I didn't really give Selim the option of not coming, and that might have been a mistake. He didn't paddle for very long and Robert ended up towing him for most of the time. He sat there in his kayak, pasha style, grumpy and eager to return to the docks. He was in for a long ride.
We paddled out of the cove and took a right, heading towards the narrows. In the morning, before the boat traffic gets intense, the water is calm and easy to navigate. In the narrows, there was a quality to the light, the way the sun reflected on the water, that reminded me of a Winslow Homer painting. At least, I think it was a Homer work. I can see it in my mind -- craggy rock formation that could be the Atlantic coast or Hudson / St. Lawrence Rivers, sun reflections on the water painted with broad brush strokes, and a canoe. If the painting I'm thinking of isn't Homer, then it is early 1900's, American, post Hudson River School of the 1850's. Could be William Merritt Chase, Thomas Eakins, Childe Hassam or somebody else, I just can't remember.
Exiting through the narrows we enter an open section of the river. Straight ahead is a tiny island with a house that Mom loves. I can see why. The owner(s) have beautiful window boxes on the house, the island itself is ringed with flagstone, and the house itself is an interesting combination of stucco and tree house structure. I loved the plants spilling out of a red canoe, propped upright against a tree. And what tiny island paradise would be complete without a boathouse or changing pavillion?
We circled around that island and then paddled to the back of Wellesley Island. There Robert, Selim, and Heather disembarked and climbed up the steep slope to go on a small expedition to see the glacier potholes. I stayed behind, happy to float and take a break.
The exploring didn't take too long and then we were back paddling for home. Unfortunately, two deer flies found Selim and would not give him any peace. He ended up pulling his beach towel over his head and vocalizing his displeasure every few minutes. It worked for him since he wasn't paddling and didn't need to see where he was going. May be some day he will look back on this particular morning with good humor. May be. Or instead of 2 deer flies, the tale will grow to a swarm. On the way back we made a slight detour to see if we could find the dead tree where the big snakes like to sun bathe, but we might have gotten there too early in the morning because the branches were bare of six foot long snakes. However, the extra paddling was not in vain because we saw a great blue heron in a tree, fairly up close and personal.
The last bit of kayaking across the open section of river was the most difficult, boat traffic had increased and we were travelling into the wind. I didn't head into the cove immediately. Instead, I wanted to take a picture of a row of boat houses that I had photographed three years ago. With the sun coming up directly behind them, morning was not the best time. I need to go out in the evening to get the best shot.
As I approached the shore, I noticed that another great blue heron was standing next to "seagull rock."
I took its picture and paddled closer. And took another picture. And paddled closer. Under my breath I was repeating, "Thank you heron for letting me get so close. Thank you for standing so still. Thank you for not being scared of my kayak." I ended up getting within 20 feet or less before two hot shot boats came roaring along and the bird flew off. What a privilege to get so close to such a majestic bird!
I should have been writing more during this week and just saving the posts for when I get home and can upload the pictures. I've put a few on facebook and each picture has taken five minutes, at a minimum, to upload. Since I tend to write around the pictures I've taken, it has been too daunting. But this is a start -- a thread to be picked up later, of our glorious week at Acorn Cottage.
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