Turtles And Osprey And Otters, Oh My – So Much To See By Kayak
The turtle has an ill-deserved reputation for lethargy.
Sure, when sunning on a log the hard-shelled reptile is laziness personified, but try to maneuver a kayak close enough for a photo and suddenly it possesses the reflexes of a cheetah, as I discovered the other afternoon.
Early spring is one of my favorite times to paddle because so many aquatic, woodland and airborne critters are out and about, building nests, hooking up with mates or simply enjoying the first burst of warmth after a relentlessly brutal winter.
From an outdoor enthusiast’s perspective, one silver lining to this season’s agonizingly delayed rejuvenation has been an absence of foliage. Normally by May 1 trees and shrubs hide nesting birds and various other creatures, but thanks to a frigid start to the season we have more time to observe before leaves spread their concealing curtain.
Here are some of my observations from paddling for a few hours on Bush and Long Ponds, which straddle Ledyard and North Stonington:
♦ A shadow raced across the water’s surface, and I gazed up in time to see a soaring osprey suddenly dive, hit with a splash and emerge with a wriggling fish in its talons.
♦ On shore, a great blue heron stood as still as a lawn ornament, then leaned forward, spread its giant wings and sprang into the air. One, two, three, four flaps and it disappeared.
♦ Eastern painted turtles by the dozen crawled onto floating logs and jutting rocks, craning striped necks from shells that gleamed in bright sunlight. Most scrambled instantly into the water at the approach of a kayak, but an occasional intrepid sunbather stared balefully at the intruder for a few seconds before escaping to the cool, dark water. A row of turtles occupied most of another log, except for the very end, where a mallard calmly but incongruously rested.
♦ Cormorants popped up and dove under like seals, but some preferred perching on pier pilings or overhanging branches.
One pair clung to the tip of one branch as a lone bird attempted to horn in. The closer branch occupant opened its beak menacingly and spread its wings, and the would-be interloper got the message and flew away.
♦ Red-winged blackbirds flitted among the reeds, announcing their presence with shrill cries that harmonized with the trill of a tree frog.
♦ A mute swan sat regally on a giant mound of a nest made of mud and twigs while its mate methodically mined more building material. I approached cautiously, not wanting to disrupt the birds but mostly trying to avoid angering them. I’ve been attacked more than once while kayaking too close to the aggressively territorial birds, which can weigh about 25 pounds with 6-foot wingspans. A few years ago one particularly bellicose swan nearly knocked me over and I had to fend it off with a paddle.
♦ As I paddled back to shore a partially submerged, furry thing crossed less than 10 feet from by bow. It’s sleek, brown coat glistened, and the animal turned its head to watch me as it swam past. An otter. Before I could raise my camera it slipped beneath the surface.
♦ Just before I landed a fish jumped. Spooked by the otter? Trying to feast on a may fly? Trout? Bass? Pumpkinseed?
Too much going on for one camera lens, or one pair of eyes.
In a few weeks the water will be filled with ducklings, goslings and cygnets, all squawking, honking and whistling. The small, skittish painted turtles will be joined by monstrous, menacing snappers, some measuring as big as manhole covers.
I don’t worry too much about snapping turtles when I’m swimming but admit the sight of a grapefruit-sized head with powerful jaws can be a little unsettling.
Oh well, it’ll be a few more weeks before the water is warm enough for us humans to dive in for more than a few seconds, so for the time being I’ll stick to the kayak and canoe.
I hope you have a chance to get out and enjoy this prime time for paddling, before the heat, humidity and mosquitoes arrive.
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