The River Landing

Canoeing the Willow Thickets of Chautauqua National Wildlife Refuge

September 19, 2009

I launched my canoe at the old boat ramp at Chautauqua Refuge’s south pool. At this time of the year, the water would normally be quite low, sometimes even too shallow for a canoe. But refuge managers have kept the water levels deep for the last couple of years in an attempt to set back the black willow thicket that is threatening to take over the south pool. Extensive rains and a frequently flooding Illinois River this year have encouraged this effort.

From a distance, the flooded willow thickets look impenetrable. But a closer approach would show that the trees are spaced far enough apart for canoe travel. The thickets, which began growing in earnest about 15 years ago, have been self-thinning and growing taller ever since; beavers have also been thinning the willows a bit as attested by their numerous cuttings and occasional lodges. But the flooding keeps succession from proceeding as it normally would toward a silver maple-green ash forest. This thicket that is becoming a forest is solid black willow, with the largest individuals about 10 inches in diameter and 25 to 30 feet tall.

Out in the open water, migrating tree swallows kept me company, darting close to the canoe as they gulped insects to fuel their southward migrations. At the willow thicket, which seemed to cover a not insignificant proportion of the south pool, a great blue heron took flight from a willow perch. And great egrets stood on branches that barely protruded from the water. A belted kingfisher perched on a higher snag, and let out its usual rattle call as I floated past. Though I was still on the open water, from within the flooded willow forest I heard wood duck calls echoing from the trees. At one point, ten wood ducks flew from the shelter of the willows; and I speculated that a true survey of the entire thicket-forest would undoubtedly yield many more. The willows are clearly providing birds with needed habitat, though obviously not the open-water diving ducks or ducks of open marshes.

For a few moments, I enjoyed the warm morning sun on my back; but I paddled onward, bound for the cool shelter of the willows, where I planned to have an early lunch and read. Then a loud, high-pitched calling from the willow edge commanded my attention. My first thought was "shorebird," but then I estimated the shallowest water in the willows was about four feet deep; so, I reasoned, a shorebird could not have made that sound. And then I saw the osprey, flying directly toward me. It probably used the willows as a night roost and early morning foraging perch, and was awaiting mid-morning thermal activity before continuing southward on its journey. The bird circled around and then rapidly gained altitude, before soaring away toward the southwest. I struggled to keep the bird in my binoculars as the breeze continually turned my canoe in the wrong direction for viewing. But within a few minutes, the osprey was nearly beyond sight, and so I continued with my paddling business, to the willows and shade.

Hiding in the black willows at Chautauqua NWR.

Birding from an Illinois River Logjam

As luck would have it, the day of my voluntary furlough day from work (i.e., day off, no pay) was predicted to be sunny and warm, with light breezes and low humidity. A perfect summer day for a canoe-birding trip to the Illinois River. And so, by 7:30 a.m. I was launching my canoe into the south pool of Chautauqua National Wildlife Refuge. In the aftermath of a rainy spring, the Illinois River was about eight feet above flood stage, high enough to be completely over the refuge’s south levee system, giving free access to the Illinois River, about one and a half miles to the northwest.

Once on the water, my view of the refuge opened up to the broad Lake Chautauqua and the four-mile-wide Illinois River valley. Briefly I glanced at seven American white pelicans scattered about, a few double-crested cormorants, several ring-billed gulls, and a belted kingfisher; but otherwise, I concentrated on paddling to the river, where I planned to eat breakfast, read, and relax.

Chautauqua Refuge's south pool.

In a very short time, I sailed right over the refuge’s levee, crossed the Liverpool Island side channel, and entered the flooded forests of Liverpool Island. Floating high above the ground surface, there were few obstructions, and it was easy to paddle through the forest around the mature cottonwood and silver maple trees. A variety of bird songs and calls echoed from the tree canopy high overhead; prothonotary warblers, warbling vireos, and house wrens led the chorus in volume and repetition more than other species. But such diversions notwithstanding, I still headed straight for the river on the opposite side of the island, to find a place along the river’s edge where I planned to remain for the better part of the morning.

The problem was that even within the forest, the water was flowing, although at a lesser velocity than in the main river, and I did not have an anchor. Yet with a bit of maneuvering, I was able to wedge the canoe within a logjam of several large silver maple logs and branches on the island’s edge, which prevented the canoe from drifting downstream. Then once ensconced within the logjam, water flowed and eddied all around and under me, but the canoe was held in place against the trees by the flowing water. Finally I relaxed and could pay more attention to my surroundings, watch and literally feel the river’s flow, and enjoy the abundant bird life.

After an hour or so, I counted 26 bird species within the flooded island forest (see accompanying table); if it had been earlier in the breeding season, there would have been more. Occasional barn, tree, and northern rough-winged swallows flew over the river, briefly crossing my field of view. All was calm for a long time. But when a large v-bottomed cruiser passed, it set up a commotion of large swells that went crashing through the forest; still my logjam held fast, and I simply rode out the waves. Later a towboat-barge, with a busy crew on deck and a sign reading "Dangerous Cargo," passed, sending out another series of waves, though these were much smaller than the cruiser-generated waves. And no one, except the birds, knew of the canoe hidden within the deep shade of silver maples, wedged inside of a half-sunken pile of snags.

Eventually the sounds of leaves rustling in the upper tree canopies signaled that the wind, in the warm morning sun, was picking up speed. I took that as a sign to leave, and I expected to fight the wind on the open expanse of Lake Chautauqua as I returned to the refuge boat ramp. But before extracting the canoe from the logjam, I thought how unusual it was and how fortunate I was to have a day with such favorable conditions all converging at once, and how such a day cannot be planned for and may not occur again for quite some time. Circumstances have a way of changing. So on the return trip, I paddled slower than on the way out, savoring every moment, wind and all.

Illinois River Towboat-barge: Side Channels Illustration, Page 6

I took this photograph during the winter of 1991-92 on the Illinois River, a few miles upstream from Havana, Illinois.  At the time, I lived in a small cottage on the river bluffs, and it was easy to slide my canoe into the river if the weather was anything at all resembling mild.  I canoed in the winter quite a bit in those days.

When a towboat-barge, which is a towboat pushing one or several barges, passes in the middle of the river, the swells generated are usually surprisingly easy to handle, as long as you are in the deeper waters.  In the shallows, the waves can build up and crash down with great force, which could easily upset a canoe. 

This photograph was used to illustrate my first publication with Illinois Audubon magazine (Number 247 Winter 1994), in an article called Seasonal Flow.  Patti Reilly Malmborg used it to create the illustration on page 6 of the book Side Channels: A Collection of Nature Writing and Memoir.

For more information on Side Channels, see the author's web site (http://www.side-channels.com/).

Mouth of the Spoon River: Side Channels Illustration

This photograph was used by Patti Malmborg Reilly to create the illustration on the title page of Part 1, River Life in Side Channels:  A Collection of Nature Writing and Memoir.  I took this shot from my canoe in April 2008 on the Spoon River, just before the trees leafed out. 

The far tree line, across the Illinois River, is a small peninsula called "Bellrose Island."  The Havana Park District maintains this as a natural area.  The riverbank on the left side of the photograph is part of the Emiquon National Wildlife Refuge.