I love the Connecticut River. My first memory of it was a family trip on the Essex Steam Train and Riverboat. I’m not sure how old I was but I was young enough to be enthralled by a ride on old fashioned steam train through the woods followed up by a ferry ride up the Connecticut River to Gillette Castle. I’ll l never forgot watching a couple of boys jumping off the cliffs at Gillette Castle into the river. To this day I still harbor a strong love for anything to do with trains, ferries and castles.
So when I heard you could camp on the banks of the Connecticut River at Gillette Castle I was determined to do so. When I found out the site was only for people arriving by kayak or canoe I was doubly so. (You can find more information about river camping at the CT DEEP website here.) My kayaking experience was limited to a trip on the Farmington River in Collinsville, but the prospect of paddling along the banks of the Connecticut spurred my imagination. And as luck would have it my good friend Matt, and Swamp Yankee Writing Society co-founder, just happened to own a pair of kayaks.
When I called to check available registration dates for the Gillette Castle site, the guy on the other end of the phone asked if I meant Selden Neck Park. He went on to explain that the Gillette Castle site was a bit touristy and crowded and that Selden Neck Park, which is an island in the Connecticut River, the largest one it turns out, would be a much better destination. Knowing nothing about the river campsites I deferred to his expert opinion, mailed off my check of ten dollars and eagerly awaited my camping permit.
So when I heard you could camp on the banks of the Connecticut River at Gillette Castle I was determined to do so. When I found out the site was only for people arriving by kayak or canoe I was doubly so. (You can find more information about river camping at the CT DEEP website here.) My kayaking experience was limited to a trip on the Farmington River in Collinsville, but the prospect of paddling along the banks of the Connecticut spurred my imagination. And as luck would have it my good friend Matt, and Swamp Yankee Writing Society co-founder, just happened to own a pair of kayaks.
When I called to check available registration dates for the Gillette Castle site, the guy on the other end of the phone asked if I meant Selden Neck Park. He went on to explain that the Gillette Castle site was a bit touristy and crowded and that Selden Neck Park, which is an island in the Connecticut River, the largest one it turns out, would be a much better destination. Knowing nothing about the river campsites I deferred to his expert opinion, mailed off my check of ten dollars and eagerly awaited my camping permit.
Since neither of us had ever camped using kayaks before we had to learn a new skill set. We bought resalable storage bags to waterproof everything and practiced storing them in the kayaks the night before in Matt’s driveway. The limited space forced us to be economical in choosing our equipment. Alas no air mattresses were taken on our journey.
The day of the trip we put in at the Hadlyme Ferry Boat Launch, which is two miles north of the park. We watched the ferry dock as we unloaded the kayaks and packed them with relative ease. I snapped my one and only photo of the trip and then we hit the river.
The day of the trip we put in at the Hadlyme Ferry Boat Launch, which is two miles north of the park. We watched the ferry dock as we unloaded the kayaks and packed them with relative ease. I snapped my one and only photo of the trip and then we hit the river.
All week the weather report said it we were going to be rained out that day, but as we paddled downriver the menacing clouds burned off and we were blessed with a gorgeous sunny day. Aside from having to turn into the wake of a passing boat or two the trip was peaceful and easy enough.
One thing I noticed about kayaking on a river as large as the Connecticut was the difficulty in gauging distances. On the west side of the river we spotted what looked like an old monastery with a green patina domed bell tower poking up over the tree-line and used that as a point of reference to chart our progress.
Turns out the building was originally the Saint John Industrial School built back in 1907. An instructional school being by definition - a school for educating neglected children or juvenile delinquents committed to its care and training them to
some form of industry, AKA an orphanage or boy's home. Today it's the Academy at Mount Saint John, a clinical day school.
One thing I noticed about kayaking on a river as large as the Connecticut was the difficulty in gauging distances. On the west side of the river we spotted what looked like an old monastery with a green patina domed bell tower poking up over the tree-line and used that as a point of reference to chart our progress.
Turns out the building was originally the Saint John Industrial School built back in 1907. An instructional school being by definition - a school for educating neglected children or juvenile delinquents committed to its care and training them to
some form of industry, AKA an orphanage or boy's home. Today it's the Academy at Mount Saint John, a clinical day school.
As we made our way along the river we had difficulty determining where the island actually was. This was due to the fact that the island was originally a neck and was only cut off from the shore by the Selden Creek back in 1854. The mouth of the creek resembled more of a cove as we passed it, but once we spotted the sandy dune of the Hogback Campsite we knew we had reached the island.
Our campsite was Quarry Knob. It had a small, gravel bank to dock the kayaks and a trail that lead to the site proper, which consisted of a fire-pit, picnic table and outhouse. After pitching camp we had a quick lunch of expired Emerald Breakfast on the Go trail snacks I scored from work and delicious homemade goose jerky a coworker had given to Matt. Eager for more adventure I suggested we take the kayaks and circumnavigate the island.
Our campsite was Quarry Knob. It had a small, gravel bank to dock the kayaks and a trail that lead to the site proper, which consisted of a fire-pit, picnic table and outhouse. After pitching camp we had a quick lunch of expired Emerald Breakfast on the Go trail snacks I scored from work and delicious homemade goose jerky a coworker had given to Matt. Eager for more adventure I suggested we take the kayaks and circumnavigate the island.
