One of my favorite get-aways this summer is mere minutes from my house but miles removed from my daily life.
From the parking lot below the dam at Hoover Reservoir, it’s fifty yards portage to a hidden trail and then a moderate descent down to the waters of Big Walnut Creek. Once in the water, the only living beings I see beyond the canoe have either wings, gills or four legs. No voices… As the canoe slips down the river, my heart momentarily races before settling into the trickling rhythm of the current. The stillness of it all creeps in with slow assurance. I’m always surprised, first by its steady presence, and then by how very much I welcome it. Life can be so loud sometimes…
My “guide” is a steel artist from the Westerville area, who has traveled the route dozens of times over the pa
st fifteen years or so. He points out the tall sycamores where the blue herons nest, as well as a magnificent house (circa 1850) that has grown, addition by addition, from its early days as a trading post.
We’ve watched deer spring away into steep slate ravines at the splash of one of our paddles while the canvas-back ducks simply ignore our passage. On this day, domestic and wild geese make steady progress against the current as a red-tailed hawk glides overhead. Someday, I’ll spot one of the area’s eagles that nest in Hoover Reservoir’s treetops.
Greened woodlands stretch away from us to either side and for a few minutes I can see the world this might have been hundreds of years ago. Random thoughts find space in these quiet moments; I wonder about following the creek down into the Scioto River, the Ohio, the Mississippi… until it eventually spills into the Atlantic. Which is another beginning in itself…