De Pan

Just as I near the mouth of the river, leaving the gentle one inch high swell of a calm morning on Long Island Sound, an outboard skiff comes out, the driver standing at the wheel.  He guns the throttle, an act of intention not related to playtime.  The boat is 20 or 22 feet in length with high sides.  It has all of the signs - the standing driver, the speeding out through a rocky bay with a moderately small motor, not one of the big monsters that the weekenders mount, and the white fiberglass hull with stains running down the sides...a work boat, a fisherman out to check his pots.  He is eyeballing me, even from 150 yards.  That is a common trait with working professionals...look beyond the boat at the person at the helm and they always seem to have eye contact with you.

It is cloudy, still and warm enough.  If it doesn't rain, it will stay pretty much like that today.



I have only been in the West River once before.  It was winter and high tide and passage was blocked at the first road bridge, the clearance at that water level being not more than three inches.  It is a bit more of a working river than the East.  I pass a compact marina near the mouth, mostly play boats, but a few working fishing vessels also present.  Not much farther up is a forty or fifty foot motor yacht laid over on  its side up against the trees about 200 yards away from the river...a Hurricane Sandy relic I suppose.

The marsh of the West is narrower than that of the East.  But, it still provides space for willets and osprey and, at least this morning, a healthy population of snowy and great egrets. 

oyster catchers

I pass under the low road bridge with ease, telling myself to turn back in a half hour to be sure of clearing it on the way out, which also will let me gauge the rise for later trips.  As it turns out, there isn't a half hour of river above the bridge, although there is plenty to make it worthwhile.  I spot 2 bald eagles, one of which is a substantial size, more willets, more osprey, and more egrets.  The river starts to run low as I near the Boston Post Road and I turn back.

The North Marsh

I have to make a decision.  I've crossed the river straightaway from Essex's North Marsh.  Upriver is Hamburg Cove, which was ice blocked on my last trip in there.  Below me is Lord's Cove, a favorite that I have already visited several times since ice out.  A bald eagle drops out of a nearby tree and head back straight across the river as if to say,  "it's your problem, not mine."

It is a humid and peaceful day, the sky overcast with a thin layer of clouds, a haze in the air underneath, and wind that does nothing to disturb the peace because it is already so warm.  Thunderstorms and gusty winds are possible if the heat should start the air moving in vertical currents.  I keep one eye on the weather.

Great Egret

I turn toward Hamburg Cove.  An osprey soars high overhead with a fish in its talons.  It becomes three osprey, then five.  Osprey always carry their caught fish with the head forward.  It is macabre humor to me, the idea that the osprey is giving the fish a scenic flight, a birds eye view of the river... before eating it.  I pause just once to pick up three specimens from the beach.  One is a bird carapace...for a substantial bird.  I begin to push a great blue heron along the shore, following it around the point and into the cove where I spot a deer well off on the opposite bank.
The cove is fairly well sheltered from the wind.  I follow the north shore where the forest descends right to the waters edge.  The houses that can be seen from the water on this side of the cove are often late 18th or early 19th century.  I imagine that they were built by ship captains and pilots.  On the south side the houses are new, huge and a bit garish.  I imagine that they belong to stock brokers and corporate executives.  One side had a connection to the land that seems lacking on the other.

I turn when I get to the beautiful arched bridge that the Joshuatown road crosses, the place where the cove ends and the Eight Mile River enters.