Less than five minutes after we launched our kayaks on the Connecticut River south of Lyme's Hamburg Cove the other day, a shadow swept over the slate-gray water and the three of us peered skyward just as a bald eagle soared past.

Seconds later, barely flapping its broad wings, the giant bird with its distinctive white head and noble visage disappeared over a wooded ridge.

"OK," Phil Warner joked, "we can go home now!"

This was our annual eagle-watching excursion, and having viewed one right off the bat, we were off to a great start — but not in the least bit prepared to declare mission accomplished.

Every winter dozens of eagles migrate to the lower Connecticut River from northern New England to fish in the ice-free waters. For years, fellow paddlers and I have donned cold-weather gear and set out to observe them.

There is no better place to view these magnificent birds in midwinter than the lower Connecticut. The Nature Conservancy has proclaimed it one of "The World's Last Great Places." The United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization called it an "Estuary of Global Importance" — not just because of migrating eagles, but thanks to preservation efforts that have made the waterway attractive to an astonishing array of shore birds in all seasons.

We, too, are fortunate to call it home.

Although there are eagle-watching boat cruises on large, motorized vessels, as well as a few places on shore where it's possible to catch a glimpse of the birds, a kayak often provides a more intimate experience, as we discovered later in the day when we rounded a bend off Selden Island and inadvertently drifted within a few yards from one perched on a tree branch.

The eagle sprang silently from the limb, stretched its wings to their full six-foot span and took flight, powerful talons dangling.

"Sorry to disturb you," Phil apologized. When viewing wildlife we try to keep our distance.

Phil, my son Tom and I had begun our 10-plus-mile out-and-back voyage from a public launch at the end of Ely's Ferry Road. There, a photographer wielding a camera with a 500-milimeter telephoto lens paced impatiently.

"Seen anything?" I asked.

He shook his head.

A few other cars carrying would-be eagle-watchers pulled in to the tiny, unpaved parking lot, saw there was no action, and drove away.

"We'll try to send some in your direction," Phil said to the photographer as the three of us shoved off. The tide was in mid-ebb, so we pushed against the current while working our way north.

With bright sunshine, temperature in the mid-30s and a gentle northerly breeze that barely stirred a ripple, it was a delightful February day to be on the water — especially compared to past years, when we've battled gusty winds and much more frigid conditions.

In January 2018, you may recall, so much ice clogged the river that the Connecticut looked more like the Volga and it took weeks for Coast Guard ice breakers to clear a channel. I also had to use my kayak as a makeshift icebreaker later that season to punch through a frozen section of Selden Creek on the west shore opposite Selden Island.

This year, though, just a few table-sized floes floated with the current, and narrow strips of thin ice only remained along isolated, shaded sections of shoreline.

Phil, Tom and I discovered that when we paddled past these stretches the wakes from our boats produced a pleasant, tinkling crackle.

Every so often we encountered flocks of mergansers and Canada geese, flapping and honking noisily. Cormorants occasionally popped above the surface and dove back under. A couple of swans glided by.

We also saw three red-tailed hawks — or maybe just the same one, cruising intermittently along the shore — as well as a pileated woodpecker, looking rather dashing in vibrant plumage.

Circling turkey vultures produced numerous false eagle sightings.

"There's one! Three o'clock!" I called.

"Nope. Only a TV," Tom decreed.

Sure enough, the vulture's V-shaped wing profile confirmed his declaration.

By the end of the day we tallied eight eagle sightings — somewhat less than last year's epic 29 count — but not a bad outing.

After a little more than five miles of paddling, we reached the northern tip of Selden Island and were counting on the north breeze to help propel us back to the launch site. No such luck.

The wind shifted, now coming from the southwest ahead of an approaching storm, so we tucked in to Selden Creek and caught some welcome lee from the island.

Funny how things sometimes work out — that's where we came upon the last eagle of the day, so close and so regal. As we steered for Ely's Ferry Road, the bird circled back to its perch. We all were on our way back home.