Back to the River Again (Whew!)

There's a section of the Hudson River at Moreau that is more than just an ordinary waterway among others for me. For this serene stretch of the river between the Spier Falls and Sherman Island dams is where I first carried my new little solo canoe and set off on my own, to paddle at a pace that would let me linger as long as I liked, inches from shore, enamored by the beauty of the forested banks and the glorious flora that prospered there. I found many plants here I had never seen before, inspiring my desire to learn the names of every wildflower I encountered, at first only those in this stretch of the river, but eventually all the wildflowers I found growing anywhere.  This river, this beautiful unspoiled section of it, was truly the birthplace of my passion to learn the names of all the plants I encountered anywhere! And thereafter, my boat also became my personal zendo, my place of silence and solitude and peace.

Here, the surrounding forested mountains fall directly to the water's edge, no houses or docks protruding into the river, disrupting my fantasy that I could be the first person to pass this way, alone in my little canoe.  How blessed I felt, to have such a marvelous place to paddle, so close to home, and possessing a perfect little craft that allowed me to access every inch of the cove-contoured shoreline that stretched for several miles between the two dams.

Ah, but late last fall, my sense of blessing was shattered! With advancing age and aching post-surgery knees, my ease about entering and exiting my canoe began to feel a bit compromised.  And the last time I paddled, on a small Adirondack lake where the wind was whipping up whitecaps, while trying to rise and step out of my boat into shin-deep water, struggling to hold the boat level while gripping the gunwales, a large wave rocked my canoe and over I went. Never in all the nearly 30 years I'd been paddling this boat had I toppled it! Oh no! Would this mean my days of solo canoeing were over? Had I grown too old and weak to manage access to it? At that point in the year, with increasing cold weather, I could not find the courage to test my strength again and counter my fears, and so I stowed my boat for the winter.

But now, the weather and water have warmed. I knew I had to restore my confidence about entering and exiting my canoe. I may be old (I'm now 84), but paddling is more than just a hobby for me, it's an essential way I maintain my strength and also feed my soul and exercise my mind.  And now, my dear friend and fellow paddler Ruth Brooks has returned from wintering down south and could accompany me and help me should I falter.  At any rate, Ruth's presence gave me courage and must have also given me strength to get into and out of my boat, and off we went together, to explore the Hudson's beautiful banks once more.  Here's Ruth, a moss enthusiast, examining some mosses that thrive on a riverside boulder.

Tiny Azure Bluets (Houstonia caerulea) decorated a maze of weathered roots at the water's edge.

Here's a closer view of the Azure Bluets' pretty sky-blue flowers.

Among the most abundant flowers we found today were the fragrant Canada Mayflowers (Maianthemum canadense) blooming amid the shoreline rocks.

Among the special floral treats was this trio of Shining Ladies' Tresses (Spiranthes lucida). The yellow lower petal is the most distinctive trait of this species, in addition to being the earliest of the Spiranthes species to bloom.

Rows of Black Huckleberry shrubs (Gaylussacia baccata) lined the banks, dangling deep-red flowers.

Here and there, solitary stalks of our native Northern Blue Flag (Iris versicolor) raised large beautiful blooms.

And at one location, a large patch of Northern Blue Flags was arrayed quite beautifully against the dark shade of the background forest:

We found occasional patches of Long Beech Fern (Phegopteris connectilis) dangling graceful fronds across the banks, but this dense patch of the ferns crowded among the rocks looked quite dramatically beautiful.

Impressive mounds of bedrock rise from the water's edge along this stretch of the Hudson.

A trio of shrub-covered islands dot the river here. A few pines remain of the many trees (mostly birches and oaks)  that 25 years ago forested these islands. Beavers and higher water levels destroyed most of those trees, changing the islands' habitat from shady forest to sunlit meadow.

The center island of this trio used to sustain dozens of Early Azalea shrubs (Rhododenron prinophyllum), but this year I saw only one, remaining in the limited shade of the few surviving trees. In former years, the fragrance of these beautiful blooms would reach all the way across the water to the river's edge

Sure, I feel some sadness over the change of island habitat that appears to have lessened the presence of these Early Azalea shrubs.  But my joy at now knowing that I can still climb into and out of my boat and still be able to paddle out to this island and other delightful locations along this stretch of the Hudson, has certainly outweighed any sadness I felt before. Now I can't wait to see what plants will thrive to replace the ones that were lost. Here's hoping I still have a few years of paddling left to me.