Wednesday, June 01, 2005
Connecticut Waterfalls
A post from someone out there:
The Connecticut falls may lack the solemn majesty of Muir's Sierras or the thunderous melodrama of Niagara, but they're easy to reach, so uncrowded that you may find yourself alone, and, by and large, in their natural state. Waterfalls large and small dot the Connecticut hill country, but the greatest concentration is found in the mountains near the Massachusetts and New York borders.
For instant gratification, it's hard to beat the highest waterfall in Connecticut, Kent Falls. Pull into the parking lot on Route 7 four miles north of Kent, and you'll see a covered bridge and, a few hundred yards away, the lower section of the 200-foot falls spilling off the hillside over rippled slate and marble ledges.
Two guys in bulging fishing vests were standing awestruck on the rocks when we arrived. We inquired if they were hunting waterfalls, and the taller of the two touched his hat, where various configurations of hooks and feathers were pinned.
''Nope," he said. ''Trout."
His buddy shrugged and shook his head in wonder at the falls. ''We were just driving by and had to stop and take a look."
Many people snap a picture, then settle in with a picnic by Kent Falls Brook or in the grassy meadow. But you can get a good aerobic workout ascending to the upper falls on the stepped trail, an amenity originally created in the 1930s by the Civilian Conservation Corps. Stairs of planks, railroad ties, knotted roots, and natural stone outcrops climb 250 feet over a quarter mile. The walkway ends in a hemlock glade with an overlook on the upper falls, a single vigorous chute that whooshes through a rocky cleft, splashes onto a ledge 30 feet below and then crashes again to a deep pool.
Our favorite woodsy walk, though, was to the Reed Brook falls in Dean Ravine, about two miles east of Lime Rock off Route 7. Anticipation is the name of the game here. The blue-blazed trail through the hemlock forest follows the rushing brook as it gains momentum to get a running start for the leap into thin air. The trail suddenly leaves the brook at the cataract of a small cliff, continuing into the woods to a hairpin that doubles back along the ravine's steep slope to the base of the 50-foot falls. Looking up, you can see the wide cascade emerge from between two big boulders and crash down an almost regular series of stone steps, each wider than the last. Split right and left by blocky boulders, the flow converges for another short drop before continuing downstream. These woods are little tended, so the base of the falls remains natural, a clump of tumbled marble stones and recent deadfall trees.
Our choice for best picnic spot is 60-foot Campbell Falls, in a small park north of Norfolk. (The corner of Campbell Falls State Park Reserve containing the falls is actually in Massachusetts.) You have to lug your movable feast for 15 to 20 minutes down a pine-needle-strewn trail that crosses four rather decayed wooden footbridges. As a ''natural reserve," the park gets minimal maintenance. Storm-blown trees lie where they fall, growing old and colorful with sulfur shelf mushrooms and gray-green lichens.
Many purple trilliums grow along the trail; this member of the lily family is considered an endangered species in nearby New York.
The final stretch of the trail begins at a granite marker denoting the Connecticut-Massachusetts state line. It descends the northeast wall of a small gorge where densely knotted tree roots provide most of the footing. From the bottom of the gorge, the Whiting River seems to burst out of the woods, roaring two-thirds of the way down the embankment to splash into a large, frothing pool. As if it's gained a second wind, the river bubbles over and splashes another 20 feet before it bottoms out as a placid stream wending its way through the hills to join the Housatonic.
If you don't mind the occasional spray (just think of all those negative ions soothing your mood), you can spread your repast on the large, flat boulder of mica schist at the base of the falls. And if your picnic knife is too dull to slice the crusty bread you brought along, we discovered that the schist doubles nicely as a whetstone.
The Connecticut falls may lack the solemn majesty of Muir's Sierras or the thunderous melodrama of Niagara, but they're easy to reach, so uncrowded that you may find yourself alone, and, by and large, in their natural state. Waterfalls large and small dot the Connecticut hill country, but the greatest concentration is found in the mountains near the Massachusetts and New York borders.
For instant gratification, it's hard to beat the highest waterfall in Connecticut, Kent Falls. Pull into the parking lot on Route 7 four miles north of Kent, and you'll see a covered bridge and, a few hundred yards away, the lower section of the 200-foot falls spilling off the hillside over rippled slate and marble ledges.
Two guys in bulging fishing vests were standing awestruck on the rocks when we arrived. We inquired if they were hunting waterfalls, and the taller of the two touched his hat, where various configurations of hooks and feathers were pinned.
''Nope," he said. ''Trout."
His buddy shrugged and shook his head in wonder at the falls. ''We were just driving by and had to stop and take a look."
Many people snap a picture, then settle in with a picnic by Kent Falls Brook or in the grassy meadow. But you can get a good aerobic workout ascending to the upper falls on the stepped trail, an amenity originally created in the 1930s by the Civilian Conservation Corps. Stairs of planks, railroad ties, knotted roots, and natural stone outcrops climb 250 feet over a quarter mile. The walkway ends in a hemlock glade with an overlook on the upper falls, a single vigorous chute that whooshes through a rocky cleft, splashes onto a ledge 30 feet below and then crashes again to a deep pool.
Our favorite woodsy walk, though, was to the Reed Brook falls in Dean Ravine, about two miles east of Lime Rock off Route 7. Anticipation is the name of the game here. The blue-blazed trail through the hemlock forest follows the rushing brook as it gains momentum to get a running start for the leap into thin air. The trail suddenly leaves the brook at the cataract of a small cliff, continuing into the woods to a hairpin that doubles back along the ravine's steep slope to the base of the 50-foot falls. Looking up, you can see the wide cascade emerge from between two big boulders and crash down an almost regular series of stone steps, each wider than the last. Split right and left by blocky boulders, the flow converges for another short drop before continuing downstream. These woods are little tended, so the base of the falls remains natural, a clump of tumbled marble stones and recent deadfall trees.
Our choice for best picnic spot is 60-foot Campbell Falls, in a small park north of Norfolk. (The corner of Campbell Falls State Park Reserve containing the falls is actually in Massachusetts.) You have to lug your movable feast for 15 to 20 minutes down a pine-needle-strewn trail that crosses four rather decayed wooden footbridges. As a ''natural reserve," the park gets minimal maintenance. Storm-blown trees lie where they fall, growing old and colorful with sulfur shelf mushrooms and gray-green lichens.
Many purple trilliums grow along the trail; this member of the lily family is considered an endangered species in nearby New York.
The final stretch of the trail begins at a granite marker denoting the Connecticut-Massachusetts state line. It descends the northeast wall of a small gorge where densely knotted tree roots provide most of the footing. From the bottom of the gorge, the Whiting River seems to burst out of the woods, roaring two-thirds of the way down the embankment to splash into a large, frothing pool. As if it's gained a second wind, the river bubbles over and splashes another 20 feet before it bottoms out as a placid stream wending its way through the hills to join the Housatonic.
If you don't mind the occasional spray (just think of all those negative ions soothing your mood), you can spread your repast on the large, flat boulder of mica schist at the base of the falls. And if your picnic knife is too dull to slice the crusty bread you brought along, we discovered that the schist doubles nicely as a whetstone.
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