We were talking about eagles the other day as we were watching one over the river.  I recalled that one of my favorite assignments when I was teaching middle-school English a long time ago — and this was before you could just google it — was to send students home to bring back a dictionary definition or the first paragraph of an encyclopedia entry on “eagle.”  They’d come back with something like this:

And then I would have them read this:

The Eagle

BY ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON

After that, I didn’t have to tell them much about what poetry is supposed to do and what it can do.  Tennyson had already done that.

A smooth, easy paddle on the Willamette. This route involves leaving one car at Buena Vista and taking the ferry. Waiting to board, we were next to a convenience and some wildflowers.

This voyage  was all about putting your feet up, relaxing and bird watching.  We were guided along our way by this magnificent crane.

It is so quiet along this route that birdsong is a constant accompaniment.  We saw a bald eagle showing a pair of ospreys who was king of the raptors by making double barrel rolls above our head.  You can’t look away from such a sight to focus your camera.

After a few hours, just past the confluence with the Santiam and Luckiemute, we could see the Buena Vista Ferry indicating our takeout.

After loading up back down at Bowman Park, we were dangerously close to Burgerville. It is surprising how often this can happen.  The specials this month are deep fried asparagus and everything strawberry.  It’s an under appreciated fact that just about anything dipped in batter, deep-fat fried, and served up with garlic mayo is going to be delicious.

Of course, it breaks my heart that they can’t spell!

Their asparagus spears will be there until the end of the month, and they’re especially good with the strawberry lemonade.

While Jim and I were out paddling from Harrisburg to Peoria on Friday, Dave was driving down to Linn County to get the key for the gate on the South Santiam at Sanderson’s Bridge, where they told him that the bank had pretty much washed away and made him sign a disclaimer.  So, the very next day, we had to go see for ourselves.

And we did.  We found only this narrow, eight-food drop off where just last year there was a good bank.

Not willing to risk life and limb,  we just turned around and, after buying some cherries at a farm stand, headed back to the Willamette at Peoria where I had taken out just the evening before and started paddling to Corvallis.

The illusive heron was still standing in the slough and the red ribbon was still marking the entrance.  A bald eagle was sitting in the sentinel tree.

The river was moving along zippah-dee-do-dah.  Before we knew it, we were at mile 136.

In just 2-1/2 hours, we were taking out at Michael’s Landing where we made friends with a third year OSU chemistry student from Beijing  whose father had come over for a visit. I believe the father videoed my entire conversation with the son on his iPhone.

Dave was able to drive the big car right down to the bank where we loaded up

without disturbing this mallard who was napping nearby.

The Willamette from Harrisburg to Peoria is a favorite stretch to paddle — long, fast, gorgeous.  Lovely drive down through beautiful farmland.  Mountain views right and left.  Nice put-in and take-out.   And a family legend.

Yesterday,  we began by driving over the river and through the woods to the Fish and Wildlife office north of Corvallis to pick up a key to the newly-installed gate at the Green’s Bridge access for later use.  (I am now the official monitor for that run on the Santiam to Jefferson, certified by the Oregon Marine Board, about which more later.)  Left the Subaru at the Peoria take-out before driving the nine miles to Harrisburg.

Here, on the pebbly riverbank, Jim began unloading the boats.

We looked upstream

before heading out with the fast current for a 20-mile voyage.

Highlight of the day included the sighting of a bald eagle and accompaniment of birdsong all along the route.

Nowadays, all along the river are platforms for osprey nests.  Some with attached perches.

So good to see that these beautiful raptors have made a successful recovery after being nearly wiped out some years back by DDT.

The tricky part of this route is the takeout.  Actually, it’s an easy takeout if you don’t accidentally paddle right past its hidden location.  You have to watch carefully for this sentinel — a half-bare fir tree ahead.  Make a hard right into an invisible slough the moment you spot it.  Otherwise  .  .  .

And herein lies the family tale.  Totally true.  One day some years back, MM and I took this trip, leaving a car at the Peoria take-out, as required, before putting in at Harrisburg.  Zipped along for 20 miles.  Actually, we zipped along for about 8 more miles when we  spotted a housing development on the far left bank.  “Hmmmmm?”  MM pondered. “What do you thank that could be?,”  to which I responded, “Uhhh, that would be Corvallis.”  We were now  no where near our waiting Subarus.  So we took out at Willamette Park and, laughing our heads off, came up with an alternate plan.  Ever resourceful and always looking to make lemonade, we borrowed a phone from a soccer dad (This was before we carried cell phones in waterproof cases.) and called a taxi.  First stop was at a Wells Fargo ATM for some cash.  (MM had had the good sense to pack a debit card.)  Then we headed off for Peoria, gave the cabby a generous tip, got the other car at Harrisburg, bought some car snacks, and  came back to load up our abandoned boats just before Willamette Park was locked up at dark.    True story.

Harrisburg to Peoria is a favorite run.  And yesterday, Jim tied a big red ribbon to a branch on the right, a signal to others to make a hard right.

With my cousins Ann, Jane, and Hal in front of the rock house , circa 1949: