Low, ominous clouds darkened the river. The occasional smell of rotting vegetation wafted on the slight breath of a breeze almost cool enough to condense the moisture in the air to mist. An Osprey flittered around its nest, like some demented moth battering away at a light bulb, reacting to the noisy chicks begging for food. Turns and gulls patrolled the air seeing what could be seen. Not eager to spend energy actively hunting but not willing to hide from the threatening sky.
Carl and I watched from the landing while we waited for the customers to show up for their tour. Paddling in this type of weather was perfect. A short time later we were gliding across the glassy water introducing our clients to the wonders of the West Branch and kayaking.