Time on the River
Canoe Trip on October 25

At 8 AM, it was rather cool and damp but amazingly, it was Not raining. Nine of us met our leader Bill and Ron the coordinator from Bike and Boat at the boat house/storage garage in Bethlehem. After introductions and instructions, we picked out a paddle, buckled on our vests, crept cautiously into the canoes ( us beginner boaters anyway ) and pushed out into the current. The canoe teams were my husband Kevin and me, Bill with Nancy, Joe and Candy. The fourth twosome was Diane and Dave who are new to the Valley; they saw the trip listed on our Web page. ( hurrah!) The ninth person, Amy, brought her own kayak.

Having been in a canoe only three times, I warily paddled out into the choppy river. The 8 mile trip starts out by going under the Hill-to-Hill Bridge. The changes of the current, the large concrete footings, the steel girders and traffic rattling overhead - going under a bridge can be disconcerting but it is definitely enjoyable. How many times do I drive across that bridge without time for even a brief glance at the river?

Apprehension quickly took second place to appreciation of the beauty of the day. The canoe floated briskly along; the water was deep blue and slate gray with white tops on all the little wavelets. The sky was the clear cobalt blue of autumn, crossed with the trails of jets.

After the bridge is the long stone levee of the Bethlehem Steel plant. Like an ancient ruin, the plant silently sprawls along the south bank. The towering maze of brick and steel now rather picturesque in its state of rusting old glory.

Past South Bethlehem when houses give way to trees, it becomes much quieter. Occasionally friendly walkers waved to us from the towpath but otherwise we were alone. Although the fall colors were not great this year, the trees in their shades of green and golden brown draped with red Virginia creeper were still beautiful.

Bill spotted late-to-migrate rough winged swallows perched on an overhead powerline. A kingfisher was heard and then seen flying along the far shore. We startled a blue heron that flew on ahead in its slow graceful way. After catching up to it several times, it finally flew up over the trees to circle around behind us. Our eagle-eyed leader somehow noticed a Cooper’s hawk, even though it was already behind us and flying into the sun! (Sometime later, he also pointed out an oriole nest- a gray blob the size of a tennis ball dangling in the vines at the top of a tulip poplar.)

A green heron - according to Bill another late migrant - was spotted in the shrubbery. Also one lone turkey was seen stalking nervously along the bank. The Carolina wrens called out for “cheeseburger, cheeseburger “ from the shoreline during most of the way.

Somewhere around Freemansburg, I finally warmed up. - the polarfleece kept out most of the damp but didn’t stop the cold breeze there in the front seat of the canoe. We also came through some “white” water. Our canoe narrowly missed a rock, then while Kevin turned around to warn the others, we bounced off another one hiding just under the surface. Everyone managed to get around them in various states of gracefulness; there were no casualties.

The water became smooth again making paddling quite easy. All the city noise dropped away. When the one last dog conveniently stopped barking, it was wonderfully quiet. At Bill’s suggestion we even stopped paddling, to peacefully just drift along; watching the shoreline, the blue sky or the yellow leaves suspended in the clear water racing on their own journey downstream.

We stopped at the “new” public boat ramp for second breakfast/early lunch/bathroom break. Most agreed that although it is nice to provide public access to the river, it could have been done much less obtrusively. Too many trees were cut down, replaced by too much macadam, concrete, gravel and lawn. This led to a discussion about the deleterious “edge affects” on the migratory neo-tropical songbirds which then blended into history of the river.

Back in the canoes, we took the left side when an island divided the river. The wind and the slack water required more paddling. The last time I was there, the water was covered with green algae and duckweed. This time the water was quite clear. As I watched the patterns of leaves and rocks on the bottom, Amy announced a deer was on the bank - in the two seconds it took to turn my head, it had already vanished noiselessly into the brush.

We made one more stop to visit (and hug) some big old trees. We learned about native vines and the pressures of beaver and deer on the forest as Bill lead us through his secret grove of trees: white, red and black oaks, green and white ashes, short muscular ironwood trees, tulip poplars and American beeches -with and without graffiti.

By 2:30, we rounded the end of the last island to make the exciting dash across the current to the spit of land above the canal house. Exciting to me because 200 yards ahead is the chain dam, that unassuming name, marked by a smooth white line across the river, actually translates into a 15’ waterfall with concrete teeth at the bottom. If you were swept over, survival was not guaranteed.

Though the chance of that happening is slim - the current is not overpowering and the “dash” not far or strenuous - the knowledge of danger so close makes my heart beat faster and my arms paddle faster.

Itsy was waiting on shore to help us pull out the canoes. Although Ron was late to pick us up, no one seemed overly concerned. We wandered around the lock house, sat in the sun and finished lunches or visited with Itsy, enjoying the chili and spicy cornbread she had made for us.

I got home around 4 p.m., a long day but well worth it. I didn’t get some housework done and I didn’t get some bulbs planted, but back at work on Monday, I felt good having something more interesting to mark my weekend. More important was the revival to my spirit that happened by spending the last day of Daylight Saving out in nature with a good group of like-minded people.

By Jill Stanley

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