Both the Illinois River and its connected backwater Quiver Lake were at 26.64 feet, near a record high flood level. So it seemed like a good opportunity to canoe over the flooded forests to photograph Quiver Lake’s active bald eagle nest. But while still at home making plans, the wind already blew a bit high, though not high enough to cancel canoeing. Later in the day, it was supposed to top out at about 12 miles per hour, which is not too bad, especially within the protection of the floodplain forest.
When I arrived at the Quiver Lake cabin about 10:30, the wind seemed much higher than 12 miles per hour. So I climbed down to the flooded sandy beach to assess the situation. Would I even be able to launch through all of the floating logs and other woody debris?
Launching would be possible, but cumbersome. Then the wind seemed to pick up speed even in the short time since my arrival—no whitecaps yet, but that was only a matter of time. Still, I thought, if I could make it across the lake, the water would be calmer in the lee of the forest. Was it worth the fight, though? The young adventurer in me shouted, Yes, go for it! But the safety monkey on my back said, There will be better opportunities on another day. So I stood there in a mental quagmire, unable to move.
And then I saw what was clearly the head of a swimming animal moving past about 30 feet away under the lower branches of a silver maple tree. My first thought was: beaver. It was too large for a muskrat. Finally, the animal moved out from beneath the tree and swam into the open water. Then I saw the long tail. This was a river otter!
Quiver Lake's flooded beach (Illinois River at 26.64 feet, May 9, 2019)
The wind blew toward me, so the otter may have been unaware of my presence. Standing perfectly still, I made a “sh sh” sound to attract its attention; the otter’s beady eyes stared straight in my direction, then it immediately climbed onto a floating log for a better view, then a second later slid like a fat snake back into the water, swimming back and forth, over and under floating logs, still not sure what made that strange sound.
My camera was in the car. So I thought if I quietly and carefully climbed the stairway back up the bluff for the camera, maybe I could get a photograph. But when I returned, the otter was gone. Canoeing plans may have been thwarted by the wind, but what a great compensation I received instead.