July 18, 1991 - A Glorious Gambol Down the PeconicC8 The Suffolk Times • July 18, 1991
A Glorious Gambol Down the Peconic
By Paul Stoutenburgh
I hate to let a super -cool dry day go
by without taking advantage of it so
when the wind swung to the northwest
the other day I said, "Let's go down the
Peconic River." Years ago I'd often
taken interested groups through this
unique area and longed to refresh myself
with its lush surroundings. It was also a
chance to acquaint my daughter and her
children to the river. The spontaneous
enthusiasm that came from the kids
when they heard about the idea told me I
had made the right decision.
We'd use the old Grumman canoe and
take the sail along just in case that
northwest wind might be able to help us
along. The sky was clear blue with only
a few puffy white clouds that made it
just perfect. We entered the river where
the first culvert lets an old forgotten
road pass overhead. As we were putting
our gear in the canoe we could hear pad-
dlers from up river coming along. We
knew they were novices for we could
hear the paddles banging on the sides of
their canoes.
Sure enough, one or two passed by,
drifting on the ever -quiet water before
us. Then, for all of us to see, the last
canoe was swept toward the far bank and
our grandchildren learned their first les-
son in how not to canoe. "Don't lean to
the side to avoid oncoming brush and
tree limbs." As the cool morning waters
brought their canoe in contact with the
bank they did the "no no" and leaned to
the side to avoid the branches.
The canoe slowly tipped over,
spilling the two embarrassed canoeists
Focus on
Nature
and filling up in waist -deep water. We
left them to collect their self - respect and
empty their submerged canoe and started
our journey down the river. My oldest
grandson paddled up forward and I took
over the stern. The ladies and young
Sara sat in the bottom and we soon set-
tled down to enjoy the river as we qui-
etly glided eastward.
Spatterdock was the most obvious
floating plant with golfball -size yellow
flowers. We saw evening nightshade
throughout the entire trip climbing on
whatever grew high enough for its end-
less vines to cling to. We'd see its pur-
ple potato- blossomlike flower with its
bright yellow center all along as well as
its green berries and in some spots its
final red - ripened berries, which we are
told are poisonous.
Then a procession of old familiar
plants passed by as the cool breeze
helped us along: the pickerel weed with
its purple column of flowers and blunt
spear - shaped leaves. Dodder, now yel-
low, wound itself like some giant spider
web over its victims, sucking the life
and energy out of whatever was green. A
parasite that has gone wild.
Joe -Pye -weed blossomed pale
raspberry on its tall stems. Now and
then great clumps of cattails would
dominate a small section of the river
bank while in other more massive areas
phragmites had pushed its way to the
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Photo by Paul Stoutenburgh
PECONIC RIVER RAFT —This is as close as you can get to the Tom
Sawyer of today. Youth, if given a chance, will always find a way to
enjoy the outdoors.
river's edge. It's a terrible invader this
phragmites and in time I'm sure we'll
see it dominating the river.
Time Out For Lunch
We held off lunch as long as we could
and then picked a cool shady spot under
a railroad trestle and pulled the canoe up
for a well- deserved break. It was most
delightful as we sat on our boat
cushions and ate our sandwiches and
drank our cool drinks. Then voices could
again be heard coming downstream.
More canoeists slid in front of us and
then a rubber raft with three young Tom
Sawyers drifted into view. Everything
about them was Tom Sawyer: haircuts,
dress, fishing poles, confusion and talk.
Robby, my grandson, struck up a
conversation with senior Tom Sawyer
and found out they'd caught a water
snake and some turtles which he
immediately wanted to see.
They pulled up and showed us their
treasures and I must say we all shared
the excitement of their finds. I was par-
ticularly interested in the musk turtles
and had to take a picture of them. As I
was photographing the turtles the senior
Tom Sawyer waded down the river and
caught a bluegill, just to show his skill,
I'm sure.
The prize came when again the senior
Tom Sawyer put his hand in the fish
bucket and pulled out his catch of the
day ... a banded water snake. How proud
he was of it. Then as noisily and as
quickly as they came they got every-
thing back into their raft and drifted
away.
It's seldom we see such down -to -earth
enthusiasm for the outdoors that passed
before us that day. To me it was a
highlight of our trip.
Later we'd see our own turtles slip
into the water as we moved by. We
marveled at the sky -blue daming needles
that darted about our canoe and one that
fascinated Sara as it lit on her hand.
We'd admire the delicate pink swamp
roses and whiff the fragrance of the now-
past white swamp azaleas that bright-
ened the waterway.
We saw a red - winged blackbird's nest
woven into a hanging bush beside the
river and throughout our trip the noisy
males with their red epaulets would an-
nounce our coming. Because of its sub-
dued color, we almost missed seeing a
great blue heron as it stalked off to the
side in the shallows.
A great white egret in contrast stood
like a statue in its hunting position. It
reached forward ready to strike, frozen in
its stance. Families of ducks with
mother in the lead hurried off to hide in
the greenery of the riverside. We were in
a world away from man. Cedar
waxwings flitted above us, catching
insects as did the tree swallows and
martins that are always found along this
food -ripe area.
At one or two places the sail was put
up to speed us along because paddling
sooner or later loses its appeal, even to
the most enthusiastic grandson. When
we reached our destination and had
loaded all our gear aboard the pickup to
head home, I think all of us could say it
proved to be one of the great days to go
down the Peconic.
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