adventures of a canoelover

I meet a lot of happy people every day. In fact, 99 out of 100 are delighted to be alive, and one thinks life is out to get him. He (or she) should move to Myanmar. But anyway…

John C. is one of the 99. He’s a vibrant and active man, excited about life, and a passionate and dedicated outdoor enthusiast. He’s also 75.

When he came in today, I asked what I could to to help him and he said “I am here to get my new kayak.” I found it, took him outside to the sold boat racks and before I could point out his new boat, he saw her. “Oh, baby, I’ve come to take you home…”

I love this man.

The Grant River is relatively unknown to many Wisconsin paddlers. It doesn’t have the name recognition of the Kickapoo, though the rivers are similar in many ways. Limestone bluffs are common, and the ferns and other little plants cling to them in proliferate abundance (redundant, but purposefully redundant).

I went with Jon from the shop, who called the night before after noticing on my Facebook status that I was “going paddling tomorrow.” I was delighted to have a companion, especially one who is a competent paddler and a thoughtful observer of life. Jon can enjoy a river without talking a lot, but he’s by no means taciturn. He just doesn’t prattle.

Stephanie and I had paddled the section of the Grant just below this one, and I was curious to see the upper section. It was lovelier still. Great little grottos like this one.

The Five Fingers KSOs were on their maiden voyage and did a fantastic job, better than the Classics I used to wear as watershoes. I still use Classics for dry land stuff (such as grocery shopping—you should see the looks I get), but the KSOs (Keep Stuff Out) kept stuff out. I hate to sound like an infommercial but I really think these are great. Jon was wearing sandals and the abrasive action between boat and foot (just add a little sand and water) left him with a few little open sores. My feet, besides having a funny tan line, were perfectly sound.

Okay, back to paddling…

Or not. The wildflowers were still thick, and while Jon volunteered for the bike shuttle, I poked around the woods. Anemones were in bloom, lovely little patches of white in the deep green of the forest.

There was also one stalk of red baneberry (Actaea rubra) which was rare for me to see, I guess the wet cold Spring kept things around a little longer than usual. Nature waited for me to get my affairs in order and get out there, and for that I thank her.

One of the benefits of a waterproof camera is that you can take shots like this and not worry about your camera getting damp. The water was gorgeous, very clear for this time of year, and with polarized glasses you could see fish darting about and the occasional turtle wondering what we were.


The Miterwort was blooming…get a hand lens and enjoy. These are amazing flowers. I am so glad I don’t live in a desert.

Respectfully submitted to the committee,

Canoelover

…when I get a chance. The Upper Grant is a winner.

We try to get our eggs from Larry, our friendly neighborhood egg dude. They taste better, look better, and they give money to Larry instead of to Eggs R Us or whatever the Egg Conglomerate is.

So we ran out of Larry’s eggs today. We had to use two Larry’s eggs and two Eggs R Us eggs. The difference in flavor is noticeable. The difference in color is equally dramatic.

Ian was not pleased. “How come I don’t get the Larry Eggs?” This from a teenager who barely tastes his food as it passes down the warped space of his esophagus into the black hole of his stomach.

They’re that good.

weed (wēd) n. 1.a. A plant considered undesirable, unattractive, or troublesome, especially one growing where it is not wanted, as in a garden.

I went to the UW Arboretum today to photograph some friends from church. They have cute kids and are very nice people, so it was pleasant. Since they have little kids, I knew they’d be late so I took some time to poke around.

Everyone was looking at the lilac garden, which was, of course, gorgeous. The smell is almost intoxicating and a little overwhelming. While everyone was looking up, I took the opportunity to look down at the dandelions.

A dandelion is in the same family as Asters, a flower that is often cultivated for its beauty. The dandelion flower isn’t a flower really, it’s a collection of flowers on one flower bud. Whatever it is, it’s pretty, with a lovely fractal pattern. If we weren’t so addicted to the sterility of a golf course lawn as the ideal, we’d like dandelions a lot more.

Mundane is a label often misapplied. Dandelions are not at all mundane, they’re lovely. Actually, I’d say the perfect suburban lawn is the epitome of mundane. It’s sterile, a mono-culture of millions of grass blades that all look exactly the same, with all the excitement of a Moonie wedding. The fertilizers and herbicides that make the “perfect lawn” render it a desert to all other forms of plant life, and while it may be good for croquet, it’s not much good for much else.

Last week my Aunt Karen visited with my cousin Wendy and her two sweet kids. We took them to Pizza Brutta and it was all good. Dallin (shown above) was particularly enamored with the good old Wisconsin cheese. Kenna (shown below) was content to distort her face by pressing it against the screen of the porch. And yet, she was still cute.

Frequent readers of my blog (both of you) will notice I am not a habitual poster of cute kid pictures. Indeed, these may be the only two cute kid pictures on my entire blog. This compares (favorably in my mind) with the blogs that are nothing but cute kid pictures. The cuteness effect is somewhat dissipated by the overly saturated and saccharine postings.

