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A Path to Nature in Your Life
Dave is back! Here is his reflection on how Nature offers us solace and a chance for reflection. Thanks Dave for a glimpse into your heart/mind! - Editor.
Giving Thanks On The Water
On a recent long airplane flight, I was listening to a book on CD where the author was discussing the value of quieting ones mind of chatter and was listing ways that people do it. As soon as he mentioned that some folks seek nature, my mind left the CD and clicked into daydream mode. I immediately identified with nature as fulfilling that need for me and how often I seek refuge in it and draw strength from it. I turned my iPod™ off and passed the time thinking about times that I purposely, or without realizing it, seek out nature for a benefit beyond pure recreation. Tough times, stressful times, happy times, reflective times...
One “tradition” for me is that on holidays I seek a reflective moment…and true to my character, I typically seek that moment in nature.
Thanksgiving Day this year was a day of catch-up as I had just returned from two weeks of travel in Ecuador. The weather was warm for late November and winds were calm. These were idea conditions for kayaking. I had many excuses to not paddle and many reasons to “wait till another day." But it was too good an opportunity to pass up, so in my first opportunity that day to reinforce a “general life policy” I try to adhere to, I decided to seize the moment and grab the perfect conditions. I happily invoked my holiday tradition and decided to venture outside for a paddle in my sea kayak.
Like most times in nature, my mind quieted rather quickly and I became immersed in the moment of my surroundings. Sometimes I benefit from nature by completely quieting my mind and observing what happens around me. Other times I gain value by meditating on what presents itself. This trip was one of the latter, as I was led along a variety of paths. My mind drifted along with the tide.
I invite you along on my wanderings as I paddled on this great day.
The only ripples on the water come from my kayak as I slide it into the water from the edge of the salt marsh grass. I had heard there were 6 to 8 foot waves on the ocean but there was no evidence of that here in the cove; one of the values that Casco Bay Maine provides is plenty of sheltering bays and islands, so I’m only rarely shackled when I have the urge to paddle.
The sun feels summer-like and warm on my face. I smile and I’m instantly transported back to just two days before, when I was hiking with my son at the foot of the mountain top glacier at 16,000 feet on the 21,000 ft Chimborazo volcano in Ecuador, and I had felt a piercing of the suns rays like I had never felt before. And that was great, but I now become keenly aware that it felt somewhat like home to have my chest about a foot above sea level, as well as my seat a couple of inches below it, in the bottom of the kayak!
Several black ducks take to the air from the water and I notice how many ducks are in flight around the cove and ocean. Black ducks in particular are drawn to quiet back coves and mud flats and are not very tolerant of human disturbance. I see many bufflehead and mallards, and am buzzed by one common goldeneye, also known as whistlers for the loud whistling their wings make when they fly.
My mind goes quiet for a while as I take it all in. Soon however, the visual and auditory stimulation surrounding me gently tugs on my mind and I let myself be led along.
My destination had been a certain island in the bay, but as is so often the case, I become distracted by what I encountered during the journey. I find that I alternately paddle a zig-zag course towards whatever catches my attention, and take frequent pauses to feel the sun, watch breeze and current lines on the water, and to take in the views of the various shorelines of the mainland and islands.
Like many times when I kayak, I like to visualize the shoreline as it must have looked before development and to ponder the effects of human expansion and growth on nature. Having paddled many shorelines in rural Maine and in Nova Scotia, I appreciate that this isn’t really that challenging from southern Maine; I mean we’re not talking southeastern New York here. Still, the effects are evident.
I think about our societies’ strong desire to build our homes and businesses as close as possible to water and the impact our development has on our shorelines and wildlife and water resources. Development too close to water has the obvious impact to visual quality...most folks would agree that an uninterrupted view of water and forest is like gold...but development also has the effect of making that shoreline less valuable for species of birds and wildlife that don’t tolerate human activity. Having lawns and roads too close to the water’s edge also introduces all kinds of pollutants directly into the water. Building and storing docks on top of salt marsh grass causes an obvious loss of habitat that essentially removes that area from any foraging waterfowl and many marine organisms.
The desire of folks to build houses close to water is probably an irreversible reality. With that as a given though, there is much we can do on an individual and local level to reduce the impact. I have faith that many folks would seize the opportunity if they knew the value of allowing green buffers of vegetation instead of mowing down to high water marks; not using lawn chemicals in places where they can pass directly into the water; and storing docks above high water lines instead of on marsh grasses. By doing this, there would be a huge increase in the value of shoreline habitat for waterfowl and other wildlife, in visual value for humans and on the quality of the water that supports fish and shellfish. I happily remember that one of the most rewarding aspects of my professional work has been working to restore degraded coastal areas and I quickly decide that I need to find a way to do even more of it!
