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Transquaking River Day Trip

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I finally got around to checking out one of McCrea's much-ballyhooed swamp/marsh river trips on Maryland's eastern shore.

The Transquaking River (I could find no explanation for the river's bizarre name) is in Dorchester County, Maryland, birthplace of Harriet Tubman. The river is tidal and brackish. The unique feature of this section of the river is that it is a 5 mile loop trip requiring no shuttle. This is made possible by 1/3 mile canal that permits easy and quick return to the put in. The GoogleMaps pic gives some idea of the crazy, oxbow, meandering shape of the river (you have to zoom in to see the many side channels and interior guts, which branch in every direction. When you realize that this area is only about 2 miles up stream of Fishing Bay (part of the Chesapeake Bay), you understand why the folks who made their living on the Bay decided to dredge a short canal through the marsh to avoid all that meandering nonsense and speed up the trip into the Chesapeake.

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I have rarely paddled tidal rivers, so I consulted the expert about the optimal put-in time. McCrea explained the tide at the put in would lag about an hour behind the reported tides at Fishing Bay. Consulting the Fishing Bay tide chart, McCrea decreed the optimal put in time would be between 10 and 11 AM, which he described as being mid-way between low and high tide.

My own gander at the Fishing Bay tide chart suggested this was dang close to low tide. A little more personal research indicated there was a nearer tide station at McCready (no relation) Creek, which indicated low tide was 10:59 AM. I momentarily questioned the wisdom of relying on McCrea's advice. But this is McCrea's natural habitat and when in Rome....So I decided to put my faith in McCrea and shoot for a 10:30 AM start time.

GoogleMaps told me the trip from my house (in Montgomery County) would take 2:15. A week from now, when the Memorial Day summer traffic kicks in, that trip will likely take double that as traffic backs up over the bay bridge. I left my house at 7:45 AM, hit zero traffic, and after stopping for gas and making one pit stop along the way, arrived at the put in at 10:15. The launch is well off the beaten path and I was expecting it to be tiny. It was in fact huge and well improved with a very large parking lot and a well maintained concrete boat ramp nestled between twin piers. I personally hate launching my canoe from a concrete ramp so I checked out the area on either side of the piers and found a tiny pebbly beach to launch from. After slathering on sunscreen and Picaridin to ward off the imagined hords of biting swamp insects, I was off at 10:30 AM.

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This is one big, flat, shallow marsh! The tide was still moving out, slowly, but it was indeed close to low tide and I was scooping mud on occasion with my paddle stroke. The "shore" here is largely tall marsh grasses and reeds. Birds were everywhere among the grasses and reeds. Sadly, Idon't know my southern swamp birds, so I could not identify any other than the red winged black bird. But they were singing up a racket, which made a pleasant sound track for this trip.

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In addition to bird life, this section of swamp is infested with invasive nutria -- a large aquatic rodent. I saw many nutria and heard the splash of many more. In addition, a multitude of turtles were observed. A father and son were out in a motorized boat to trap snapping turtles. He showed me their haul of 7 huge and slightly disoriented snappers! Apparently, these are a delicacy in these parts and the man confidently told me he would have no trouble selling them but he was keeping one for himself to make into a turtle-pot pie. A snake swam across my bow at one point. I was expecting it to be a northern water snake, but this thin bodied snake looked like it may have been an ordinary garter snake.

As for the insects, I was expecting to be assaulted by swarms of mosquitoes and other biting/blood suckers and so had prepared by spraying my clothes with Permethrin the night before and slathering on Picaridin at the put in. It wasn't necessary. No mosquitoes or other biting insect were observed. Twice, and only twice, something landed on my arm that I brushed away. That was it. My backyard is a lot worse this time of the year than this swamp was.
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There are (supposedly) two "islands" on this loop. From the canoe they don't appear to be islands at all because they aren't in the channel. Rather, these islands are in the marsh and edge the river channel. You wouldn't suspect they are islands at all, except they have the only trees to be seen for miles around. The first of these islands, Chance Island, was where I planned to stop and eat my lunch. I approached the island but could find no solid place to land along the marsh grasses that lined the shore. Probing the muck depth with my paddle, I concluded that I would definitely sink up my knee and likely lose a shoe to the muck if I tried to disembark. Disappointed, I paddled my canoe in among the reeds and ate my lunch in my canoe.

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Off again, I next came to the second island, Guinea Island. Here was actual solid ground with several easy landings. I picked one, tied up my canoe and stretched my legs.

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Exploring the island a bit, I saw definite signs of camping on this island, which McCrea later told me was permitted here. The banks of this island are absolutely strewn with oyster shells. I could not tell whether this was the work of racoons, otters, or prior human habitation. But something or someone had been enjoying oysters on this island for many, many years and probably for centuries.


