Seals, Herons, Egrets, and Good Company

            For the Labor Day weekend I wanted to immerse myself in a smoke-free ecology, so I took Mike with me and went to visit my friend Wallace Kaufman, who lives on Poole Slough, on the Oregon coast near Newport. Wallace spends his days observing the wildlife, kayaking the slough, taking photographs, and, in general, immersing himself in the coastal, tidal-river ecology.

      As soon as Mike and I arrived Friday evening, the three of us jumped in Wallace's kayaks and paddled to the bay, where the harbor seals obliged us with their clown routine, popping up behind our boats and gazing at us with their puppy-eyes, their whiskers alert. Then down they would go, only to pop up again in unexpected places.

     The next morning Mike and I took the kayaks upriver. Blue herons flew at the edge of the forest, landing in trees above the slough. 

Sand pipers ran along the muddy shores. A red-tail hawk soared overhead, and a kingfisher made a bee-line up the river then hovered mid-air with his wings awhir before settling on a wire over the river. Mike and I paddled at a leisurely pace, setting athwart our paddles from time to time to train binoculars on the birds. We paddled until the salted river became too shallow to continue.

      It was easy and fun until the return, when we were paddling against the wind. Oh. My. God. I wa sure my kayak was standing still no matter how hard I pulled on the paddle. What would I do if I weren't strong enough to get back to Wallace's dock? I gauged Mike's progress. I figured he would manage to get back to Wallace's, and then he and Wallace could come after me in the two-person kayak. I would be rescued.

      In the event, it wasn't necessary. I managed to get back to the dock, my arms aching.

      Wallace steamed oysters from his catch down at the dock for dinner, and I made a cobbler from the blackberries he had picked. He brought kale and tomatoes from his garden and offered us all sorts of chutneys and blackberry syrups he had canned. Mike had brought both wine and port, and Wallace served his homemade blackberry brandy. In spite of the lively conversation that flowed with the alcohol. I finally gave up and went to bed, both nights, leaving Wallace and Mike to solve the problems of the world.

      Early Monday morning, before Mike and I had to leave for the Rogue Valey, Wallace joined us for a last kayak trip down the slough to the bay. The sun was just coming up through the mist, perfect light for good photographs. 

We watched a flock of seagulls dive-bomb a blue heron who had found a perch in their territory. As we got closer to the pier where the harbor seals aggregate, we saw five snowy egrets on the bank. 

Slowly and silently we paddled closer, until Wallace got quite close to them and took some beautiful photographs.

      On the way back to the house, Wallace decided to take the route through the marsh instead of the river route. The tide was going out, but he thought the water would stay deep enough for us to get back to his dock.

      The muddy banks of the marsh stood tall above the water, and Wallace was soon so far ahead of Mike and me (Mike because of me, as he kept waiting for me to catch up) that we lost him in the twists and turns of the marsh. We valiantly paddled on, following what we thought was the channel, trying to avoid the shallowest places. Finally we came to an ambiguous turn. I tried one way, Mike the other. My kayak got stuck in the mud, and I had to do some fancy maneuvering and strong pushing to get it free again. Mike was having similar trouble. Finally, though we knew the house was now directly across the marsh, we didn't know anything to do but turn around and paddle – fast, to beat the out-flowing tide – back to the river, where we could move more freely. As we rounded the last turn in the river, we heard Wallace blowing a signal to us on his bugle. He and his neighbors were on the dock, watching for us: our three-person rescue crew.

      Wallace had had his own trouble with the outgoing tide and eventually had gotten out of his kayak and walked through the marsh, toting the kayak behind him like something on the Eerie Canal.

      After a quick breakfast, Mike and I gathered our things and repacked the car, then waved goody-by, leaving the exciting salt-water ecology behind and turning back to the familiar but, I'm sorry to say, still smoky mountain ecology of home.