A day for the birds from Armand Bayou to Clear Lake

When mother nature presented me with a gorgeous, sunny Saturday morning in November, I found myself loading up the kayak and driving south once again. The morning chill lingered as I launched but the lightness of the breeze deprived it of its bite. I turned my bow downstream, determined to follow the bayou's course to Clear Lake for the first time. The character of the channel to the south of the park is quite different than the narrow northern stretch. It broadens progressively as it winds its way toward Mud Lake, finally finding its end in Clear Lake and through it, Galveston Bay. 

The character of the wildlife changed along with the bayou. While the chattering kingfishers and wading birds patiently fishing along the banks were familiar, my old friends the alligators didn't make an appearance. Instead some new players took the field as I worked my way downstream.

Across from the park, a row of gulls sat resting on tree that had fallen in the shallows. Soon after leaving them in my wake, I spotted this osprey perched above the bayou with the breeze ruffling his feathers.

I paddled on for a time before encountering a sight to make any Louisiana boy smile -- two brown pelicans sitting on stumps and basking in the morning sun. They were content to let me watch them preen as long as I kept a respectful distance.

While I lingered to watch the pelicans, I noticed a disturbance in the water ahead. A closer look with the binoculars revealed a deer swimming across the bayou. Before long it emerged into the shallows and disappeared into the woods of the Armand Bayou Nature Center.

As I continued along my way, the pelicans became more numerous:  perched on stumps, skimming over the bayou with their wingtips nearly touching the water, and wheeling overhead in large flocks.

Finally I reached Mud Lake where the wild character of the bayou's banks gives way to human development, and fishermen in gasoline powered boats start to outnumber those in kayaks. I paddled across its length and under the NASA Road 1 bridge, where the bayou empties into Clear Lake.

From the mouth of the bayou I could see all the way to the bridge at Kemah. The lake was alive with boats of all descriptions and despite the moderate breeze, the swells were the largest I've experienced in my kayak.  After surfing the swells for a time, I crossed back into Mud Lake and landed at Clear Lake Park for a picnic.

Fully refueled, I turned back upstream for an enjoyable paddle back to the launch.

More Pictures from Armand Bayou

Horsepen Bayou on a nearly perfect day

The first cool air of fall chased away the summer heat and drew me back to the water after a long absence. I returned to Armand Bayou, but for the first time I turned my kayak downstream toward Mud Lake. I rounded the curve of the bayou into a fairly stiff wind, with waves occasionally splashing over the side of the boat. By the time I reached the confluence with Horsepen Bayou, I was happy to turn into its sheltered waters.

The bayou was alive small bait fish, mullet, gar, turtles and the occasional alligator. In the air and trees above it were herons, egrets, kingfishers, and several hawks. I paddled upstream into the midst of the UH Clear Lake campus before turning back. Days like this remind me why fall in Texas is second only to spring in my affections.

More Pictures from Horsepen Bayou

No marshmallows required

The boat ramp is deserted as I arrive at Sheldon Lake in the predawn light. A few minutes later I am skimming across the water in my kayak, through air that is still and saturated with moisture. I pause to watch the sun climb over the eastern shoreline. The first hints of a morning breeze ripple the water and scatter the worst of the humidity.

As the sun clears the horizon I resume paddling toward the middle of the lake. Since my last visit, the water level has dropped farther and the growth of the aquatic plants has gone into overdrive. I weave between rafts of water lilies and mats of floating grasses. The birds become more active, with cormorants sunning themselves in the treetops and roseate spoonbills fishing in the shallows. I approach a small cypress tree and stop to watch an alligator laying in the shallow water at its base.

I move on to the east until the water becomes too shallow and I'm forced to change course toward the south and west. I hop from one cluster of cypress trees to the next and then into areas of open water surrounded by fields of lilies in bloom. Soon I spot the second alligator of the day and it's an unusually bold one. Rather than retreating or submerging as they usually do, it swims slowly in my direction. Is it being aggressive or just hoping I'll feed it? I'm not sure and I have no marshmallows*, so I maintain some spacing and observe it for a while before moving on. I continue to work my way through the lily fields, spotting four more alligators along the way.  Finally I run out of open water to paddle and make my way back to the launch. 

Without significant rain there may not be much water to paddle here by summer's end, but today was truly lovely.


