Two Perfect Days on the River

Occasionally, random folks will comment on how expensive my Hornbeck carbon-fiber canoe must have been. "Oh yes," I tell them: "Quite  expensive!  My boat cost about as much as a weekend in a fancy resort hotel."  That was certainly true when I bought it, some 25-plus years ago, and I suppose prices of each have increased about the same, proportionally.  The thing is, that weekend in a fancy resort hotel would be but a faint memory by now, but I am still paddling my Hornbeck. And it has carried me to places far more beautiful than any resort hotel, places that offer features far more interesting to me than any of the entertainments offered by such hotels.  One of my very favorite places my canoe has carried me to (many times!) is a stretch of the Hudson River at Moreau, and I was happily blessed this past week with two of the most beautiful days of the summer to paddle this always-interesting waterway. And with two of my favorite fellow paddling companions, Ruth Brooks and Sue Pierce, to enjoy these waters with me.

Wednesday, August 31: Upstream toward the Spier Falls Dam

Ruth was my sole companion on this delightfully cool day, a refreshing change from the many sweltering days that preceded it.  We set off from the boat launch site along Spier Falls Road, each of us in our own Hornbeck solo canoe, to paddle upstream, moving closely and slowly along the wooded banks to see what we might see.

In places, the steeply bouldered shore was so impressive in its own right, we slowed our pace even more, just to take in the rugged beauty of the rocks.

Ruth, who has a passionate interest in mosses and liverworts, moved in really close to examine the many bryophytes that have made a home in the bedrock's nooks and crannies.

The riverside was abloom with many gorgeous late-summer flowers, adding their bright color to the deep-green of the forested banks.

Every few feet of shoreline offered a lovely variety of native wildflowers.

Sneezeweed (Helenium autumnale) displayed the brightest blooms of all!

There was White Turtlehead (Chelone glabra), too, with plump blooms closed so tight, only the strongest of bumblebees can manage to pry their way inside to sample this flower's nectar and pollen.

In shallower pools along the shore, the bright-white flowers of Grass-leaved Arrowhead (Sagittaria graminea) protruded from the still water, freely offering their floral feasts to hordes of small dark-colored flies, who crowded their wide-open blooms.

Ah, but the star of the riverside floral show now is the glorious Closed Gentian (Gentiana clausa)!

It was hard not to linger at every patch of Closed Gentian to deeply admire its royal-blue beauty.

It appears to be a very good year for Closed Gentians: this single flower stalk held TEN flower heads!  Again, only the burliest of bumble bees can feast on these closed-tight blooms, but somehow those bees must manage to achieve the magic of pollinating all these plants, since they grow so abundantly along this Hudson River shore.

The riverside rocks were also quite beautiful, this one crowned with Polypody Fern and with its surface mottled with a mix of lichens and mosses.

This past rain-insufficient summer has apparently discouraged the plethora of fungi we've come to expect this time of year.  So I was delighted to find this ruffly patch of Turkey Tail (Trametes versicolor) displaying a freshly sprouted patch of brown-striped caps, while last year's caps still displayed an emerald patina supplied by a green alga.

These abundant overlapping rows of sea-shell shaped and striped Stereum ostrea fungi had populated the decaying trunk of a tree that had fallen into the river.

After ambling upstream for a couple of hours and covering less than a quarter-mile of riverbank, we turned around and let the gentle current carry us back downstream,  surrounded by forested mountains overtopped by a cloud-dappled radiant blue sky. I rested my paddle and raised my eyes, blissing out on all this unspoiled wild beauty, so easily available to me as I drifted along in my little Hornbeck canoe.  Heaven!

As I trailed my hand in the water, I was mesmerized by the slowly waving underwater leaves of Clasping-leaved Pondweed (Potamogeton perfoliatus), the sunlight glowing through its translucent, pale-striped, emerald-green leaves.

Wild Celery (Vallisneria americana) is another underwater plant that dances and flows with the current, at the same time holding its tiny three-parted white female flowers exactly at the surface. These flowers are held on slender curlicue stems that lengthen or retract as the water level rises or falls.  The invisibly small male flowers float up from the base of the plants to lie on the surface and freely flow with the current, dropping handily into the female flowers waiting for them.  I have personally never witnessed this form of pollination taking place, but somehow it must happen.  There's certainly no dearth of this fascinating aquatic species, here on this stretch of the Hudson River, my happy place for paddling.

Thursday, September 1: Downstream Toward the Sherman Island Dam

The following day, our mutual friend Sue Pierce joined Ruth and me to explore another section of the Hudson, this section a mile or more downstream, closer to the Sherman Island Dam.  We all three carried our super-lightweight Hornbeck canoes down through the woods, putting in at a quiet backwater where the water lay mirror-still -- except for the shimmer caused by our paddling there. Once again, we were blessed by a day of dazzling weather: clear blue skies and a fresh cool air that made the sun's warmth feel welcome.

