Sail to Tall's Island.

June 11.

Wind northwest, pretty strong, and not a warm day. I sail westerly from the island point in Fair Haven Bay to the bath-place above, and all the way from Rice's Bar to half a mile above Sherman's Bridge by all the windings of the river. On our way up, we eat our dinner at Rice's shore, and look over the meadows, covered there with waving sedge, light-glaucous as it is bent by the wind, reflecting a grayish light from its under side.

The wind does not blow through our river-valley just as the vanes indicate at home, but conformably to the form of the valley somewhat. It depends on whether you have a high and hilly shore to guide it, or a flat one which it may blow across. Approaching Bittern Cliff, I had but little wind, but I said to myself, “As soon as I reach the cliff I shall find myself in a current of wind blowing into the opening of the pond valley; “ and I did. Indeed, the wind flows through that part of the river-valley above the water-line somewhat as the water does below it.

I see from time to time a fish, scared by our sail, leap four to six feet through the air above the waves. See many small blue devil's-needles, but no mates with them. Is it not they that the kingbird stoops to snap up, striking the water each time?

Hear many redstarts on the Tall’s Island. See creepers and one wood pewee nest on a swamp white oak, not quite done.


Just as we are shoving away from this isle, I hear a sound just like a small dog barking hoarsely, and, looking up, see it was made by a bittern (Ardea minor), a pair of which flap over the meadows and probably  nest in some tussock thereabouts.

H. D. Thoreau, Journal, June 11, 1860

Wood pewee nest on a swamp white oak, not quite done. See June 27, 1858 ("Find two wood pewees’ nests, made like the one I have. One on a dead horizontal limb of a small oak, fourteen feet from ground, just on a horizontal fork and looking as old as the limb, color of the branch, three eggs far advanced. The other, with two eggs, was in a similar position exactly over a fork, but on a living branch of a slender white oak, eighteen feet from ground; lichens without. . ."); See also JJ Audubon ("The nest of the Wood Pewee is as delicate in its form and structure, as the bird is in the choice of the materials which it uses in its construction. In almost every case, I have found it well fastened to the upper part of a horizontal branch, without any apparent preference being given to particular trees. Were it not that the bird generally discloses its situation, it would be difficult to discover it, for it is shallow, well saddled to the branch, and connected with it by an extension of the lichens forming its outer coat, in such a manner as to induce a person seeing it to suppose it merely a swelling of the branch. These lichens are glued together apparently by the saliva of the bird, and are neatly lined with very fine grasses, the bark of vines, and now and then a few horse-hairs.”)

June 11. 6 a. m. — River twelve inches above summer level at 10.30 a. m. 

Sail to Tail's Island. Wind northwest, pretty strong, and not a warm day. I notice the patches of bulrushes (Scirpus lacustris) now generally eighteen inches high and very dark green, but recently showing themselves. The evergreens are now completely invested by the deciduous trees, and you get the full effect of their dark green contrasting with the yellowish green of the de ciduous trees. The wind does not blow through our river-valley just as the vanes indicate at home, but conformably to the form of the valley somewhat. It depends on whether you have a high and hilly shore to guide it, or a flat one which it may blow across. With a north west wind, it is difficult to sail from the willow-row to Hubbard's Bath, yet I can sail more westerly from the island point in Fair Haven Bay to the bath-place above; and though I could not do the first to-day, I did sail all the way from Rice's Bar to half a mile above Sherman's Bridge by all the windings of the river.

If the bend is due east and the wind northwest I can sail round it. Again, as I was approaching Bittern Cliff, I had but little wind, but I said to myself, As soon as I reach the cliff I shall find myself in a current of wind blowing into the opening of the pond valley; and I did. Indeed, the wind flows through that part of the river-valley above the water-line somewhat as the water does below it. I see from time to time a fish, scared by our sail, leap four to six feet through the air above the waves. 

See many small blue devil's-needles to-day, but no mates with them, and is it not they that the kingbird stoops to snap up, striking the water each time? I find the Sudbury meadows unexpectedly wet. There is at least one foot of water on the meadows generally. 

I cut off the principal bends, pushing amid the thin sedge and pipes, and land on Tail's Island. I had carried india-rubber boots to look for wrens' nests, but the water was very much too deep, and I could not have used them except on the very edge in some places. Yet the river in Concord this morning was but just one foot above summer level and about eighteen inches above where it was just before the middle of May, when everybody remarked on its extreme lowness, and Ebby Conant observed to me, "It is lower than ever it was known to be, isn't it?" I told him that I had seen it as low, in the summer, about every other year. If you should lower it eighteen inches now here, there would still be much water on the Sudbury meadows. The amount of it is, the Sudbury meadows are so low, referred to the river, that when the river is nineteen and one eighth inches above extreme low water (the lowest we have had this year) you can push over the greater part of the Sudbury meadows in a boat. 

