Nigh Noon on Nippenicket

Loaded up Musketaquid (skin-on-frame kayak) and Guppy (possible name of tiny new plastic kayak) for a couple of hours on favorite nearby pond.  First time paddling in weeks.  Left shore elevenish.  No agenda.  I said, "I'll follow you."  Son said, "no, I'll follow you."  So we followed each other vaguely in the direction of the far end of the mile-long pond, making discoveries as we went.  

 

Red-winged blackbird repeating unfamiliar call 

that kept me guessinguntil I got a clear look at him.

 

Nippenicket's shoals and islands make it more interesting.

 A tiny "cove" has white waterlily (Nymphaea odorata) and pickerelweed (Pontederia cordata)

in the foreground, while royal fern (Osmunda regalis center left) peeks from the shadows ashore.

 

Stephen among the water shield (Brassenia shreberi),

easily identified by shield-shaped leaves with leaf stems in the center.

  Scattered white flowers at the surface announce the flowering of the underwater plant fanwort

(Cabomba caroliniana) with its finely-divided, dichotomously branching leaves.

Herbivores busy everywhere, but the white water lily leaves first got my attention by the uniformity of the holes, then focused it when I saw that the holes were being cut out as if with scissors!  No idea by what.

 

 Perfect weather: enough cloud to make sky interesting, 

enough wind to keep us cool without making paddling difficult.

The whole northern end of the pond is choked with water milfoil (Myriophyllum)--another alien invasive--and we passed up a closer look at a marsh to get ourselves disentangled.  

Ashore later at the Harry C. Darling Wildlife Management Area, we stretched our legs and poked around.

 Musketaquid ably bears my weight in its 12 foot length,

while 8-foot Guppy rides high with Stephen.

Pickerelweed up close.  (I tried without success to catch a visiting bumblebee in the photo.)

Alder (Alnus), with its double-toothed leaves and fruit ("cones");

below are last year's cones, long ago opened but still hanging around.

Sweetpepperbush (Clethra alnifolia)--a very common shrub of wet places--in flower.

The toothed leaves are wider toward the tips.  The dried fruit will look a bit like peppercorns. 

On the way back to the launch area, we stopped at a little islet we'd never been to. 

 View looking westward.

Purple loosestrife, an alien invasive.

Looking south toward the launch ramp a quarter-mile away.

We raced informally back to the launch.  Stephen's smaller boat's lower wetted surface (friction) and lighter weight was trumped by my boat's longer waterline (higher top speed) and stronger arms.  --not to mention that winning meant more to me (an official Old Guy) than him.  So I beat him handily.  We were back on the road before 2pm.

Solstice Evening on the Pond

Early this morning came the summer solstice--the moment in Earth's orbit when the sun was directly above the Tropic of Cancer, so we in the northern hemisphere would experience the most direct rays and the longest day in the year.  That makes today the first day of summer; a surprise to those who think summer is defined by warm weather, instead of the the angle formed by the earth's orbit and its equator.  

This was a very significant moment for ancient peoples, reliant on such calendrical markers for agriculture and its attendant ceremonies.  Ceremony is still important to us today, of course.  (My wife tells me Stonehenge was mobbed.  To each his or her own, I suppose.)

I consciously acknowledge such days, though I have no ceremonies to mark them.  But I did think it lovely weather for a little paddle on a nearby pond, Nippenicket.  And appointments earlier in the day meant the opportunity would come later, so I resolved to be on the water at sunset.  (Sunrise would have been more appropriate, but I an NOT a morning person.)

I took my skin-on-frame boat, Musketaquid, and shoved-off at 7:30, paddled around a little island and back with many stops for photos, and landed just after the sun disappeared about 8:40.  Everything was growing.  The yellow water lilies just on the point of blooming, the white water lilies just behind them.   But the sunset alone made it worth the trip.

A Short Paddle in Nippenicket Pond

Bought a new plastic kayak a few days ago to replace the one I stupidly lost.  This new one is a tiny thing: under eight feet long, 20 pounds over its capacity with just me, my feet crowded into the pointy bow.  It has no place to keep gear dry.  It's a little less stable than my lost ten-footer, as well.  But its chief virtue outweighs all these vices: it is so small and light that I can toss it into  the back of my little hatchback and go paddling almost as quick as thinking about it.  (Boaters learn that smallest, easiest boats are oftenest used, and therefore oftenest enjoyed.)  I think I will name her Toy Boat.

This morning was my first chance to get it wet, in Nippenicket Pond.  Here are a few scenes from my half-hour on the pretty pond.

Just by leaning back, I can put the back end of the little kayak almost underwater.

 

A mix of spring shades.

 

Spotting these leaves floating on the pond led me to the silver maple (Acer saccharinum)

that lost them.  I hadn't known of one on the pond.  All the winged fruits ("keys") floating in the water

had one of the two wings aborted, and I wonder if that is why the tree dropped them.

 

Fern fiddleheads growing right out of the water yards from shore.  I can't identify them yet.