This section of the Hudson lies behind a large island, sheltered from most of any wind that might be roiling the main course of the river.  There are several rocky promontories here, and a number of coves where the bouldered shore is carpeted with thick green mats of moss.  This lovely mound of wispy-leaved moss was overhung by a crowning abundance of Polypody ferns. Thanks to our moss-loving friend, Ruth, we now know that this mound consisted of Apple Moss (Bartramia pomiformis).

A really close look at the mound revealed its tiny spore capsules, round as apples, that suggested this native moss's names, both the scientific and the vernacular.

We did not have to closely peer along the shore to spot the brilliant blooms of Cardinal Flower (Lobelia cardinalis), a native wildflower that along other parts of the river are well past their prime.

We also spotted beautiful patches of Closed Gentian (Gentiana clausa), the flowers of which were very nearly as brilliantly blue as the Cardinal Flower's were red.

In all the years Sue and I have been paddling this backwater, we had never found the underwater solid masses called Pectinatella magnifica here.  But since a fierce straight-line wind a few years ago toppled many huge trees into the water, these filter-feeding bryozoans ("moss animals")  have apparently found sufficient underwater twigs to form their colonial masses around.  However, these masses did not look typical.  Their normally rusty-brown surface was covered by a transparent green jelly.  And the normally solid masses were falling apart.  I wonder if that green jelly is not just hitching a ride on the Pectinatella, but is also devouring it.

As we paddled close to some steep rocky banks on our passage toward the open river, this vivid lime-green patch of Sphagnum Moss caught our attention -- and how could it not? A sprawling carpet of Partridgeberry (Mitchella repens) looked lush and lovely, and . . . hmmm? What is that low-growing green stuff right at the edge of the rock?

Our friend Ruth and her loupe and her knowledge of bryophytes came through for us once again.  A really close look at this green "mossy" stuff revealed that it was NOT a moss, but rather a liverwort.  Most likely a liverwort of the genus Scapania.

Lunchtime! And weren't we lucky to have such a beautiful spot to picnic as this rocky point, our little boats safely berthed among the boulders?

Sue seems to have found something to point out to me.  I think she thought it might be the liverwort called Handsome Woollywort.  I demurred (too sunbaked a habitat, I thought) and didn't take a photo. But now I wish I had.  She might have been right.  She has a habit of finding very cool stuff.

Sue also pointed out a still-blooming patch of Pale Corydalis (Capnoides sempervirens), with flowers so small I might not have seen them if Sue had not shown them to me. This species of Capnoides does love to grow in the seams and cracks of exposed rock.

We next set off to explore another part of this stretch of the Hudson.  As this photo reveals, it sure was a beautiful day to be on the water, and in such a scenic spot.

As we passed along overhanging rocky projections, the sunshine reflecting off rippling water cast dancing golden ribbons of light on the shadowed overhangs.

Here, we've entered a quiet marsh, surrounded by beaver-girdled (but still surviving!) Black Tupelo trees (Nyssa sylvatica), dotted with mounds of glistening Tussock Sedge (Carex stricta), and edged with thick stands of purple-flowered Pickerelweed (Pontederia cordata).

The healthiest of those Black Tupelo trees were already turning their signature scarlet, earlier than all other trees along the river.

Paddling beneath a Black Tupelo's overhanging limbs,  I could look up and marvel at its scarlet leaves, translucent as stained glass against a cobalt-blue sky.

Birds had consumed or disfigured most of the Tupelo fruits on the female tree.  Craving to see once again the lovely blue berries dangling from hot-pink stems, I went and found this older photo of them in my files.

The afternoon breeze had picked up, causing the slender shining leaves of the Tussock Sedge to dance and wave with the wind.

We encountered several Winterberry shrubs (Ilex verticillata) with many leafless twigs, but at least the twigs that still held leaves had put forth a beautiful display of scarlet fruits.

Autumn Meadow Hawk dragonflies were soaring around the marsh, and lucky for me, this one landed on a canoe-side twig and stayed put for the picture-taking.

It was hard to leave this charmed and beautiful river while sunlight still sparkled on the wavelets, but two of us had husbands who expected their dinners this evening.   So, shouldering our lightweight canoes (mine weighs less than my cat!), we hiked back up the hill toward our cars.  But eagle-eyed Sue called out to Ruth and me, "Wait!  Here's a big patch of Red Pinesap right by the path!"  And so there was! 

Hypopitys lanuginosa is this Red Pinesap's scientific name, a later-blooming and much-redder species than the Yellow Pinesap (H. monotropa) that blooms earlier in the summer.  Cherry-red it was, and how appropriate! This find was like a cherry on top of the last two days: paddling this marvelous river with two great pals on two of the most beautiful days of the summer, in canoes that have given us many more pleasures than any fancy resort could ever match!