The Creek Ain't Rising

We've had a couple inches of rain in the past few weeks so the time was ripe for paddling without obstructions--or so I thought. Hopes were high when I pulled into the parking lot off Hawthorne Road and saw the lake much higher than I remembered it. But it was an optical illusion. Everything's low and dead. The hard freezes have whacked the bullrush barriers for the most part, so I suppose everything seemed wider. But I was dragging bottom the whole way and had to turn around far sooner than I expected.

Paddling through the seasons means watching familiar waterways change personalities. Even the winter crew of birds has arrived--yellow warblers, rails and such--so it was like going back to an old school where all the teachers have changed except for that really old one who always said you'd never do anything with your life (Great Blue Heron). I suppose fishing for bottom feeders has dropped off too, because I saw almost no trash this time. Needless to say, the gators too are hunkered down wherever they go for the winter.

The highlight this time out was doing battle with the comically territorial geese that prowl Prairie Creek. They sensed me long before they saw me, or me them, and emitted their trademark rusty gate call to arms. As I sat there stuck in sand, the scout geese paddled my way, honking all the while. When it became clear that I wasn't budging, they turned their abundant white tails and paddled back to their crew.