I didn’t start trying to find a companion until six o’clock on Friday night, so it was no surprise that I ended up paddling down the Mississippi alone early Saturday morning. The weather promised to cooperate, and I’d been wanting to try the new paddle-share stations since they opened up last summer. The water was flat calm, with just enough of a breeze to lick up the sweat gathering from paddling up-stream to warm up to the wide, short boat and get more time on the water. I got as far as the big highway crossing and let the current spin the boat back around, starting a more leisurely paddle towards the take-out near downtown Minneapolis.
The route is mostly scrubby shore-trees and abandoned mooring stations for an army of barges absent from this stretch of water now that the Saint Anthony Lock has been decommissioned. Behind the low trees, the cement stacks, cranes, and rusted catwalks of a vast industrial district along the I-94 corridor loom silent.
Redwing crows drifted over the river, and a bald eagle or two lofted high above, disinterested in this particular stretch of water. A momma mallard and her eight teenage ducklings glided past, dipping for weed along the shore.
I saw the scooped wings of a great blue heron low on the river, pushing hard to gain height, then gliding across the water, sinuous neck tucked back, six foot wingspan casting a flitting shadow on the eddies near shore. She tipped back just before a huge dead tree, bleached white in the sun, and landed with a smooth curtsey on one of the top-most branches. The old skeleton stretched high above the greenery around it, and its branches held three, five, no, twelve other massive birds, basking in the warming morning sun, scanning the water for the shadows of fish on the riverbed. Now I let my eyes run along the shore, and found the huge driftwood trees, dried roots shooting up as high as branches, host to even more, some sleeping, some stretching, some striding through the shallows spearing small game among the ducks and smaller shore-birds. I let the boat drift closer to the rookery, but steered back into the main channel when graceful heads shot up and several of the birds winged out in protest at being approached. Content enough, I drifted on downstream, watching for them now, nearly invisible against the downed trees and rocky shoreline until they took flight and spread their great wings above the water. I couldn’t have asked for better company.
Photo Credit: Laurent Silvani Photography (cc)
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