More Pictures from Sheldon Lake

* The marshmallow thing is a True Blood reference and a joke. Don't feed the gators! :)

Memories of Spring on Picketts Bayou

Heat waves dance across the parched ground. Covetous eyes follow every wisp of cloud. Is a downpour finally coming? Will downdrafts with a hint of ozone drive away the heat? Or will we be left once again with only the mocking laughter of dry thunder?

The calendar's insistence that we are less than a month into Houston summer seems a cruel joke on days like these. Surely summer sneaked in shortly after the ice of early February melted and the rains stopped?

But perhaps that's not quite true. Scattered throughout late winter and early spring there were some truly beautiful days: crisp mornings with crystal clear skies, afternoons just warm enough for comfort but too cool to break a sweat, and air so clean it was a joy just breathing it in.

Since I have no paddling adventures to share from this weekend, I'm reminiscing about the last such perfect Saturday of the spring. It was the morning of May 14th when we loaded the kayaks and headed east to the Trinity River National Wildlife Refuge. The original plan was to launch our kayaks and lose ourselves for a few hours in the cypress groves of Champion Lake. But even in early May the drought had diminished the lake and made it mostly too shallow to paddle. Fortunately, Picketts Bayou beckoned from just across the levee.

We had scarcely cleared the launch when we spotted an alligator swimming the channel. It was only the first of about seven that put in an appearance that day. In the upper stretch of the bayou we exchanged greetings with several sets of people fishing in small power boats. Once we passed the shallows caused by this sand bar, we saw no other boats until we reached our turnaround point about three and a half miles downstream. Large alligator gar rolled frequently as we paddled slowly past banks covered in mixed hardwoods, including a few cypress.

The upper stretches of the bayou are under the protection of the wildlife refuge, but even after we exited its southern boundary there were few signs of development. We were mostly left alone with our thoughts, in the company of the fish, turtles, birds, and alligators.

As we continued paddling into the afternoon, the channel narrowed dramatically and and a slight current could be detected slipping past an obstacle course of fallen trees. We finally turned back at the intersection with a slough that leads to the Trinity River.

Some combination of the beautiful weather and the unspoiled surroundings made this one of my favorite paddles of the year. I definitely want to return here, and hopefully make it all the way down to the junction with the Lost River. And maybe if the rains have returned by then, I'll get the chance to paddle Champion Lake at last.

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?

The sun remained low and the air was still as I launched my kayak and set out across the calm waters of Sheldon Lake. I steered toward the north shore of the lake and the inlet from Carpenter's Bayou. Water birds protested and took flight when I paddled too near their roosts. Several swimming alligators eyed me warily and then silently submerged.

The lake became too shallow to paddle about two-thirds of the way to the north shore, so I turned southeast. I worked my way through the rafts of blooming water lilies and clusters of cypress. The wind began to stir and thunder echoed across the lake as a small storm approached. I retreated toward the launch amidst the sweet scent of blooming lilies. One could easily imagine worse ways to spend a summer morning.

More Pictures from Sheldon Lake

A river in retreat

In better years, the upper West Fork of the San Jacinto River helps fill the 21,000 acres that make up Lake Conroe. But with rain mostly a memory, the West Fork has no water to offer this summer. What water it retains stays there only because of the lake levels maintained by the dam below Lake Conroe. With Lake Conroe levels falling, the upper West Fork is in a process of slow retreat. When I launched here in early May, the water line was in front of the the little disconnected pool you see here.

Still, the West Fork isn't gone just yet. And on a hot summer day, there's much to be said for a narrow, shaded channel through the unspoiled Sam Houston National Forest.  I launched near sunrise at the Stubblefield Lake Campground and paddled north. In the six hours I was on the river I didn't see another human, aside from the folks fishing near the launch. But I did see a good selection of deer, birds, snakes, turtles, and gar, plus a multitude of trees. Thankfully, most (but not all) of the later remained standing. 

All in all, it was a wonderful way to spend my Independence Day.  God bless America!

More Pictures from the San Jacinto River West Fork

Earning a little turtle karma

Armand Bayou welcomed me back to the water on Saturday and this time I had good company. The alligators hid from us this trip but otherwise the bayou was full of life. Water birds of all descriptions, including this Great Blue Heron, were fishing, probably enjoying the schools of minnows and the tiny crabs not much bigger than a quarter. The mullet were jumping and gar were cruising just beneath the surface. At one point we startled a large soft shell turtle so badly that it accidentally turned itself onto its back. It tried to right itself but finally just lay there helplessly. After a flip of my paddle blade put it back on its feet, it disappeared into the water within seconds.