But I'm pretty sure they aren't specifically "aquatic" ferns.  The cabin standing alone on the point

 in the background would be a romantic getaway--if it were in good shape.  --and if it had tight bug screens.

 

I saw these colors from a little distance, and paddled over just to capture it in a photo.

Winter Day on the Water

The youth gets together his materials to build a bridge to the moon, or perchance a palace or temple on the earth, and at length the middle-aged man concludes to build a woodshed with them.   

Journal  July 14, 1852  H.D.Thoreau

Assonet Bay is just a widening of the Assonet River, tributary to the Taunton River (left edge of image).

Our route took us under the highway, and west to the entrance to the river proper.

January is the only month I had never been on the water.  When I saw the MLK Day weekend coming up, I got a minor case of adventure itch, and determined, if possible, to introduce my 13-year-old son Stephen to winter boating.  My original idea had been an overnight trip in our little enclosed sailboat, Surprise--probably in the relatively quiet waters of upper Narragansett Bay.  Then I began to wonder if a kayak camping trip might be possible--if my two-man kayak, Serendipity, would hold enough gear.  A test fit of all our bulkiest gear proved it would.  A night out on the shore of shallow little Assonet Bay would test our gear and mettle with a minimum of risk.  Now I had to watch weather and opportunity. 

Nope, not Surprise.

Nope, not Serendipity.

Musketaquid--a skin-on-frame kayak--with, and without, her skin.

The weekend arrived, but circumstances made the trip impossible.  I didn't regret it too much: it was raining steadily anyway.  With only Monday remaining of the weekend, I decided to at least put the kayaks in and try to check out camping sites for a future trip.

After a very lazy holiday morning, we finally set out in the afternoon with two kayaks atop the minivan for the half-hour ride to Assonet Bay.  The big kayak, Serendipity, stayed behind; for this day trip, Stephen would paddle Speedbump, and i would have Musketaquid.

Winter boating takes fussy preparation to be safe.  On the one hand, the air temperature was in the forties, and we would generate a fair amount of body heat as we paddled.  (It's harder to keep warm sailing, since there is less effort involved.)  On the other hand, even a little wind would make the air seem colder--especially if we got a little wet; and the water was a chilly 38oF.  Stephen and I were in ski pants and fleece jackets and hats, with neoprene gloves that would protect hands from wind and wet.  I wore tall rubber boots to keep my feet dry getting in and out of the kayak. 

Of course we wore life jackets, and each of us had his cell phone in a waterproof box clipped to it.  --falling overboard in deep water this cold without flotation is nearly a death sentence, since even a strong swimmer would find his muscles cramping up in just minutes, and drown long before hypothermia became an issue.  

A few years back, Stephen and I and his older brother had capsized our new two-man kayak on a November paddle in wind and waves; this had already impressed on Stephen the importance of getting out of cold water immediately.  Although wet clothes don't insulate very well, actual submersion in water draws heat out of the body at a tremendous rate.  Here in southern New England, it is perfectly possible to get hypothermia if you're in the water long enough even in the middle of summer.  To be wet is automatically to be cold, so I carried a change of clothes in a little dry bag in case one of us upset and took an unexpected dip.  As a final precaution, we would be in the shallows hugging the shore most of the way. 

With a gentle headwind, modest waves, and Stephen's cold hands, we only got about two miles out.  It was fortunate we turned around at that point, since my patching of my own boat, the skin-on-frame Musketaquid, had somehow failed to stop the leaks,  and I had taken on a good deal of water. 

Bufflehead (The Cornell Lab of Ornithology)

As I approached them, first one then another of two small flocks of small birds took off from the water.  One of these birds quacked as it took to the air, while a second, already left behind, dove beneath the water to escape.  On the theory that, if it swims like a duck, quacks like a duck, and dives like a duck, it is likely, in fact, to be a duck, I consulted my Sibley Field Guide after we returned.  Among the diving ducks, only one has the observed white cheeks and prominent white markings visible in flight: the bufflehead.  I figure I can pretty safely add this new bird to my experiences, and put a notch in my binoculars.  (Unfortunately, I was too busy paddling to keep my camera at the ready.)

With the tide near low as we returned, the muddy shallows left us and the boats black, but we finally piled back into the car, pleasantly tired, after two hours on the water.

I was reminded of a few things along the way.  Boots and neoprene gloves will keep you dry, but not necessarily warm.  A dripping paddle is very annoying, and something is needed to keep sleeves dry as well as one's lap.

Kayaking Massasoit State Park

At work on Friday, I overheard a coworker recommended a pond in Massasoit State Park for canoing, and I determined to try it.  Saturday, November 3rd turned out to be unseasonably warm, so I grabbed the opportunity.  I and my middle son spent about an hour-and-a-

half on the water.  Lake Rico, less than a mile long and irregular in shape, is a beautiful place, and the fall colors made it more so. 

 The sky alone was the worth the price of admission.

 

A scarlet oak against white pines.

 

Yellow fall foliage of silver maple

(Acer saccharinum, or what Thoreau called white maple).

 

Identifying a few plants by fall foliage.