Towpath

This past year, many people have asked me why I no longer chronicle my walks with Chuck. They tell me they enjoyed walking along with us and seeing the photos. It’s hard to believe that it’s been a few years now since I dedicated time to posting on a regular basis. It makes me happy to know that people enjoy this labor of love; I enjoy it too. So, I am resolved to resume posting in 2026.

Since I was last active here, Chuck and I have not slacked on our daily adventures. However, I have dedicated a lot of time to training for running and triathlon races. It’s a big commitment and a big life change. The time that I had previously carved out for taking and editing photos went to long runs and rides instead. I’m still training now, but I cherish long explores and I like the way taking photos makes me look at things with more attention. So, I plan to dedicate one day a week to this project. I hope you enjoy it and I welcome your comments and questions!

2026 is off to a snowy start! Today, Grace joined us and we trudged through the snow along the towpath in the Cuyahoga Valley National Park. Chuck pranced along, diving enthusiastically into snow drifts and trying her best to pull us into the frozen canal. Tiny tracks crisscrossed the ice and disappeared into the dry grasses along the banks. I know there are otters here; I saw them last spring playing and fishing. Today, we saw only tracks.

As we walked, a light snow fell around us. It was quiet save for the slosh of occasional car tires on Canal Road and the distant squawk of a jay. Sudden movement in the trees caught our attention. A bald eagle swooped silently over the snowy field. It perched in a far-off tree along the river and we could see it had joined another eagle. They sat together, staring down at the water intently. They were too far away for a photo, so we moved along.

The snow begin to fall more thickly. It covered our hats and blanketed our shoulders. The prints on the canal began to fill and fade. Another eagle caught our attention. It, too, flew across the field toward the river. It perched in a sycamore. To have any chance at a photo, we needed to get closer, so we left the trail and high-stepped through deep snow and dry grasses. We walked quietly and stuck to the edge of a line of trees. I was able to get a few shots before the eagle startled and took flight. It flew into the wind, snow whipping around it. With a few powerful flaps of its wings, it was gone.

It’s been a year since I started Walking With Chuck. We’ve walked over a thousand miles. We’ve hiked in the rain and the snow and the heat of summer. We’ve explored woods and marshes and fields. I relish this daily opportunity to connect with nature. I find peace on the trail. I feel wonder at the creatures we encounter.

Spring is a special time. Furry and feathered parents are building nests and nurturing their broods. Babies are being born. They grow quickly from fragile newborns to awkward young ones. Today, we were so fortunate to see two great horned owlets. I would not have spotted them on my own. A kind group of birders shared their find with us. They sat so still, blinking in the morning light. They are adorned with a mix of downy baby feathers and sleek mature ones. Even in their gawky adolescence, they are impressive and beautiful creatures.

On the river bank, we spotted a beaver. It plunged into the water when we approached and swam upstream against the strong current of the swollen river. We hiked along the bank watching it duck under logs. After about a half mile, we had to turn back, and it continued its journey upriver, never seeming to tire.

Across the river, the bald eagle perched on the lip of her nest. Even from a distance, she is amazing to see. Last time we visited, we could see her babies’ heads peeking up out of the nest. Today they were not visible. They’ve been growing fast. Maybe they have already fledged.

I’m grateful today for this journey and for those of you who follow along and share words of encouragement. Here’s to a new year of adventures ahead!

It’s early yet, but eagles and owls are nesting and little birds are testing their voices. Even in the morning’s winter chill, we could feel the first flutterings of springtime. Wrens and cardinals were singing loudly, puffing out their chests and tipping back their heads with song that filled the quiet woods with joy.

Signs of spring are everywhere. Tiny buds are showing on woody branches, softening their stark outlines. We were thrilled to see a mama eagle sitting on her nest. Her mate was close by, standing guard. A muskrat was busy in the canal. It won’t be long before we see them toting grasses to line their nests.

In an open field, we spotted a coyote on the hunt. We crept quietly toward him and he paid us no mind for awhile. Finally, we drew too near. He turned and stared at us before trotting off towards the woods, annoyed at our interruption. Now that we know where he hunts, we are hatching a grand stakeout!

Winter in the woods is special.  Sound and color are muted.  My boots crunch softly in the snow and Chuck’s patter is softer still.  In other seasons, the rush of the river is always beside us.  Now, it is frozen silent.  The canal, too, is frozen.  Little footprints betray its use as a seasonal thoroughfare for beavers and otters and foxes and raccoons.  There is no chorus of birdsong just a tweet and a flutter here and there.

Geese gather along the river’s edge watching chunks of ice float by in the small patches of slow moving water.  Every now and then something stirs them up and they take to the sky with a flurry of wings and indignant honks.

It’s not just sound that is muted.  Color is soft as well.  The sky is watercolor blue with wisps of white.  Dried grasses stand golden and fragile along the path.  We spot a few eastern bluebirds.  Their puffed out feathers are a subdued blue-gray and the red breast is a faint rust color.

On the path just ahead of us, a pair of deer step out of the bushes.  They seem surprised to see us.  Their coats are thick and wooly and they stand staring for a minute before darting away.

At a bend in the river, we come to a spot where the water is clear of ice.  I spot an eagle and then another and another!  Some appear to be juveniles.  Some might be couples.  They are everywhere!  For a long time we watch them swoop from tree to tree.  Their massive yellow claws and bright beaks are startling against the white bark of the sycamores and the snowy backdrop.