Accordingly, on far the greater part of these meadows there is now very little grass, i. e. sedge, but thin pipes and sedge, — the Carex stricta and monile commonly (too wet for scoparia and stellulata). I do not see the great Scir-pus fluviatilis there yet. The greater part of the meadows are evidently too wet for the C. stricta (occasionally some large tussocks surrounded by water) and monile even, and the pipes are but thin. There are many large spaces of pads, — two at Tail's Island, — showing that they are wet all summer. The sedges, even, are thick and rank only on the more elevated and drier edges of the meadow. 

This is more like a lagoon than a meadow, in fact. It is too wet even for sedges to flourish, for they are not dense, as on other meadows, except on the higher parts near the hills or shores. C. stricta grows thinly (with thin pipes) or occasionally in large tufts. On dry parts only, the C. monile, etc., etc. 

Landing on Tail's Island, I perceive a sour scent from the wilted leaves and scraps of leaves which were blown off yesterday and strew the ground in all woods. 

Just within the edge of the wood there, I see a small painted turtle on its back, with its head stretched out as if to turn over. Surprised by the sight, I stooped to investigate the cause. It drew in its head at once, but I noticed that its shell was partially empty. I could see through it from side to side as it lay, its entrails having been extracted through large openings just before the hind legs. 

The dead leaves were flattened for a foot over, where it had been operated on, and were a little bloody. Its paunch lay on the leaves, and contained much vegetable matter, — old cranberry leaves, etc. Judging by the striae, it was not more than five or six years old, — or four or five. Its fore parts were quite alive, its hind legs apparently dead, its inwards gone ; apparently its spine perfect. The flies had entered it in numbers. 

What creature could have done this which it would be difficult for a man to do? 

I thought of a skunk, weazel, mink, but I do not believe that they could have got their snouts into so small a space as that in front of the hind legs between the shells. The hind legs themselves had not been injured nor the shell scratched. 

I thought it most likely that it was done by some bird of the heron kind which has a long and powerful bill. And probably this accounts for the many dead turtles which I have found and thought died from disease. 

Such is Nature, who gave one creature a taste or yearning for another's entrails as its favorite tidbit ! ! 

I thought the more of a bird, for, just as we were shoving away from this isle, I heard a sound just like a small dog barking hoarsely, and, looking up, saw it was made by a bittern (Ardea minor), a pair of which were flapping over the meadows and probably had a nest in some tussock thereabouts. 

No wonder the turtle is wary, for, notwithstanding its horny shell, when it comes forth to lay its eggs it runs the risk of having its entrails plucked out. That is the reason that the box turtle, which lives on the land, is made to shut itself up entirely within the shell, and I suspect that the mud tortoise only comes forth by night. What need the turtle has of some horny shield over those tender parts and avenues to its entrails! 

I saw several of these painted turtles dead on the bottom.

Already I see those handsome fungi spots on the red maple leaves, yellow within, with a green centre, then the light-red ring deepening to crimson. The largest a quarter of an inch in diameter. Heard many redstarts on the Island. Saw creepers and one wood pewee nest on a swamp white oak, not quite done. On our way up, we ate our dinner at Rice's shore, and looked over the meadows, covered there with waving sedge, light-glaucous as it is bent by the wind, reflecting a grayish or light-glaucous light from its under side. That meadow opposite Rice's Bath is comparatively well covered with sedge, as the great Sudbury meadow is not. I now first begin to notice the silvery under sides of the red maple and swamp white oak leaves, turned up by the wind. Looking at a hillside of young trees, what various shades of green! The oaks generally are a light and tender and yellowish green; the white birches, dark green now; the maples, dark and silvery. Notice pads and pontederias are now pretty thick. The white lily pads reddish, and showing their crimson under sides from time to time when the wind blows hardest. The potamogeton (the large common one) is remark- able as a brown leaf, — fit color for the brown water on which it floats, — but the potamogetons are few and scarcely obvious yet on the river. A painted turtle laying, at 5 p. m. Saw a sphinx moth night before last. The Carex tentaculata at Clamshell in prime, say one week. It abounds at Forget-me-not Shore, — dense- flowered, spreading spikes. At 9 p. m., 54°, and no toads nor peepers heard. Some fields began to be white with whiteweed on the 9th.