I paddle further and I’m greeted by nasally chatter of long-tailed ducks and I’m glad that their migration pattern brings large numbers of them to the coast of Maine. The long-tailed duck was until recently called the oldsquaw duck. It’s obviously a more descriptive and politically correct name, but part of me feels some remorse for the lost charm of the oldsquaw name. Long-tailed ducks nest in the high arctic tundra. They’re probably the deepest diving duck – they’ve been caught in fishing nets as deep as 200 feet. Their plumage is striking, both winter and summer, and they’re a favorite for winter bird watchers, being visible both from bays and ocean shores.
Photo credit: www.deltawaterfowl.org
A Beatles song pops into my head, so I run with it...“I’m fixing a hole where the rain came in, stops my mind from wandering...where it will go. And it really doesn’t matter if it’s wrong or right...if I believe I’m right...”
The karaoke moment passes and I paddle on.
I paddle across to a small rock outcrop island and pause to listen to the lazy intermittent swell tumble in and over the rocks and then back out...one of my favorite sounds! This summer I was introduced to rock gardening in my sea kayak. Instead of paddling away from ledges and rocks, you head towards them and ride the high parts of the swell over, throughand onto the “hazards.” That’s right, sea kayaking as an extreme sport! It’s exhilarating to essentially tie yourself to the swell and to feel and work with the energy of the water.
I move on around the outcrop and am greeted a few boat-lengths in front of me by two horned grebes that I startle – one into a dive and the other to flight. One of several species of grebes that winter on the coast of Maine, they are one of those subtle species that many folks rarely notice unless they look for them. Adding to the list I’ve seen today, my brain scrolls through the birds I know I will see in the winter along Maine’s southern coast: black, surf and white-winged scoters, common eiders, harlequin ducks, common and red-throated loons, red-breasted, common and an occasional hooded merganser, a range of gull species and the bald eagle. Diversity and numbers of these birds can vary, but they are overall high, and its further visible benefit of working hard to protect and improve our coastal areas.
I hear the motor of a single boat in the distance...the only one I’ll hear on this paddle. It reminds me that this summer season saw much less motor boat traffic on my paddles...likely a byproduct of the gas prices. But a lack of motor noise is typical for off-season paddles. Timing is important, along with a healthy respect for weather, paddling location and proper gear, but late fall and winter paddling can provide unique experiences. I think that the majority of my “water-like-glass” paddles have been in the winter. On those quiet days, the sounds of eiders and long-tailed ducks travel long distances and you get a rare opportunity to sense just how many of them must be wintering in Casco Bay. You don’t have to be in a kayak to get a feel for this. Just pick a quiet calm morning...and head to the shore.
As I slowly make my return, I’m greeted at the point by a friendly couple who just moved in, standing on shore with two black labs…one of which turns out to be my dog. Having me paddle away was probably just too much after I’d been gone the previous two weeks and she had followed me along the shoreline, saw them in their kayaks and swam out to greet them, apparently thinking they were me. I altered my course from a likely straight line back, to one that followed the intricate meanderings of the shoreline as I tried to give her a break from having to swim the whole way back. I can’t be sure how many times I’ve paddled this part of the cove….each time paddling rapidly past this shoreline to get to the open ocean. Now, thanks to my dog I discovered interesting new ledges, coves, quiet marshy spots, and even a possible fishing spot or two. I “acknowledged” my dog for deflecting me onto the path less taken and influencing me to take my time, instead of rushing off on straight lines. Another life lesson, and one I can’t be reminded of often enough!
As I pull in towards shore, I notice that the salt marsh grass already is grazed by Canada geese down to a short nubble all up and down the shoreline. It’s early in the year for it to be grazed so low, so I pause to piece together the story. Typically the geese that winter in the area have foraged on the shoreline after the pastures on inland farms are buried by snow. The tide keeps these areas clear of snow, until a stretch of very cold weather brings on shoreline ice cover. I suspect the early heavy grazing may be related to the fact there seems to be many more geese than usual hanging out this year in the cove. Geese can have a large impact on their habitats as they are capable of multiplying rapidly beyond what a habitat can support. Mans’ land use patterns have led to large increases in non-migratory geese around developed areas, whereas migratory flocks have until recently been subject to sharp reductions in populations as they flew through multiple hunting zones. However, successful wildlife management has fine-tuned hunting seasons, spared migratory flocks and concentrated hunting pressure on resident flocks. I’m aware that one year of higher numbers and feeding activity doesn’t exactly represent a trend, but it will serve as an interesting baseline for future winter paddles.
As I pulled the kayak from the water, I pause to breathe in the fresh air and watch the water line ebb out just a few more inches. I reflect upon the importance of nature in my life and to give appreciation for the gift it has given me today.
-Dave
Dave Santillo, Ph.D. is an outdoorsman, naturalist and adventurer who delights in approaching his relationship to nature from a variety of physical, spiritual, recreational and educational perspectives. He has a Ph.D. in Environmental and Forest Biology and lucky enough to take part in a wide variety of studies of wildlife, fish, plants and insects for over 25 years in his professional life.
Got outdoor adventure stories? Send them along to us at: editors@spiritliving.org.
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