Before the fog moved in, the ice sheet at Egg Rock's inscription revealed the rapid rise in water level resulting from Saturday morning's rain and snow melt...

Egg Rock from the point where the three rivers meet...

On the lower Assabet a row boat which had been swept downriver sat snagged below a submerged Dove Rock...
...and will need to be bailed out...
...as a first step in its retrieval.

Willow Island is graced by a well built home...
..intentionally built to weather times like this when the island is awash.

All that water had trash of a mostly plastic nature on the move as well...

Wednesday, December 11, 2019

Early Winter Reboot

Around these parts we went from 8 degrees F. with more than a half-foot of snow on the ground Sunday morning to 56 degrees F. with almost bare ground in the span of 48 hours.  The Assabet River on Tuesday morning was close to ice free from Gleasondale down to the mouth of Elizabeth Brook where a thin mat of ice spanned the river (opening photo)...Russell's Bridge is in the distance.  The ice sheet in the shallow bay at Crow Island needed a nudge or two before granting passage.  Surface water was entering the river from every source, including ephemeral ones.  One such small stream provided an easily accessible harbor...

The portal to Fort Meadow Brook remains open...
...though headroom was just a tad inadequate for this paddler.

The outlet from Lake Boon at Barton Road...
...provided an appreciation for the height of water on the other side of the road atop the earthen dam.

Gathered some trash noted to be on the move...
...which included a "ducky race" survivor bearing number 1706.  Somehow he escaped the post-race roundup and continued exploring the river.

As to the winter reboot, it wasn't I who pushed the button...however, I applaud whoever did...as it allowed mid-fifty degree warmth and open water which sure felt great, even if only for one day.

Of course the rebooted winter returned this morning with a fresh couple of inches of white stuff.  I take comfort though in knowing that, as of today, there's only 100 days until spring arrives.  Let the countdown begin.

Thursday, December 5, 2019

Winter Right on Cue

Enjoyed seeing the last minutes of bare ground at Egg Rock in Concord this past Sunday afternoon...

...while awaiting the arrival of Old Man Winter.  This year the old fellow preferred arriving per the meteorological calendar (December 1) rather than the traditional date (December 21), and quietly set up shop at 3:15 pm when the first flakes were noted at Nashawtuc Road Bridge...

The Old North Bridge waited for the snow to get more serious...

However, the thin layer of ice in front of the Old Manse boathouse did bear witness to the flakes...

After leaving the river my drive home was a snowy one.  Concord Center was bustling with folks enjoying the town's Holiday Parade & Tree Lighting while the snow provided ideal conditions.

Following two subsequent mornings with snow shoveling on my agenda, I returned yesterday to where winter made landfall...and assessed the changes.

Egg Rock wore its new look well...
...as did its inscription...

Ascended the Assabet as the trees appeared to bow before me...
...and the Leaning Hemlocks looked sugar-coated...


Back on the Concord River the Old North Bridge looked elegant in white...

The ice tongue at the boathouse had expanded...

The Minuteman may have wished for a warmer jacket...

The landing at Great Meadows...

A riverside home I've long envied needed only some smoke arising from its chimney...

Finally, when it was time to turnaround and head back upriver...a ruckus arose in the woods upon the arrival of this guy...
...who quickly resumed work on his latest project.  Possibly, further into winter, this soon-to-be oblong opening will house a cluster of eggs.

I left the river with a little more appreciation for Old Man Winter's artistic capabilities...
...especially when viewed from the river.