In the midst (SWF)

East Fork Lake
November 2008

East Fork Lake looks different now.
No longer the slumbering giant, lurking beneath last fall’s fog, left one morning as a bitter night dropped its chill onto warmer water, and hurried off toward dawn.

We paddled back, as far as the creek would allow, onto a wide gravel bar, covered densely with water-willow, side to side. The blooms now gone, the leaves stained with mud from summer rains that flood this plain. And after searching for a path across it and finding none deep enough to ride upon, sat to rest in the shade of a sycamore—leaving Red Canoe caught on the rocky bottom, waiting within view.

Across the expanse of water-willow, clear, small pools—constantly refreshed by a layer of rushing water, inches deep, dotted the field of green.
Crayfish scurried ahead of my feet, disappearing backward beneath the flat rocks, until only the scarlet tips of their pincers could be seen.
Small fish snuggled in to my sandals.
And damselflies a brilliant red, darted and dashed, waiting and chasing.
And I with my camera, stood in their midst.

American Water-willow, Justicia americana

American Rubyspot damselfy, Hetaerina americana
male above, female below

Spotted Sandpiper (?)

Double-crested Cormorant

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High Water Mark

The dry days of summer, this year have not come.
Even now, my path to the pond and beyond remains a winding one—
taking the higher ground, hugging the fence line as it reaches toward the field behind the barn—
never coursing straight across, for the lush green grass of an April day grows there still.
And through the blades, where each step would be quickly consumed, the heat of the day dances in small flashes of light, on inky puddles.

A crack has grown in the center of the gravel drive.
From a small trickle weeks ago, with each deluge, carving a deeper path down our hill, as the waters race toward the small stream roaring across the road. Removing one stone after another, widening the wash. Until a small canyon now welcomes our guests at the road’s edge.

Question Mark Butterfly, Polygonia interrogationis

Ebony jewelwing damselfly, Calopteryx maculata

But the higher waters can carry us , too.
Further back,
deeper than ever before,
into creek beds we’ve never explored.
Beyond the gravel bars that, on most August days, jut from the water—
draw a line you may not cross.

Here, with its only access the water,
a celebration seldom seen—
those flowers of the hidden summer streamside.

American Water Willow, Justicia americana

Swamp Milkweed, Asclepias incarnata

Sharpwing Monkey Flower, Mimulus alatus

In a mass of roots on an exposed bank, a 4-foot long Northern Water Snake was well-hidden, too.
It looks as if he's chosen the roughness there to slough off his outgrown skin.
Can you see it beginning to loosen from the top of his head?

Perfect Place (SWF)

Cowan Lake
Backwater, August 2009

We found ourselves in this same spot, barely 2 months ago, crossing the lake from the public launch.
Tracing a path that took us past the boats and beaches, curves and coves, to the quiet water beyond, where spring had gathered them all—
to raise the young of this season.

Young Canada Geese

Female Red-winged Blackbird feeding young

Male Red-winged Blackbird over backwater, June 2009

And I wondered what it was I felt there—
in the dark and dense and still.
More than taste or touch, sight or sound, the sense of perfect place.

The water black, the shaded air cool,
young wood ducks scuttered through the cattails,
downy goslings cuddled in a lump,
never far from their mother’s eye.

That this place would be chosen over all others,
by these, whose lives have but one purpose.
In that space, was the collective wisdom greater than human.

American Lotus, Nelumbo lutea, in bloom,
Cowan Lake, August 2009

And, you can even visit YouTube for the movie, here.

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Alone on the River (SWF)

Alone on the River




Great Blue Heron in tree

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A paddle for a pole...anyone? (SWF)

Double-crested Cormorants
Phalacrocorax auritus

In many ways, a similar day at Dillon, from April’s unwoken landscape, to this day in June—the sky, clouded and white, as we floated out beyond the noise of the beach onto gunmetal water, Red Canoe’s first voyage of the season.
Barely clearing the broad sandy bottom, we made our way to the narrow deeper channel, access to the river upstream, while, with each firm stroke forward against the shallow middle water, great fish swirled beneath us. At times, it would have been easier to stand and step out, drag Red Canoe and its duffels of snacks and drinks past the chocolate brown, ankle deep swirls. But what couldn’t be seen, and what darted ahead with each surge, carving giant arcs with large dorsal fins as bow fishermen silently launched arrows in pursuit, kept us firmly seated, feet dry, poling until we could paddle again.

Great Blue Heron
Ardea herodias

Once finding the channel, the water cleared, allowing boats to pass easily, and us to escape beyond them, further upstream.
Cottonwoods, casting small fluffy seeds to float like snow upon the surface, stood back from the water’s edge.
Willows drank at the shore.
And, every so often, a tent peeked out from tall grass—its access road, quiet, paralleling the lake edge. A pickup parked on uneven ground.


On this first stretch of summer warmth, the water is welcome—drawing all sorts to its teeming basin.
But it seems we are in the minority, without bait, bobber or bow.






Even the birds are fishing.

Common Terns on log, adult with juvenile,
Sterna hirundo

Dillon Reservoir

We watched Common Terns and a Caspian Tern fish in the shallows of the lake at Dillon State Park. Scanning several feet above the surface, they would suddenly turn and drop, plunging vertically into the water to grab fish, then again rise to fly on.

See more Skywatch here.

The Last Song of Summer

Autumn leaves on Lake

A warm October afternoon.
Clear blue sky, sunshine and ever the slightest breeze.
Perfect for canoeing on Caesar Creek Lake.
Even more perfect than one of a summer's day.


The water level is low.
Either in preparation for catching winter runoff or as a result of this season's dryness, this U.S. Army Corps of Engineers flood control project reveals the remnants of the many trees that once covered the banks of Caesar Creek, before the nearly 3000-acre lake was created in the late 1970s.
Navigating between them becomes a sort of slalom course.
Large muddy swirls appear and obscure the bottom, as startled fish scoot from beneath us.

Great Blue Heron in tree

Broad expanses of exposed silt and sand become attractive feeding grounds for herons and migratory shore birds. The broad belly of our red Old Town canoe, barely clearing the shallows-- now, not more than several inches deep.

Killdeer on mud flats, gulls in background

Greater Yellowlegs, Tringa melanoleuca

Yellowlegs with Killdeer, for scale

Cormorants float, neck-deep in blue water, then emerge to sun, wings held high on one of many protruding logs.
Back and forth, in small flocks they fly past us--almost at eye-level.
So close that I can see their orange chins clearly.

Double-crested Cormorant , Phalacrocorax auritus
sunning with out-stretched wings

In the narrowest finger, we paddle on, past shores crawling with late summer brightness.

Morning Glory

Inaccessible to all except canoes and kayaks, this undisturbed water is clearer than the usual murky brown of mid-summer.

Northern Water Snake, Nerodia sipedon

Autumn leaves in clear water

And from the sunny shore, a katydid sings summer's last song.

all photos click to enlarge