Mouth of Merrimack River

Sugi  is my boating buddy. We started exploring the water bodies in New England around the same time. We go out in the water together, often with our families.We had already explored the length and breadth of the Merrimack river north of the Lowell dam and several of lakes in the region, including Winnipesaukee.

Sugi had an inflatable speed boat, that complemented my canoe and  fishing boat. Between us we had the gear for a range of aquatic activities from quiet exploration to hydroplaning.We used to often moor our boats on one of the isolated sandy banks of the Merrimack river , watching the kids explore the soft sand, our beach chairs lodged in the sandy banks.

“ Do you think we should go out to the Ocean” , Sugi asked me one day.

Our experience with water bodies had been pleasant so far. So without much ado we decided to make out maiden ocean trip in the next weekend.  We had a week to decide on the location of our venture.

We opened up Google maps to identify the potential areas that were partially sheltered. After exploring a few options we agreed on what we felt at that time was a safe bet – Mouth of Merrimack River.

We had spent considerable time on the river in the last few years . Though we had not explored the section south of the Lowell dam, the river looked same in width and depth almost right up to Newburyport. The river expanded considerably after Newburyport, narrowing down to a few hundred feet before joining the Atlantic. The wide expanse of the river, just before it met the Atlantic, looked almost like a big lake in the map - and we were very comfortable exploring lakes ! 

“Why, we can hang around in this area and if the sea looks rough, we will just say here” , I suggested.

“What if we are thrown out to the ocean by a big swell or something?” , asked Sugi jokingly.

“ We will just crank up the throttle and keep on going  until we reach Europe”, I replied with a wink.  

 

We launched our boat from a ramp near the Salisbury beach , which is near the mouth of the river. The launch gave us access right to the board area of the river. We were a bit surprised to notice that there were no small boats except ours. As we were exploring the wide area, we were stopped by the Water Patrol. 

We were used to the drill, especially having frequented the lake Winnipesaukee several times.We had the registration papers, decals and registration numbers marked on the boat.The patrol officer checked the papers and gave us a funny look before turning his boat and heading back .  Sugi and I spent some time taking about the funny look. “He must not have seen Asian guys on a boat maybe ...” , was our conclusion. 

We were wrong. Later after that eventful day, we found out that the Mouth of the Merrimack was in fact one of the most dangerous inlets, capsizing several boats every year .  A combination of increase in the flow of water due to the river narrowing down, the tides,  and the mixing of the river and ocean water give rise to standing waves as high as twenty  foot high.  This is why that area was actively patrolled by the state water patrol.

I guess the officer in the patrol boat must be wondering “ Hmmm .. what are these guys doing in this dangerous section  of the river  ... in a dingy ..?” , and that is when the funny face would have materialized.

Sugi and I , after hovering around in the wide area for some time, gradually inched towards the mouth of the river in our twelve feet inflatable boat.  Good thing about inflatable boats is that they cannot sink. Even if they capsize, they float.

We slowly followed a big boat ahead of us.  We were trying to ride the waves by carefully accelerating and decelerating the boat, synchronizing it with the oncoming waves.  Suddenly  the waves died down and  we realized that we were at the mouth , looking at the vast expanse of the ocean.

“Were are there !” I exclaimed.

Sugi throttled up the boat , and just as the boat started hydroplaning at 20 miles an hour, a huge standing wave materialized from nowhere. The wave would be at least twelve feet high. Our boat went up through the top and was airborne - the propeller spinning in the air. The boat was also turning in the air at the same time.  After an eternal few seconds, the boat landed back in the water , but we had turned 180 degrees and were facing the way we had come from.

Without exchanging any words, we kept going after that accidental U turn and stopped only after we were back in the river, deep inside, back in the wide part of the river.

“Man we should not have gone there in a dingy ! ”, Sugi laughed,  finally breaking the silence as we hauled our boat into the trailer.

A couple of weeks later , I got an excited call from Sugi. “Just come over to my place” he said.

There, standing on his driveway was a twenty two feel long rigid inflatable boat.  The boat had a central console and two huge powerful motors.  This was like the boats used by the Coastguards for rescue missions.

 “Want to go back to the mouth of Merrimack?”, he asked with a wink.

We went there the next weekend. This time we were not stopped by the water patrol.

The Oak Tree

There is a large Oak tree punctuating the tree line that marks the starting of the wooded part of our backyard.

The large Oak tree, in the days of past, must have been one of many old oak trees , scattered around the woods lining the lake on the eastern side of our subdivision, waking up in the spring to the chatter of chipmunks, the calls of the blue jays, falcons and the flock of migrating loons that return to the marshes surrounding the lake.

The tree must have witnessed on one eventful spring, a fleet of bulldozers that came in and cleared out a part of the forest to make space for two score of scattered homes , one of them ours. The large Oak Tree that once nestled in the cozy comfort of the woods now cautiously guarded its border with the civilization.

The start of the tree line overlooks a sloping hill that rolls down to our grassy backyard. The view and shade from the tree line made it a perfect spot to place a hammock.

