Company on the bay

By JOHN HOWELL
Posted 11/5/20

I spotted, or rather heard, the first harbingers of winter from above the Arctic Circle two weeks ago. They were chatting up a storm, gaggling to one another as they swam close to shore, periodically dunking their black heads to nibble seaweed. Well,

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Company on the bay

Posted

I spotted, or rather heard, the first harbingers of winter from above the Arctic Circle two weeks ago.

They were chatting up a storm, gaggling to one another as they swam close to shore, periodically dunking their black heads to nibble seaweed. Well, that’s what it looked they were eating.

Brants are smaller and rounder than Canada geese. They stick together and spend most of the time in the water. They aren’t visitors of golf courses and large lawns, which to the dismay of golfers and those with large estates can become favorite hangouts for Canada geese. Flotillas of brants numbering 20 or more birds, often separated by no more than 100 feet, will spend most of the winter just off shore before heading north in May and June.

Usually they are friendly company on morning rows going about their shoreline patrol, paying no attention to me although my rowing scull must look like some prehistoric monster with its slender 21-foot body and its 10-foot oars.

Last week, however, they were skittish. I suppose first arrivals don’t know what to make of me. Squawking and chattering they took to the air quickly disappearing in the fog bank creeping in from the north. The air became heavy and silent, the shoreline opaque with the Conimicut waterfront homes dark rectangular-shaped smudges. Above, muted blues showed through wispy clouds. In sharp contrast, the bottom no more than four feet below was clearly visible. Clumps of brown seaweed the size of softballs reminded me of tumbleweed as they swayed in the current across a sandy bottom flecked with white shells and occasionally marred by an automobile tire. Overall, water quality has improved. There’s less trash, too. Thankfully, I’m not seeing the building debris, plastic bags, bottles and cans that littered the bay years ago, just the tires that have probably been there for decades.

I thought I might see schools of small fish, as there had been only the week before. Following the fish were squadrons of cormorants that swooped in to quickly dive below the surface. Crying gulls circled overhead, waiting for larger fish to drive the bait to the surface so they could take their picking. But there was no such commotion. The water’s surface was polished gray with no hint of fish. I kept my pace with the dark swirls of my strokes soon disappearing in my wake.

This was not the entrapping fog I’ve encountered while sailing to Block Island. That can be suffocating, so thick that it absorbs everything but one’s fear of the unknown. This was a welcoming blanket from the thoughts of the day ahead and the regrets of the past. I maintained my rhythm absorbed in fog. A lone seagull broke from my gray wake, then after a quick look disappeared.

Perhaps I was close to home. I turned toward shore and the houses gained definition. I had overshot my destination, but that gave me more time to be on the water.

I listened for the brants, they weren’t talking so they couldn’t be anywhere near.

But I had heard their message. At this time of year, foggy days are opals, rare and mysterious.

Winter winds will be here soon, maybe even more snow.

The brants will be there. For them, this is a winter getaway. For me, they’re great company.

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  • mthompsondc

    Always appreciate your nature tales, John!

    Saturday, November 7, 2020 Report this