[Paddlewise] Sunrise Service

On Easter Sunday morning, I got up before dawn when the wife's alarm went
off. She was headed for the sunrise service at the church, but I decided to
give it a pass -- it's followed by a breakfast that's as loaded with sugar
and cholesterol as a country church breakfast can be, and since I can't do
one and try to steer clear of the other, it's probably a good idea to miss
it. It was still only a half-light, but with a clear sky overhead and the
horizion lost in a hazy ground fog as I hooked up the kayak trailer and
headed for Lake Hudson, with a stop at a convenience store to fill the
coffee mug along the way.

That it was going to be an interesting day was made clear to me on the road
back to the boat launch, when I drove around a corner to see two wild
turkeys crossing the road. There is a small, but wary flock that hangs
around the place, and while I've heard them several times, I only see them
rarely -- and this was a good sighting, only a few feet away. The big birds
scuttled off into the brush, and I continued on. Around another bend in the
road I saw two little brown birds and a red spot alongside the road in the
distance. Identification of little brown birds is not my strong spot, which
is probably all that keeps me from being a serious birder, but the red made
me think "cardinal". I was a little disappointed to get closer and discover
that the red was the cap from a can of spray paint. My disappointment was
assuaged a little farther up the road, when another spot of bright red was
flying -- a scarlet tananger, not exactly the most common bird in this neck
of the woods.

Down at the boat launch, I could see that the lake was calm, and it was
high. It's been extremely low since last summer, but we had three inches of
rain a few days before, and the lake was now as high as I'd seen it since
last spring. Across the way, the geese in the rookery across the point were
raising a ruckus, and as I stood there taking it in an angry one launched
off a little bluff at another couple swimming by, raising cain all the way
-- some sort of territorial dispute, not uncommon now that hatching was
here. It made a nice diversion as I put the boat in the water, getting my
feet wet in the dewy grass. The lake was high enough that the little sand
bar that I usually use for launching was far under water, and the best
launch was right from the ramp, carefully to not scrape the boat up too
bad. I got in the boat, and reached out to pick the mug of coffee up from
the concrete, and place it between my thighs -- I'd skip using the spray
skirt this time, although I had it with me if I wanted it later. But, that
wouldn't be likely as calm as it was.

It was foggier on the lake than it had been out in the country, but I could
make out the point across the way, and the sun was up by now and burning
the ground fog off. A few strokes and I was up to speed, heading down the
usual route to the west end of the lake -- straight across to Silo Point,
across the mouth of Crooked Bay, and down along Buzzard Point to the
Narrows, then straight across the West Lagoon to Goose Bay. None of these
names appear on any map, but I use them in my own mind to keep straight
where I've been. The crossing to Silo Point was almost complete when I
looked up ahead of me and saw two patches of brown move. Though still a
little foggy, the sun behind me lit the deer well, a hundred yards or more
off. I quit paddling, and let the speed of the boat carry me toward them as
they fed on the shore of the lake. Closer now, I saw a third one,
apparently a little darker, standing in the bushes up the shore a bit. I
sat silently watching them until one caught a little scent of me and
bounded up the slope out of sight, with the other two following behind. As
I sat there watching, a hawk came flying past over my head, not five feet up.

Farther on, thirty yards away along the shore of Buzzard's point, a
solitary goose sat on a log, giving me the low-headed evil eye look that
you get from a nesting goose -- but there was no nest around, and I
wondered if hers had been flooded out by the heavy rain earlier in the
week. The lake was high, and several familiar spots seemed changed by it.
There was beginning to be the hint of a little breeze out of the east now,
setting up some ripples that disturbed the mirror-like surface of the lake,
but it was still so quiet that I could hear several types of bird song over
the raucous honks of the geese around the lake.

I ghosted through the narrows, and out onto the West Lagoon. My presence
caused some irritation to a pair of geese far across the lake, and I could
hear it in their honks. While I like the sound of goose music most of the
time, sometimes I wish they'd just shut up so it's possible to hear other
things. Ignoring the geese, I paddled on across the lagoon and made the
turn into Goose Bay.