By now, it was after 1 PM and the tide was definitely coming back in. McCrea had advised checking out some of the guts that branch into the interior of the marsh/swamp and, like a fool, I took one. Branching and re-branching until scarcely wider than a canoe, these guts are intimate and allow one to see the marsh up close and personal. They twist and turn every which way. I got carried away, literally, with the incoming tide and soon found myself in far deeper than I had planned to go. I had a little difficulty both turning my canoe around in the narrow gut and navigating my way back to the main channel while paddling against an increasingly rising tide. Several wrong turns later, and beginning to feel a bit tired (and cursing McCrea for sending me into this Labyrinth where I was certain to meet my fate) I was relieved when I finally found myself back in the main channel. The tide was really coming in a this point, but now it was going in the direction I needed to go. With the wind at my back, I speedily flew up the man-made canal toward my staring point. I hardly needed to paddle at all. If the tide or the wind had been going the other direction, it would have been a difficult paddle. With the tide and the wind both going in the wrong direction, I might have ended up in the in the middle of the Chesapeake Bay among the container ships.

By 3 PM I was at the take out and soon after on my way home.

All in all, the Transquaking River did not disappoint and McCrea's guidance had proven to be spot on!

Short, boringish video in the link.

 
About the tidal action on the Transquaking, I’ve been duck hunting and paddling there for 30 years and am still mighty confused at times. I know how marsh tides work (imagine the marsh as a giant sponge, slowly taking in or slowly releasing water well after predicted tides) and use the Rule of Twelfths to my advantage when I can.

We arrived at the Bestpitch put in for a group trip and found the tide noticeably running out, which seemed bass-awkwards. We dawdled around for 30 minutes and came up with Plan B, we would set a shuttle and paddle downriver from Decoursey Rd 6 miles upstream. As we were leaving I looked at the water again and the tide was moving swiftly in. WTF, tides don’t work like that.

I claim no expertise with Transquaking tides. I asked an old trapper at the launch one day and he said “I been trappin’ here my whole life and ain’t figgered it out yet”

The mouth of the Transquaking on Fishing Bay is open funnel shaped to the Chesapeake Bay, and a south wind can play an outsized role in water levels and movement. Or a strong north wind; one will help pile water into the marsh sponge, and one will help drain it out. Same in any marsh, but the funnel mouth increases the effect.

From the video it appears that sunset was as unpredictable as the tide. Smileyface thing.

Chance Island is absolutely worth a muddy foot explore, if only to ponder how (and why) the rusting Model A and Studebaker got out there. And why there is a hand dug well. 30 years ago the broken mason jars, stove parts and metal bits were more obvious, so I have a guess about the “why”, and figure the “how” was vehicles driven out with sacks of moonshine sugar during a rare period when the river froze drivable thick. Briefly

“Honey, about the Studebaker. . . . .” There must have been heck to pay.

Our annual Canoe Orienteering Challenge was always held on the Transquaking loop. Three helpers and I in two tandem canoes would split up and set the markers in the marsh a weekend ahead of time, including markers up every side slough. As many as 50 markers set back in the marsh, that had to be located out-of-boat on foot. Which meant that each half of the set up crew had to get out of (and back in) the canoes at least 25 times. It was a long, tiring day.

BTW, that is the quintessential “pluff mud”; it has the consistency of chocolate mousse and you can easily sink waist deep. Chip needed a crane or a helicopter to extract a heavyweight companion from the pluff during one challenge. The amount of mud and Spartina grass in the canoes at the finish was comical, and there was a “Muddiest Canoe” award.

I will next ballyhoo the delights of Tuckahoe Creek, 5.2 miles of flowing eastern shore hardwood forest creek, from Crouse Mill Rd below the dam at Tuckahoe SP down to the public landing in Hillsboro. Just over the Bay Bridge along Rte 404 (closer then the Transquaking and less buggy in warm weather).

The Tuckahoe below Hillsboro is kinda blah, and the section above the dam not is as interesting as the forested middle part with stands of mature American Beech. The gradual transition from highground hardwood forest to tidal marsh near Hillsboro is interesting to observe.

Or, if you want to paddle a marsh and never find your way back out, the creeks in Taylors Island Passages north of the Honga. No fair bringing a GPS or SPOT.

Seriously, Tuckahoe Creek is a top ten on the eastern shore.
 
"Top Ten on the Eastern Shore" sounds like a new thread you need to start, Mike. I assume it includes -- Pocomoke, Dividing Creek, Nassawango,Transquaking and the aforementioned Tuchahoe. That leaves five. Also, curious as to the order you rank them. I'm gonna try to knock some more of these off before the season ends.
 
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