[Paddlewise] September song

It was dead calm in the little cove by the launch site; the murky water was
sheer glass, a stunning reflection of the scattered clouds in the deep blue
of a September sky. I settled in the boat, then picked up the coffee cup
I'd set at the edge of the water and set it between my knees, balanced the
paddle across the cockpit, and reached down to get some weight off of the
boat as I pushed it away from the sandy launch site that had become exposed
as the water dropped over the course of the summer.

I took a few strokes with the paddle to get moving out into the open lake.
It was still early on a Saturday morning, and I had lots to do before the
day was over. It's getting to be the time of year when it's time to be
thinking about buttoning up for the winter that really can't be far off.
For me, kayaking season coincides with Daylight Savings Time; when we go
back on regular time there isn't enough time for after-work paddles, and
the water is usually too cold for solo paddling, anyway. Not long ago
summer seemed to stretch away into an indefinite future, now, all too soon,
its demise seems real, and the cold, bleak eternity of winter is all too
clearly coming.

Only now, once outside the launch cove, did I do much thinking about where
I was going to go. Lake Hudson, my normal exercise paddling lake, is really
not that large, only about three miles long from farthest end to farthest
end, both of them lying in shallow areas that have been too weed-choked to
enter for months. A cloud slid over the sun, a remnant of the weather
system that passed the night before, and that gave me a cue -- it looked
like it was going to be there long enough to keep the sun out of my eyes
for a while if I headed east, out on the biggest of the lake's three
lagoons. I gave the little point at the mouth of the launch cove a wide
berth -- it's shallow under there, with some large rocks lying right under
the surface, and some of them poking through. The lake is down a foot or
more since spring, and with the dry season we've been having there's not a
lot of hope of it coming up much before winter.

For a couple months, there has been little inflow into the lake and no
outflow, which means that this big, shallow lake is getting more than a
little stagnant. We usually have a pretty good algae growth here in the
summer months. There's a lot of swamp crud laying on the surface, and I
know that when I get off the lake I will have a broad green stripe down the
sides of the kayak.

As always, it took me a while to get my stroke working right, getting the
kinks out and getting settled into a rhythm. I know that if I can manage to
set a good steady pace at the beginning of the paddle I'll pretty well be
able to keep it up for the whole trip, whereas if I lollygag at the
beginning I'll tend to do so the whole trip.

Over on the far shore a flock of geese appeared to sit along the shore. I
say "appeared", since even at that distance it was clear that they were
decoys, and I don't know how any self-respective goose could be fooled by
them. Early goose season has been under way for two weeks, and there were
hunters out hopefully waiting. I knew their efforts are going to be pretty
futile, since the geese disappeared from the lake as soon as the spring's
little ones were flying, and haven't been back since -- it's going on two
months since I'd seen a goose out here. They're hiding on little ponds back
in the woods, in the city, on big lakes and golf courses, places where
people aren't likely to go with shotguns. They are not stupid.

Partway down the lake, it's clear that my idea of getting the sunward leg
in behind the cloud isn't going to work. I pulled my hat low over my eyes
and paddled onward, up into the channel that feeds the lake, and far enough
up it to a wide spot, where I turn around. The weeds start getting really
thick not far beyond that, so this is a good place to head back. It was
also a good place to stop for a moment and check the coffee from the cup
between my legs -- I don't like it real hot, but this was now half an hour
from the pot and getting down into the tolerable range.

By the time I got back on the lake, a breeze had sprung up, and it was no
longer the glass it had been earlier. Now that the sun was out and I was
looking away from it, I could assess the colors better than I could when it
was overcast. There's really not much fall color yet, although a lot of
trees are starting to show age in their leaves. Some of the popples near
the shore are showing definite color, and there are isolated patches of
color elsewhere. Probably at least some of it is drought stress; we've got
corn and beans around here that are so brown they look ready to harvest,
although I've heard farmers complaining that it may not be worth the cost
of the gas to actually get out there with the combines.

Up ahead, there was a big splash in the water. A jumping fish, I guessed at
first reaction, but then a few seconds later there was another big splash,
and this time I could see the wings of a comorant flapping away. We don't
have a regular flock of them here -- at least, there were two or three
months this spring and summer than I never saw one of them -- but the past
month or so I've seen at least one every trip, and sometimes several. 

As I made the turn into the middle lagoon of the lake, a troller came
creeping by. This guy was obviously serious, for he has a pretty advanced
rig, with downriggers and planer boards and lots of expensive gear, mounted
on a nice looking boat, powered by a quiet four stroke outboard, barely
idling at trolling speed. "Getting anything?" I call, just to make
conversation.