So let’s just move forward, accepting the fact that these are seriously cute kids, but more importantly, they are seriously cool (albeit little) people. They are interesting. They are engaging. They are totally 100% alive, and live in the moment. Good little Buddhists, and they don’t even know it. Perfect.

Kenna was particularly fascinated with the didgeridoo. Heck, Kenna was fascinated with everything, including our poor dog. Already neurotic by nature, Gracie was often found in our room, just wanting to go five minutes without hearing the word “Doggie!”

It has been 14 years since we had a one year-old around for more than a few hours. I had forgotten just how wonderful it is. I am now in the paradoxical position of wanting grandkids without wanting my daughter to marry and have kids just yet.

I am in the unenviable position of not being able to view my own blog. Our spam/porn blocking software decided that something I posted was “recreational nudity.”

Okay, I admit it. The snapping turtle was naked. Some of the trees on the riverbank could be seen as somewhat phallic. The frog was, of course, fully nude, and to quote the Old Testament, “and was not ashamed.” Amphibian porn is insidious, I agree. It starts with a few tadpoles, pretty soon you have hundred-gallon tanks with three or four turtles, of course, fully nude.

Anyway, I tried to delete the post and see what would happen. Nothing. Canoelover is still tainted with a pornographic stain that will not be easily blotted out. I have written emails to the guys who administer this service. They do not respond.

Remember, these are the guys who blocked www.hornytoad.com. Again with the amphibians…

Some say public art is dying…I say “hogwash.” These fine images are poor facsimiles taken with my camera at the India Darbar Restaurant, which in addition to these amazing images, has really good food.

I saved the best for last, a gorgeous print in the style of Caravaggio that I liked so much I decided to get a picture with me and S.

Next time…the art of the Kwik-Trip.

P.S. The food really was excellent.

The Grant River is a little gem of Southwest Wisconsin. It drains 269 square miles, has a median water flow of 175 cubic feet per second, and feeds into the Mississippi near the old lead mining town of Potosi. Aside from the USGS statistics, it’s just a lovely little river, and I highly recommend it.

Today there was significantly more water than the median 175 cfs. It was closer to 500, and it was lovely. The temperature was perfect, the water was chilly but refreshing, and my wife was, of course, ravishingly beautiful.

S. called in well (something she never does, ever) and we decided to hit the Grant. It’s 90 minutes from the house, just a few gallons away. We decided to run a bike shuttle since the traffic counts are so low we’d never get a ride hitchhiking and it’s a nice but hilly ride. Actually, very hilly. Welcome to Southwestern Wisconsin.

Once in the boat, we settled into the familiar rhythm of paddling a tandem canoe. Though I prefer solo canoes, paddling a tandem with a well-practiced partner is a joy. Though we had a few communication issues (it was our first tandem paddle of the year), we did okay.

The thing that struck us immediately was the number of turtles. Not your everyday run-of-the-mill C. picta belli painted turtles. We’re talking Chelydra serpentina, a Snapper the size of a dinner plate. Not huge, but decent. He seemed to hardly be aware of us, certainly not threatened by a couple of canoeists. He was well-camoflaged by a coating of mud, but I broke off a branch that was hiding his face and managed to snap a picture of his eye, the only thing that wasn’t gray.

The other turtles we saw were not painted turtles either…they were Midland Smooth Softshell Turtles, Apalone muticus, and their more common cousins, the Eastern Spiny Softshell, A. spinafera. The Midland Softshell is a “species of concern,” which is what you make them before they’re threatened or endangered. They usually live in the Mississippi and Lower Wisconsin, but I’m not surprised a few sneaked up the Grant. They’re tough to tell apart, especially when they dive for cover before you can get close enough to see their carapace markings, feet, and noses if you’re lucky. The Spinies have cheerio-shaped markings, the others have spots, and the A. muticus has a really cool nose. They’re prehistoric and look every bit the part. We saw a dozen of both species, the smallest being a saucer-sized, the largest the size of a turkey platter. Sweet.

We also saw an abundance of bird life—bald eagles, herons, redtailed hawks, a few Baltimore Orioles, goldfinches, song sparrows, cliff and barn swallows, a pair of shrikes (cool!), a red-headed woodpecker, a flicker, numerous plovers and sandpipers. I heard a lot more than I saw, and frankly, couldn’t identify them by their calls. There were thrushes. That much I know.

As we pulled out at the take-out, a very confused Pickerel Frog (R. palustris) jumped into our canoe. After a quick picture, we turned him loose. Pickerel Frogs are somewhat uncommon so it was fun to see one.

Because the parking area was a mud pit, we parked along side the road on a fairly steep incline, probably 20 degrees or so. As I was tossing the strap over the canoe, I slipped on the gravel and skewered by face on the end of the rack crossbar. It has a piece of hardware on it for the Hullavator, so it was sharp and nailed me but good. To quote Lance Murdock (Simpson’s Motorcycle Daredevil), “Chicks dig scars…”

Ow,
Canoelover