No sign of “my” bald eagle on this morning’s row upriver. Tonight I hopped in my kayak at sunset, armed with a tripod and my camera, and paddled downstream toward the site of last week’s amazing moonrise encounter with the eagle. Within a few moments I could tell I was in luck: the eagle was clearly visible on the same tree. The eagle watched me as I paddled around, seeking the best angle, shooting a hundred photos. Gosh, this bird is big. When I came close, apparently too close, he became nervous and took off for a different roost. In the photos (Smugmug gallery) I can tell that he (she?) is wearing a metal band on the right ankle. I’ll try again in a few days, before sunset, when there is more light.
Sunrise: the eagle has landed
I rowed upriver in the chilly morning air, the river calm and sprinkled with the first fallen leaves of autumn. As I neared the Grant Brook confluence, where I usually turn around, the Vermont shore began to glow. After my long sweeping turn to point myself homeward, the sun completed its climb over Smarts Mountain in New Hampshire, momentarily blinding me. As I began to row, a solitary figure flapped its way in from the sunrise, following those first sunbeams as they reached the river. My friendly neighborhood bald eagle was back, swooping low over the water, skimming the spot where I had been thirty seconds earlier. He landed powerfully but only momentarily on shore; perhaps he caught his breakfast, as he immediately climbed again, circling over the river and landing in a solitary tree, soaking up the morning sun.
See you again soon, I hope.
Twilight on the river
Some of my favorite photographs are those shots that I missed.
Earlier this week I walked down to the river just as the sun was setting over the Vermont hills. (In September, early mornings bring dense fog and chilly conditions to the river valley, so it’s better to row at sunset rather than sunrise.) Ahead of me the river was glassy calm, and behind me the last rays of sunlight were turning the New Hampshire hillside golden orange.
On a whim, I pointed my shell downriver, instead of my customary upriver trip. As I began rowing, I could hear the Canada Geese settling into the nearby wetlands for the evening. A large flock had settled in the silty delta of Hewes Brook, to my right. Their noisy efforts to congregate there drew my attention to the east, where the nearly-full moon was rising over the golden hills whence the brook flows. I paused to soak in this scene, while a few late-arriving geese honked their way past the moon and circled down to join their relatives in the marsh. Drifting slowly downriver, a tall snag came into view. Teetering on the leading edge of a tiny islet where the kids once hoped to find buried pirate treasure, this dead pine tree leaned over the geese and the marsh and the moon, hoping to hang on for another year until ice or floodwaters or beavers finally brings it down.
It was then I saw it, shortly after the rosy sunshine had left the snag to join the shadows of the evening. Perched high in the snag, clearly visible and recognizable against the golden backlight of the hills, was the bald eagle – probably the same eagle I had seen across the river a few weeks earlier. Here was an incredible photo, with the majestic eagle boldly visible in the snag that itself framed the rising moon, against a background of golden hills and a foreground of still water with geese and late-summer marsh grasses. If I had only been there 10 minutes earlier, with a camera and a tripod and the sun still on the eagle … but I was not. So my mental camera snapped this shot and I reluctantly rowed onward.
I returned 15 minutes later, heading home, and the eagle was still there, monitoring me and everything else in the growing darkness. I didn’t see my eagle friend during my row last night, where I paused again to watch the full moon rising over the same spot. I’ll hold tight to my mental photograph until I see him again.
Rowing the Connecticut
Summer is a wonderful time on the river, in part because the lengthy days allow me ample time to get out rowing. I like to row well before breakfast, because the river is as still as glass and there are rarely any other boats. Today, three days after returning from our canoe trip on the upper reaches of the river, I was treated to an unusual abundance of bird life.
Just around the river bend…
That Disney classic song, Just around the river bend, seemed to be stuck in my head as we paddled for four days on the meandering Connecticut River (check out the photos and videos). Continuing what I hope to be a new tradition, begun last year at the spot where the river springs out of the ridgeline forming the New Hampshire–Canada border, Pam and the kids and I put our boats into the river at the very spot we ended our trip last year, and pushed off into the current. Continue reading “Just around the river bend…”
6 days, 6 hikes
Last summer had a wonderful opportunity to complete 6 hikes in 4 days. I was fortunate again this week to have the same opportunity, completing 6 hikes in 6 days (Sunday through Saturday with a day off on Monday). It was the same time of the summer – the waning days of July and the first of August. The kick-off hike was once again with my friend Lelia, tackling a long hike that I had long desired to try. Last year, it was Mount Ellen, allowing me to complete my 4000′ Vermont mountains. This year, it was Tunnel Brook Ravine, a legendary bushwhack on the backside of Mount Moosilauke. I wrote about that epic trip last week.