There's a long, narrow island right by the mouth of the bay that's actually
a spoil bank from when a drainage ditch used to run through here. On my
last trip out here a couple weeks before, I'd noticed a goose nesting at
each end of the island. Both nests were now empty, and I couldn't tell
whether it was because the brood had hatched, or whether the nest had been
abandoned in the heavy rain, although both were high enough to not have
been flooded out. Several other geese were on the nest here and there,
several that I hadn't noticed on the last trip here, so it's possible that
these two had been on the nest early.

I quit paddling, laid my paddle across the deck, and reached between my
legs for the coffee mug that I'd parked there earlier. By now the little
breeze had grown a bit, and it was taking me straight across the bay, so I
was content to sit there and watch for a moment, sipping coffee and taking
it in. There were a number of geese around the bay, and once I'd been there
silently for a while they settled down and I could see other things. A
hundred yards off, a pair of geese and three or four coots were easing
along, when all of a sudden a bass jumped clear of the water right in the
middle of them. I would have thought that it would have sent the whole gang
of them off in a huff, but apparently not a feather was ruffled, much to my
amazement.

At the back of the bay, there's a little channel behind an island that's
only passable when the water is high, and I realized that if I was going to
sneak down it this year, now was the time. As I paddled back to the mouth
of the channel, I passed several other nesting geese. A goose floating out
on the water was irritatied enough at my presence to take flight, and since
he couldn't get up altitude enough back among the trees, he came right past
me, a few feet up, the swish of wind in his flight feathers punctuated by
the squaks. 

It's not wide enough in the channel to use a two bladed paddle, so I broke
down my takeapart paddle, put half of it in the paddle park, and
canoe-paddled up the narrow passage. Partway through the passage, I could
see a flash of white glide by in the distance, and wondered if we finally
had swans at the lake -- visitors are occasionally seen, but I've never
seen a nesting pair. Out in the open, though, it proved to be another treat
-- an egret, only the second one I've ever seen there. Once I had the
paddle put back together, I sat and watched for a minute, sipping on my
coffee. I set the cup back down, and prepared to get going again, when I
noticed two more deer off on the north bank. What a photo that would have
made -- the deer, a number of geese, an egret, and a flock of coots, all in
the same frame, but it would have just have to be recorded in the
photography of the mind. 

It was getting to be time to be getting it on, if I was going to make it
back in time for the morning service, to make it up to my wife for missing
the sunrise service. Leaving the glories of the bay, I had another couple
close goose encounters, and resolved to get moving -- which I did for most
of a mile, when I took a breather and finished the last of my coffee, which
was getting a little cold, now. There was still a little fog around the
point, and the launch area was dark and indistinct in the distance, but the
glint of the sun off of the outhouse roof gave me something to steer for.
After a few minutes more paddling, the launch area became clear in the
distance, and it was getting brighter. 

Off more or less toward the sun some distance in front of me, a silhouette
of a solitary duck floated in the water. I didn't think too much about it,
since I'd been seeing coots and mallards all morning, but when it upended
and dove perhaps fifty yards off, it set me to wondering. We don't have a
lot of divers at this lake, and I mentally explored possibilities as I
stopped paddling. Still, it was a surprise to have it pop to the surface
not ten yards away, and now I could see that it was a loon -- if there were
any question, it's evocative cry settled it a few seconds later. I only see
loons here rarely, and this was easily the closest I'd ever been to one in
the wild. It paddled serenely off, emitting another couple of cries, and
finally, I paddled off too.

A few minutes later, the kayak was on the trailer, and I spent a moment
watching the territorial disputes in the goose rookery across the way
before I headed for home. I put the kayak trailer away, and went up to
change clothes. "We had a real good sunrise service," she announced.

"So did I", I told her.

-- Wes

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