I was unaware at the time just how arduous our little trip would be. Early on we came across a large bird nest with what I was convinced was a Bald Eagle perched in it. I had been on an Eagle Cruise run by Connecticut River Quest so I knew it was within the realm of possibility. Matt was skeptical about my bird identification skills.
Near the southern mouth of Selden Creek we entered some wetlands which were home to some Great Egrets fishing for their noontime meal. After some false leads we finally found the mouth of the creek, which was a narrow lane of wetlands on either side. We passed another raptor nest that looked liked it was maintained by some sort of conservation society. The bird took off and cruised over the treetops hunting for prey. I got a better look at this bird and my best guess would be that it was an Osprey. This bird and the previous mystery bird were both far considerable larger than your average red-tailed hawk.
Further down the creek the wetlands gave way to sheer rock faces on our starboard side. Here we came across several boaters making use of the shade to fish or relax. This is when Matt I discovered that constant rowing of a Kayak can hurt after awhile. All along the creek there really wasn't anywhere for us to pull off to rest so all we could do was paddle on. Occasionally we'd take a break and just drift along to rub sore shoulders. Matt had said that creek reminded him of something out of National Geographic and as I watched a Great Egret fly over him I couldn't help but agree with him.
Near the southern mouth of Selden Creek we entered some wetlands which were home to some Great Egrets fishing for their noontime meal. After some false leads we finally found the mouth of the creek, which was a narrow lane of wetlands on either side. We passed another raptor nest that looked liked it was maintained by some sort of conservation society. The bird took off and cruised over the treetops hunting for prey. I got a better look at this bird and my best guess would be that it was an Osprey. This bird and the previous mystery bird were both far considerable larger than your average red-tailed hawk.
Further down the creek the wetlands gave way to sheer rock faces on our starboard side. Here we came across several boaters making use of the shade to fish or relax. This is when Matt I discovered that constant rowing of a Kayak can hurt after awhile. All along the creek there really wasn't anywhere for us to pull off to rest so all we could do was paddle on. Occasionally we'd take a break and just drift along to rub sore shoulders. Matt had said that creek reminded him of something out of National Geographic and as I watched a Great Egret fly over him I couldn't help but agree with him.
All in all the trip clocked in around 3 hours and was just under 4.5 miles. Needless to say we were both pretty tuckered by the time we reached the campsite again. As tired as we were I convinced Matt to go with me in search of a letterbox on the island. Without giving too much away the first clue involved a geodetic survey marker and the final clue mentioned stone walls ( which were an artifact from the days when cattle were kept on the island to feed the men who worked the granite quarries there.) Matt found the letterbox without much trouble. There was one letterbox for each of the four campsites and we considered searching for another one, but the woods were infesting with gnats so we decided against it.
Once back at the campsite I set about making dinner while Matt tended to the makeshift cooler he had constructed out of stones along the bank of the river to keep our beverages cold. It seemed that the so-called "retaining wall" he made was not up to code to withstand high tide and the wake of passing boats. After saving our beverages from being lost at sea, Matt wondered if our Kayaks were secure.
As soon as he decided to go check on them I knew something was wrong and followed him. Turns out our kayaks had indeed floated away. Mine was listing lazily in the little lagoon that had replaced our boat launch. I jumped in the water and dragged it to shore. Matt climbed in it and went off in search of his kayak, which was nowhere in sight. Luckily he was able to retrieve it just a little ways from the campsite.
We both enjoyed a laugh about it all and the prospect of having to call the Coast Guard to pick us up over a meal of rib-eye steaks. Then we watched the billowing smoke of the Essex Steam Train from across the river as the sunset.
In the morning we broke down camp with military precision and hit the river for the return trip. On the way back we were sent off with a fond farewell from a half bevy of swans taking off and gliding over the water. Aside from Matt's second degree sunburn and a deer-tick bite on me - I found 3 total which shouldn't be surprising we were in the area for which Lyme Disease got it's name - I deem the First Annual Swamp Yankee Writing Society Expedition a rousing success.
As soon as he decided to go check on them I knew something was wrong and followed him. Turns out our kayaks had indeed floated away. Mine was listing lazily in the little lagoon that had replaced our boat launch. I jumped in the water and dragged it to shore. Matt climbed in it and went off in search of his kayak, which was nowhere in sight. Luckily he was able to retrieve it just a little ways from the campsite.
We both enjoyed a laugh about it all and the prospect of having to call the Coast Guard to pick us up over a meal of rib-eye steaks. Then we watched the billowing smoke of the Essex Steam Train from across the river as the sunset.
In the morning we broke down camp with military precision and hit the river for the return trip. On the way back we were sent off with a fond farewell from a half bevy of swans taking off and gliding over the water. Aside from Matt's second degree sunburn and a deer-tick bite on me - I found 3 total which shouldn't be surprising we were in the area for which Lyme Disease got it's name - I deem the First Annual Swamp Yankee Writing Society Expedition a rousing success.