After a much-needed rest day on Monday, I headed for Crawford Notch in the White Mountains. As before, I was fortunate to be staying at the Mount Washington Hotel for a few days, which is an excellent base for beautiful hikes both short and long. I revisited two favorites from last year – Mount Willard and the two Sugarloafs – with another friend Jon. For the first time I climbed Mount Martha, which has an astoundingly beautiful view of the Presidential Range. After the meeting concluded on Friday I bopped up Crawford Cliff, dodging a thunderstorm, and on Saturday at home I revisited the local Lyme Pinnacle for a quick overview of the Upper Valley. I snapped a few photos along the way (SmugMug).
Good weather, beautiful mountains, and wonderful friends. A great week!
Tunnel Brook Ravine
For nearly thirty years I’ve wanted to climb Moosilauke via Tunnel Brook Ravine, a classic bushwhacking route through a deep ravine on the west side of the mountain. I have fond memories of a solo bushwhack up Gorge Brook, past Last Water and the Pleiades, following the brook until it petered out and I was crashing through krummholz. As I sat on the summit, surprisingly alone on a sunny summer weekend afternoon, I watched with curiosity as a single hiker strode up the west slope of the summit cone, crossing the fragile alpine vegetation as if he was unaware of any trail. It turned out to be my Dartmouth classmate Alex, who had just bushwhacked up Tunnel Brook Ravine.
So last Sunday I set out with Lelia, another Dartmouth classmate, to try this legendary route. Continue reading “Tunnel Brook Ravine”
Weekend in Montréal
The kids were on spring break, and John was touring with the Footnotes in France, so we decided to take a long weekend. Weeks earlier, we had selected the weekend and were planning to spend it in Boston, but on Friday morning the news of the manhunt in Boston made it clear this was not the weekend for a visit. [Indeed, we later heard that the city went into ‘lockdown’ all day Friday, at the request of the Governor.] So we drove the opposite direction, to Montréal, for our own little taste of France.
Wonderful decision. Montréal is a beautiful city, and despite the windy gray weather (and a few snow flurries) we had a nice time. We stayed in the neighborhood known as Vieux Montréal, with cobblestone streets and old buildings, part of the original city enclosed by fortress walls. We were two blocks from Notre Dame Basilica, and two blocks from the St Lawrence River. Because of the chilly weather, we sought out indoor activities. We explored a series of simulated ecosystems at the Biodome, including a tropical forest then a series of temperate and arctic settings. We explored the underground city for a little shopping, and checked out some stunning pieces at the Museum of Contemporary Art. And, my favorite part, we took in some excellent French cuisine and Indian food.
I took just a few photos.
Cherry blossoms in Washington
I was fortunate enough to be in Washington DC last weekend, for a meeting at NSF. I have always heard about the beautiful cherry-blossom season, those magical few days in April when all of the cherry trees blossom together in an incredible display. On Sunday, a beautiful afternoon, I drove downtown, thinking that it would be easy to park somewhere and walk around the National Mall. Hah! With over a million visitors each year, the Cherry Blossom Festival is very crowded. I did manage to find parking near the Capitol and photographed some beautiful tulip trees.
I returned by metro on Monday afternoon, another day with beautiful spring weather. I headed straight for the Tidal Basin, a lake anchored by the Jefferson Memorial on one side and the National Mall on the other. The cherry blossoms were at their peak, with hundreds of families and office workers and tourists strolling underneath. Absolutely perfect weather, perfect trees. I’m so glad I finally got to see it. Check out the photos.
Moosilauke under a brilliant blue sky
When I was climbing Moosilauke on a steamy summer day last year, I tried to estimate how many times I’ve been up this mountain since my first climb in September 1982. I’m sure I’ve climbed it more than 50 times. Certainly once a year and usually twice a year, once in winter and once in summer or fall. It never gets boring or old, because I see something new on every trip, enjoy conversation with friends old and new, and enjoy seeing how the mountain and the view will appear in today’s weather. Winter weather is often most exciting; I’ve been on the summit in 50mph horizontal snowstorms with rime ice building up on my balaclava and in which I wasn’t sure whether I could find my way back to the trail. Today was not one of those days.
David Kotz 