"Naw," he grumped. "It's been pretty slow." 

I reflected for a moment that I've never, ever, heard a fisherman describe
the fishing as anything other than "slow", or "lousy", even if he's got
sore arms from reeling them in. I suspect if it really were good they
wouldn't admit it, just to keep the crowds away.

"Well, the point is the being out on the water," I replied with a grin,
slowing up to let him pass in front of me -- with planer boards out, he's
not going to be that maneuverable. "After all, the fishing is just an excuse."

"I suppose you're right," he said. "Sure is a nice day for it, though."

Once he passed, we began to creep apart. The breeze had picked up a little
more, and over the woods up ahead there was an immense and growing flock of
turkey vultures. There's no way to count them, the way they were moving
around, but I'd guess it was at least fifty and growing all the while.
Though they range pretty wide during the day, I couldn't help but wonder
once again how there could be enough road kill to keep them fed. I once had
a cup of coffee with the old guy that used to own the land around the point
back before the lake was here, and he told me that he remembered the flock
being there when he was a boy. Ugly birds, but they sure do fly pretty.

As I drew closer to the circling buzzards, a small grey and black flashed
across in front of me. Some kind of woodpecker, I guess from the shape, but
I didn't get a good enough look pick out details, and the bird book was
back in the van. This time of year, with the migration getting under way, I
ought to take it in the boat with me, along with the binoculars, but
somehow I never think to do it, even though every trip this time of year I
see strange birds that I can't identify. 

I made the turn out into the western section of the lake, the secret part,
the wild part. Earlier in the week, I'd talked with a woman who's come out
here with her family for a camping trip each summer, and only on Labor Day
weekend this year did they discover that there was a western part to the
lake at all. A quick glance around the lake showed that I was alone out
here, not that there was a lot of activity on the rest of the lake. I
didn't see any rafts of decoys, meaning that any goose hunters that may
have been out here before me have already given up. I try to avoid getting
near goose hunters, just out of courtesy, but out here that can restrict my
movements a lot. What I did see is three distant spots of white, one in a
bay to my left, two more straight ahead. They don't take a lot of
identifying; they were obviously egrets, although the most I'd seen on the
lake at one time all year, so they had to be working their way south, too.
I headed in the general direction of the pair in front, mostly because that
was the direction I needed to go anyway.

A few minutes later I was getting close to the egrets, which didn't seem to
be paying a lot of attention to me. By now, I was paddling through
scattered lily pads in this shallow section of the lake. Even they were
beginning to look old and yellow, their floating leaves covered with
immense crowds of tiny black insects.  Paddling along, I went past the
egrets busy hunting in the shallows, getting fairly close, and that doesn't
happen often with them.

Up toward the end of the section, the last bay of the lake opened to my
left, and a blue heron went squawking away, complaining about my presence.
The bay has been very choked with weeds and lily pads all summer. Although
it's my favorite part of the lake I've only tried to get out there a couple
times, usually with a canoe paddle since the double-ended paddle picks up
the weeds pretty badly. With the lake as low as it was, I was curious
whether I could even get out there at all. A couple years ago, the lake got
so low that a sand bar stretched most of the way across the entrance, and I
remembered one time when I'd sat outside the entrance watching sandpipers
walk around where I'd paddled through the summer. However, this trip I
hadn't brought the canoe paddle, and I made a mental note to bring it the
next time I proposed to get out this way, so I could go out and see how bad
it really was.

I satisfied myself with a longing look out across the swampy little bay and
its unseen mysteries, while I sat there and drank most of the coffee, which
was now getting a little cool for my taste. I looked at my watch; it was
getting late, and I had things to do. Reluctantly, I put the coffee cup
back on the bottom of the boat, and turned to set out on the familiar
paddle back to the launch cove.

I get out on this lake a lot in the summer. It's quiet; there are no
jetskis or water skiiers, and that makes it especially nice. I suppose I
could go other places more often, but it's convenient, and I like to watch
the season progress on the familiar places. There were other things that
needed to be done, but I knew I'd be back again, until ultimately, the
oncoming ice of winter seals me out of there for a while as I await another
spring.
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Wes Boyd's Kayak Place               http://www2.dmci.net/wesboyd/kayak.htm
Kayaks for Big Guys (And Gals) | Trip Reports | Places To Go | Boats & Gear
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