Daysi Tragesser

Seed Bombing

'A' and I put in at the very north end of the big lake and paddle east into the mouth of the Sammamish Slough.  It is a fine sunny summer day, not too hot with a light breeze.  The big lake has been kept high (it is dam controlled) and it is clear that the lake at the other end of the slough is nearly at the same level - there is no perceptible current.

An osprey passes over with a fish in its talons.

We pass a large flock of teal that are scurrying off into the marsh island at the mouth of the slough.  There are more ducks here than I remember.  I don't think that I have come up here in the summer that often, but I don't remember clearly.



This is A's first trip on the Sammamish and the Sammamish is always a bit weird.  It comes at you in waves...expensive waterfront McMansions, which then give way to open brushy wetlands, then one of the best situated trailer parks in America, then a golf course, another fine trailer park, some forest land, another trailer park, park land, and not so bad backsides of industrial parks. 

There are, as always, a good number of great blue herons.  We also flush a green heron a few times...it is reluctant to leave its current territory.

Those are the details.  But, this is a long trip for a half day.  In fact, it is a very good half day of paddling.  We are covering more distance at a higher pace than I have ever done on this river.  'A' is becoming a strong paddler.  At a short break, we talk about how canoeing is different than any other form of travel that either of us has done.  We parallel a bike trail that is well used today, and I point out that we are on a different path than "they" are in many meanings.  'A' mentions how we seem to arrive at places that should take a long time to get to quicker than one expects.  She points out that we travel by canoe on ancient routes that are no longer the "usual". It is meditative travel, and we arrive by the back route unseen and unexpected.  Even we don't expect it.  After two hours I am ready to return but I say nothing.  A thinks we should turn around in another half hour, so on we go for 30 more minutes.

seed bombing

On the return we stop to eat blackberries that hang out over the river, and we seed bomb.  'A' has brought the last of her native seed bombs, clay balls with a variety of native plant seeds mixed in.  We hurl them at likely spots in need of some love.  'A' remarks that neither of us will probably ever know if any of them will grow.  She seems to be satisfied with the unknown of it.

We have covered just short of 16 miles.  It is a good half day.