"A Duck and the Swans of the Peconic"
September 25, 2011
J. Glenn Eugster
Fontana Free Press
Riverhead, NY 1988. After the canoe rental company dropped me off on a dirt road not far from the old Grumann Aircraft facility I paddled along the upper Peconic River in Suffolk County. I was alone and it was a weekday afternoon in the Spring. The sun made my paddle comfortable and I was looking forward to a break what I was doing in Riverhead that week. As I paddled the narrow, meandering stream I noticed that the Peconic started to widen and the current slowed. It appeared that the river may have been damed but the large openness of the river presented new opportunities for exploring this part of the Long Island Pine Barrens.
I began paddling along the edge of the river to get a closer look at the forests and wetlands. Small feeder streams entered the river creating tiny enbayments which were frequented by various plants, birds and animals. As I worked my way slowly downstream I noticed swans near the center of the river. Much to my surprise they were paddling quickly toward me with heir heads tucked down into their bodies. Their menacing stares made me realize that I probably was close to their nests.
I paddled faster but they had an angle on my route that ensured that our paths would eventual cross if I were to continue my paddle. Not knowing what to do next I began to shout loudly at the swans hoping to scare they away. My shouts did nothing to differ the regatta of birds headed my way. I checked the depth of the water anticipating that the collision that seemed inevitable would no doubt deposit me in the river. I couldn't find the bottom of the stream and the idea of falling into deep, cold water on this relaxing afternoon didn't appeal to me at all.
In an instant the sedans were upon me and I reacted with a loud shout while whacking the water with my paddle. They were impressive birds, both beautiful and menacing, and I wanted to avoid actually whacking them unless it was absolutely necessary. They paddled parallel to me as I tried to continue to move away from the shore and downstream. My plan was to keep whacking, shouting and paddling and hope that they would let me go.
After a few minutes they veered off and I continued my paddle not knowing what was ahead. With a greater focus on getting to the location where the company would pick me up, I paddled with a greater sense of purpose figuring that I could relax when I was off this little river. As I continued on I saw what appeared to be a large earthen mound across the river. At first I thought it was an impassible dam that would require me to make a portage. As I moved closer I realized that the mound was actually fill for the highway that crossed the river. Rather than build a bridge the highway department filled the stream bed leaving a small rectangular opening and tunnel at the base of the mound.
I pulled-up along the mound and looked closely for the route that would get me to the other side. The banks were very steep so the idea of carrying my canoe up and over the road wasn't practical. The tunnel was very small and narrow but it looked like it was big enough for a canoe to get through. I paddled to the opening which seemed to be designed to allow a small portion of the river through. The tunnel was very dark, seemed very long, and was smaller than I imagined. However, if I was willing to continue my paddle I'd have to sit on the bottom of the canoe and pull myself through the dark shaft with my hands. My hyper-tension climbed as I pondered the decision.
My fear was overtaken by a sense of either adventure or stupidity. Either way I decided to go into the tunnel knowing that if I were to get stuck in the shaft, or the tunnel collapsed, or, worse yet, blood thirsty bats were inside, this trip might not have been a good idea. Placing my paddle on the floor of the canoe I sat on the bottom of my boat and leaned back to until my head was level with the peaks of the front and the back of the canoe. Quickly I was within the darkness as the boat moved slowly along with the current. My imagination ran wild as I moved underground not knowing whether this would work or not. What would I do if there were metal bars at the other end of the tunnel? What about snakes and spiders falling into the canoe? Could this be where the NY Pine Barrens Devil lives? What if the canoe got stuck and I had to roll it over to get out? What if the water level behind me rose and I was pinned to the ceiling of the shaft? Why, oh why, did I do this?
As I said the Act of Contrition and numerous Our Fathers' and Hail Marys' I began to see light at the end of the tunnel. A sense of optimism began replacing my sense of dread and I soon realized I was breathing again. Little by little my canoe moved me to the light. I wondered whether there was yet another surprise for me at the end of the shaft. Would the swans reappear? Would a raft of rebellious LI ducks take issue with my desire to pass through their part of the river? Was it possible that this area was part of a Air National Guard practice target area? As I came out of the tunnel my imagination switched off and I soon realized that I had made it to the other side.
The remainder of the paddle was relief and a humble celebration. As I paddled to my destination I was glad to be close to the take-out point, relieved that I was still dry, and exhilarated by the experiences I encountered. When I returned to the Riverhead Motel, where my father and I were staying as he underwent two weeks of treatment
terminal lung-cancer, I shared my adventure with Dad not quite knowing how to verbally describe my paddle along the Peconic. At the end of my story my father asked if I got a chance to relax. I replied, Oh yeah!.