We move on, hugging the riverbank.  I can see little footpaths leading down to the ice.  We come to another place where there is a patch of running water.  A quick movement at the edge of the ice draws my eye.  It’s a dark critter emerging from the water.  An otter climbs onto the ice, a fish in its mouth!  Another swims along the edge.  It slides in and out of the water so smoothly and gracefully.

I am so happy!  For me, these encounters are like celebrity sightings.  I feel lucky to have seen and spent time with these special creatures.  And I’m grateful for the seasons that reveal special wonders year round.

I needed peace and quiet this morning and the towpath delivered in spades. It was cold, but not bitter. The canal was shrouded in mist and the water was glazed with a thin slurry of ice. There was a whisper of wood smoke in the air. Far away, I could hear the piercing cry of a hawk. Every now and then, a chorus of honking geese flew overhead in v-formation.

Along the canal, white tree trunks reached up like clawed hands to scratch the belly of the sky. Across the river, a variegated forest stood, mysterious. We stopped to watch a cardinal on the far side of the canal. We heard the crunch of leaves as a small herd of deer marched single file through the undergrowth. Every now and then, we spotted a head or hoof, but they stayed out of sight for the most part.

I turned to scan the river and spotted an eagle perched low on the far bank. As I watched him, another mature eagle swooped down and soared up the river and out of site. Chuck and I watched the remaining eagle for a long time. We were lucky to see it leave its perch and fly up to sit in clear view in the branches of a towering sycamore. Finally, it took flight and disappeared with a few powerful flaps of its wings and we moved on down the trail.

It was cold today. Had the gray sky opened up, it would have dropped a messy confusion of rain and snow. An incredible number of robins gathered in the bushes, eating little red berries. They flitted across the trail and drank from the canal. I’ve never seen so many! It was a surprise to me since I think of the robin as a springtime bird.

Suddenly, a furry critter came into view just where the trail curved out of sight. Chuck and I both froze, watching it. It was small with a long tail. I couldn’t see it well. I hoped maybe it was a mink or a fox. We moved forward slowly, watching it carefully. As we drew closer, it darted off the trail. We continued stalking it until we finally came upon it on a grassy side trail. I had to laugh when I saw that it was just a lovely kitty.

We moved on again and soon came upon a little herd of deer. They froze and stared at us for a moment before bounding into the tall grasses. There, they stopped. The young one peered at me through the grass, clearly hoping we would just go away.

A red-tailed hawk landed in a nearby tree. As I focused the camera on it, I noticed another larger bird perched in the same tree. It was a juvenile eagle! I managed a couple shots and we tried to get closer, but the eagle took off. We followed it up the river for a mile or so, trying to get near, but spooking it into flight every time.

We turned back at the eagle’s nest near Station Road. On the return, our pace was quicker. We stopped to watch some ducks and a few small Carolina wrens and cardinals. As we drew near the trailhead, I spotted another eagle perched high above the river on the far bank. This one was a mature eagle, standing regally as the wind stirred his feathers. No matter how many times I see them, I don’t think I’ll ever get over the majesty of these birds!

It was colder on the trail than I thought it would be. Incredible mist hovered and swirled over the canal on my left and the river on my right. We could hear deer crashing through the bushes, but enough leaves still cling to the branches to conceal them from sight. Here and there, we spotted a cardinal or a bluejay.

On the far side of the canal, I heard the loud rapping of a pileated woodpecker. I’ve been trying all summer to photograph one, but they are always too high in the trees, or too far away. I stopped and sat on the ground, hoping this one would come out into the open. I 0

could see it at the base of a tree, little flickers of its head and wings as it moved around, but never a clear shot. Finally, my fingers were aching and Chuck was restless to we had to move on.

We came to a place where the view of the river opens up. The riverbed is wide and the water moves around a large stony beach, rushing in channels and then slowing as it flows through wide pools. There is a beautiful stand of sycamore trees on the far bank. High up in one of the trees, I spotted something large and dark. A bald eagle! It stood on a creamy branch surrounded by decorative seed balls. It was so beautiful! I watched it as it watched the water. Suddenly, its posture changed; it stood taller and leaned forward. Then, it swooped off the branch toward the water. It turned before striking and soared off into the forest.

The trail was quiet today. We encountered a few deer and a couple of herons, but otherwise, we didn’t see much activity. So, I decided to practice a mindfulness technique. It’s a fun game to play that grounds you in the moment and results in a nice poem of sorts. The idea is to observe five things you see, four things you feel, three things you hear, two things you smell, one thing you taste. Here is the result of my exercise today.

I see: sunlight dancing on the water, Chuck’s tail bouncing ahead of me, green-green plants, yellow wildflowers, the occasional red leaf spiraling slowly down from a tree.

I feel: gravel beneath my shoes, the weight of the camera strap on my neck, warm sun on my back, a soft breeze.

I hear: an unfamiliar bird song far away in the woods, the river gurgling pleasantly, “good morning” from a passerby.

I smell: dry leaves and earth that make me think of fall.

I taste: morning coffee that lingers on my tongue.

You can try this technique anywhere. If you give it a go, will you share your observations with me? Does it make you feel calm? I know it helps me appreciate the moment and frees me from a million tangled ponderings that usually tie up my mind and distract me from granting my full attention to the now.