8AM on a Sunday morning the tide is coming in and the sun is beating down. The river is brown with sediment kicked up by yesterday’s storms up river. Small fish and eels roil in the water as something larger comes calling, never quite breaking the surface itself. I am casting…hoping to catch whatever is cruising unseen. Luther eyes me as he wanders up, hugging the canal walls. He is looking for something easy to eat and watches me and my lure. He hops up on the granite ten feet away, examines my fishing technique for a bit then takes a nap, unimpressed. Cormorants are masters at fishing, I am not.
Luther’s sleep is deep, undisturbed by our setting out boats and prepping for a SUP class. He wakes again when the tide laps against his feet. He eyes us once more before settling back into the water for a final circuit of the landing and a mosey up river. He is an older, experienced bird sharing one last morning with us.