River for Sunset

A quick departure from beneath the town of Parkville and down several miles of the Missouri! Both colour and lively wildlife were plentiful on this unusually warm evening drift- much needed things that seem so rare in the nastiest part of winter!

I couldnt believe the numbers of birds! They showed the second I hit the water- their ridiculous abundance meant they would not go unnoticed- even the sound of 'em was something amazing. Ducks, geese, crows, hawks, eagles and all sorts of excited, colorful songbirds. The geese smothered almost every sandbar and wing-dike; ducks only floated on the calmer surfaces of the river. I saw many that I did not recognise, and nearly all kinds that I would have been able to identify! A pair of common Mergansers were a swift surprise.

There was a species out there that I never got a satisfying look at- a white-breasted something which made a slap on the water with every stroke of it's wings. The result was a sound produced on take-off that was very similar to that of a playing-card stuck in the spokes of a child's rolling bicycle. Dont know why, but that was he first thing I thought of when I heard the ducks skipping off the river. They were shy birds; I was not able to get closer than a river's-width away from any of the small groups I saw.

A curious series of leaf-crunchings sounded the bank's decent by some nearby critter. I stopped paddling and retrieved my camera from my jacket. It was a great surprise to me when I found the first of what would be a large flock of turkeys creeping sideways down the eroded bank of the river. The big guy was so focused on the loose material in his way that he failed to notice my bright-orange craft approaching for some time. I felt terrible when the sight of me- only a few boat-lengths away- startled him and drove him strait up the nasty path which he'd put so much effort into descending. Something in me wanted to get frustrated at the bird for so obviously finding me an enemy, but how could you get angry at a thing with such a gawky silhouette!?

He stood at the top of the bench with his many companions- the sun illuminated only the turkey's brightly-coloured waddle and the tip of his beak- The thin tail and tapered neck of the bird, and it's basketball-body all remained opaque and dark.

The shy things lined up and started a smooth, calm stroll out of my sight. Only their tiny, twitchy heads disrupted the flow of the group.

I became shaded, too- the high wall that protected my new friend from me blocked the direct sunlight before the last of the parade disappeared. Still, I floated. The river propelled me just as quickly or slowly as if there was nothing significant going on. Maybe it knows that every minute out on that water is equal in beauty and value. Such wonderful experiences are to be had on every mile of the river!

I stopped at an unusually bare sandbar and stirred up some invisible geese. The Canada's are al that there are, not that Im complaining!!

They left the edge of the sandbar as I arrived, though not like any ducks would . The geese file off into the air slowly and seemingly organized, not in some rushed explosion expected of their miniatures that burst off of the water upon first becoming aware of me. I think that the geese are wise. They appear more relaxed and more vocal than earlier in the season. The V's fly lower, perhaps adapting to a change in horribly busy hunting seasons- like how a mob of snow geese will vortex vertically to an altitude where they are less likely to be shot before they start a directed flight. Even the slightest collision with a pattern of shot will prove fatal for a goose. Any weakness will make them a fine meal for a deserving predator. I saw only a single injured goose on my float- maybe we are far enough past season that the weakened have already been taken from these flocks.

One section of the river- the mile or so upstream of the 635 bridge- was packed with flying-things! A mess of eagles; I counted 17 in just a few minutes. A massive murder of crows conquered much of the stretch. They were thickest in the tallest trees and seemed to darken the sky above the river here. At times the crows grew so dense that the eagles were forced to vary their flights around the mass as to avoid any unnecessary collisions. They constantly came and left- a stretch of them scattered through the sky from the tree to a northern horizon. Tiny starlings were in no short-supply either!

Several shifting blobs- murmurations I think they're called- transformed the view downstream from the bridge. Cool!

I was excited to slide under the bridge- I dont know why; Something just so thrilling about such a rare perspective.

I am not as familiar with this stretch of the Missouri as I should be. Kaw Point, at the confluence of the Kansas River, was my destination and I suspected two or three bridges and many stream-side buildings along the way. I would surely pass under the cement-giant 635 and by a few private, rusted ports, but mystery and adventure was what was to be encountered on my 10-12 mile float.

Ive passed though this stretch of river three times by paddle and many more while propelled by engine, but none of those trips came to mind this gorgeous sunset. I passed under an unknown pair of steel bridges which were beautiful in the low sun and breathtaking when the clouds moved in. They are the 7th street Trafficway, composed of a larger, northbound bridge called the Platte Purchase bridge and a thinner southbound one, the Fairfax bridge. The NB lanes were built in '57 as a toll bridge next it's older sister, also a toll completed in September 1934.

With the beautiful clouds soon came an intruding swell of grey cover. It started out as a long series of dramatic bands and grew into a boring blanket for sunset (didnt stop the colour!) as I paralleled 169 and ended the strait in wind and cold near the airport. It was hear that I began to wonder where I was. Downtown became lit and the dropping temperatures were beginning to get to me. The Kaw snuck up on me and made for an exciting, challenging rush to catch my exit up the swollen river. The BLACK Missouri was not swollen, but the Kansas definitely seemed high! The river pushed me around at the confluence and had me working up the curved area of slower water downstream of the ramp. Night set in and my 9-footer slipped through the slick mud on the bottom of the ramp.

The mud has always been that perfect consistency here; that leg-eating, boot-stealing, slimy, sticky stuff that will surprise anyone expecting to get back up the ramp in a rear-wheel drive or he who steps off of the cement near the water. It consumed the blade of my paddle when I tried using the thing for support, and I was sure not to make the mistake of sharing my footwear with it.

It was a great sense of relief (and cold!) that met me and my kayak at the top of the ramp. My lost parents were kind enough to pick me up a half-hour later, once they found the place! The wind whipped, and even flurries began to fall, but downtown made for a cool photo here, looking over the confluence. So there you have it! An extraordinary two hours, fifteen minutes of birds, rocks, bridges and a 45-degree drop in temperature! I love it!!!