March 28, 1859. P. M. Paddle to the Bedford line.
As we were paddling over the Great Meadows, I saw at a distance, high in the air above the middle of the meadow, a very compact flock of blackbirds advancing against the sun. Though there were more than a hundred, they did not appear to occupy more than six feet in breadth....
We see eight geese floating afar in the middle of the meadow, at least half a mile off, plainly (with glass) much larger than the ducks in their neighborhood and the white on their heads very distinct. When at length they arise and fly off northward, their peculiar heavy undulating wings, blue-heron-like and unlike any duck, are very noticeable. The black, sheldrake [common merganser], etc., move their wings rapidly, and remind you of paddle-wheel steamers. Methinks the wings of the black duck appear to be set very far back when it is flying. The meadows, which are still covered far and wide, are quite alive with black ducks. ….
The great gulls fly generally up or down the river valley, cutting off the bends of the river, and so do these geese. These fly sympathizing with the river, a stream in the air, soon lost in the distant sky.
We see these geese swimming and flying at midday and when it is perfectly fair.
If you scan the horizon at this season of the year you are very likely to detect a small flock of dark ducks moving with rapid wing athwart the sky, or see the undulating line of migrating geese against the sky. ....
Ball's Hill, with its withered oak leaves and its pines, looks very fair to-day, a mile and a half off across the water, through a very thin varnish or haze. It reminds me of the isle which was called up from the bottom of the sea, which was given to Apollo.
How charming the contrast of land and water, especially a temporary island in the flood, with its new and tender shores of waving outline, so withdrawn yet habitable, above all if it rises into a hill high above the water and contrasting with it the more, and if that hill is wooded, suggesting wildness! Our vernal lakes have a beauty to my mind which they would not possess if they were more permanent. Everything is in rapid flux here, suggesting that Nature is alive to her extremities and superficies. To-day we sail swiftly on dark rolling waves or paddle over a sea as smooth as a mirror, unable to touch the bottom, where mowers work and hide their jugs in August; coasting the edge of maple swamps, where alder tassels and white [silver] maple flowers are kissing the tide that has risen to meet them.
-H.D.T.
March 28, 2021. 7:30 a.m.
I start out early this morning to avoid the rainstorm arriving soon. It’s overcast and gray at 44 degrees when I launch my kayak from the Lowell Road bridge put-in. Rock doves coo from the rafters under the bridge as I drift downstream on the chocolate-colored water, eating my breakfast. (When I refer to common “pigeons” as “rock doves,” don’t they sound far more intriguing and respectable?) Below North Bridge, the buzzing chattter of the red-winged blackbirds picks up, and I spend time watching a handful nearby. While there no thick flocks of a hundred today, the sparsely-spaced, clusters of birds' noisy chatter remains ever present as I paddle downstream.
I land at the Great Meadows impoundments and view two hooded mergansers - akin to Thoreau's sheldrakes - fly off south, and another land in the northeast corner of the upper impoundment. While the Canada geese honking has sounded from the river to be of many, I see now only a few; perhaps others are simply hidden in the reeds? As I turn to go, a pair of geese fly low overhead, honking loudly.
Back on the water, I see several other pairs of geese noisily flying northwest downriver. Romance among geese is long-lasting, as they typically partner for life. As I paddle, I also scare up several sets of five to six skittish ducks from their hiding places in the swampy wetlands behind red maples next to the river. Each group flies off with rapid wingbeats. The racoon body I recently found riverside below Buttrick’ Hill still remains. Across from Ball’s Hill, I am able to glide very close to two pairs of Canada geese, one honking constantly. Another pair eventually rockets in the air past me downriver past Ball's Hill. A striking splash on the water surprises me, but with no animal to be seen - undoubtedly a beaver given the nearby lodge.
Shaggy-barked red and silver maples, which predominate the perimeter shoreline of the surrounding swamp lands, lean in and over the river with fully bloomed flowers. Along the blackened base of all the riverside trees, the high water mark of the river is apparent; many trees additionally show a lighter band within the darkened trunk bottoms, perhaps made by the grinding of the winter’s ice in that location over the years. The red-budded hillside deciduous trees stand in sharp contrast to the green of the taller pines behind, with successive layers of brown dogwoods and glittering water below.
Ball's Hill, arising above a very flooded river with open meadows reminds Thoreau of Delos, the island created by Poseidon for Zeus's extra-marital son, Apollo; but to me the better literary reference is Aretemis, Apollo's twin sister, for whom Delos was also created. Just as NASA's first moon mission was named for Apollo, and its current, subsequent moon mission for Artemis, my follow-up Thoreau mission to this place must similarly look to Artemis for inspiration. And, Artemis, being the goddess of the wilderness, wild animals, and nature , is even more emblematic than Apollo for this quiet, wild waterway and Ball's Hill "island" before me. On Thoreau's day, the Great Meadows were apparently deeply flooded, and without as many border trees along the river's edge for the meadows were certainly farmed for hay. Thoreau's view of Delos Isle was undoubtedly more distant and swamped with water, but today with some imagination, I can see this vision of the Greek mythological isle too.
Even more than on the walking paths, I feel like such a visiting guest on these waterways, which serve as water trails in their own right. I am struck by how accessibility to remote and wild places is so greatly enhanced with a simple boat on these rivers. I can also better understand the geography of the land so much more. As I follow the meandering river between Ball’s and Davis’ Hill around the curve of the swampy woods, the distance feels much greater than by foot. From a boat, I can also see clearer where and how Great Meadows lower impoundment lies directly across from Buttrick’s Hill, and the Copan peninsula directly across from Ball’s Hill.
On my return, I spot a phoebe as it flits about a branch in the river, wagging its tail. As I pass Great Meadows, I notice someone taking a photo with me kayaking in the river, as if I am waterfowl myself providing backdrop adornment to her own exploration story.
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