Return to the water
It isn't long no more than perhaps one hundred strokes of the paddle I hear the whistle the wavering call of the bald eagle and I look usually able to spot the bird my eyes sharp and trained at watching wildlife keen to pick up the horizontal where it should be vertical wary of the oval where it should be random I see it not. I don't need to. I set out from the Harrison portage on a heavy overcast gray day. It is typical of winter except for the warmth of summer and the extra green that the deciduous plants add to the landscape. A light breeze, a very light breeze comes mostly from the north. My first pause is at the Big Lodge, which is now green in summer growth and appears more to be a hill than a house. I can still get into the beaver forest because of the high water, so I do. I find a heron feather floating. It is very soft, almost limp, kind of delicate. The big dead end in the east marsh is continuing to close itself. I collect the old redwing blackbird nest, which I had...