Out of the two trees that were selected for the hammock, one was a River Birch and other a young Oak tree adjacent to the large Oak tree. The large Oak tree would almost crane its neck and peep through the small tree as I glanced up through the hammock , its leaves rustling with a cautious and reserved countenance.

****

One of the summers, I started flying model airplanes. Back in India, I used to be a big fan of flying kites. Kite flying transcends passion in some cities in India. The skyline in these cities gets dotted with thousands of colored paper kites, bobbling and swaying in a colorful dance. Men, women, children line on the terraces and open spaces, almost possessed eyes gazing on the small dot connected to the other end of the string.

The red polyurethane aircraft modeled like an old biplane, was my kite today. The RF control my invisible string, as I fixed my gaze at the model biplane.

I could almost feel like the plane as I soared higher and higher .. over the house, over the treeline .. when suddenly a gust of wind blew the plane out of control. I tried desperately to steer it back but just as I adjusted the roll to steer clear of the trees, a large branch of the large Oak tree , swinging in the wind, plucked the plane out of the air.

It was not the first time my aircraft had got stuck. Our neighbors had spent a lot of bonding moments retrieving my planes from the top of their roofs. Most of the times, I stood with a home made contraption made with duck-taped sticks, on the top rung of the largest available ladder. Fishing for the plane as my and neighbor’s family provided directions .. “little bit left” and “little bit right” , kids clapping when the plane was finally retrieved.

What worried me today was that the last time my plane was stuck in a tree, I could not get it back. The plane remained suspended through the summer and winter. A mocking reminder as we could see the plane clearly amidst the tree line. I checked every day from the windows overlooking the backyard, hoping that the plane will rescued from its prison by a gust of wind one day.

The plane’s dilapidated carcass was finally handed over by the tree during a blizzard almost after a year. That tree was only half the size of the Oak tree that had claimed my biplane today. The plane was lodged in one of the topmost branches which was impossible to reach.

****

As I stood below the Oak tree , I noticed for the first time, how big it really was. Looking at the number acorns scattered near it’s perimeter, it was clearly in it’s prime. The red biplane swayed far above.

My son and daughter who are my co-pilots , arrived on the crash site and longingly looked up.

“It is stuck” , said my son “ One more plane gone”.

“We can still get it” , I said.

“How ?” asked both of them.

“Just ask the tree to return it”, I said smiling.

My son walked up the tree and touching the bark, said something to the effect “Mr. Oak tree can you please return the plane ?”

It was getting late; we got back into the house for dinner.Me and my wife took a quiet stroll along the woods after dinner. Since the sun sets late in summer in this part of the world, there was still quite a bit of light. I remember that the air was calm and there was no wind. Near the trunk of the Oak tree, lying on the ground was the red bi-plane.

“Thanks Mr. Oak tree ”, I thought as I picked it up and ran towards the house to share the news with my kids as my wife watched me with amusement.

The Oak tree has never been cautious and reserved since then.

Honk !

A couple of months ago, I visited the town where my parents live India. It used to be a dusty little town where I and my brother used to assemble during the breaks from our respective colleges. Where countless nights were spent on the terrace sipping tea and chatting until the wee hours of the dawn.

The town has now transformed to quaint little city in the smallest state of India. Our ancestral house, which once used to stand tall amidst quiet pastures now a pigmy in the urban jungle hidden between multistoried malls standing shyly on the busiest road of the city.

One of the benefits of living in a true commercial space is the silence in the night. There is nobody around just like older days. But the day break transforms the soundscape . Noticeably into an envelope of everlasting honking. Honking of all pitch and frequency , each merging into other. It was almost like conversation between different modes of transports plying on the road.

“Honk - Here I come! ” says the overtaking car to the motor cycle. “Honk – I don’t care” says the motorcycle back to the car. “Honk-Honk-Honk – You will do if I hit you!!” replies back the car.

I had been driving around the town in my Dad’s car and frequently participated in the honking conversation. Mostly “Honk - Watch out Here I come!” or “Honk-Honk - Really watch out now!!”

One day, me and my wife decided to go out on a spin on a Scooter that my parents use to run small errands. The scooter reminded me and my wife of the older college days where I used to ride in one gifted to me by my dad. It was indeed a prized possession in those days and the selected few claiming to own one enjoyed significant societal advantage. With significantly less time to be spent in comparison to the conventional form of transportation using a bicycle, the scooter opened up more time to explore the world. It also doubled up a tool for exploration !

So my Wife and I doubled up on the scooter. Weaving through the crowded streets, the wind sweeping through our hair as we rode past the bridge across the river leading to nearby forests and hills.

I suddenly realized that I had not honked all this while. I had got so used of the honking that I was almost missing the cacophony in the quiet setting we were in.

“Where is the honking thing in this?” I asked my wife. I pulled the scooter to the side as both of us explored the different knobs until one of them produced the ever so known sound.

“Honk-Honk-Honk ... What the hell, I am happy”, we honked on the empty road leading up to the forests.