Charles River
Where: Charles River, Part I
When: 4/21/96
With: Solo
The Charles River originates in Hopkinton and then flows some 80 miles to Boston Harbor. At its beginning, the river is no more than a small brook but eventually it widens into a something paddleable. The AMC River Guide describes the lower 64 miles of the river, splitting them into four sections, each a day's journey. The first section, beginning in Bellingham, is described as being rather pretty with some Class I-II rapids in high water. Recent heavy rains and snow melt had raised the water level and I thought it would be a good place to try out my paddling skills and my Keowee kayak on some rough water. I'd only paddled on flat lakes and ponds before and was curious to see how my boat and I would do in rapids. The Keowee is not designed for whitewater, but what it lacks in maneuvering ability it makes up for in stability, so I figured it could handle this easy stuff.
The day was beautiful - warm and sunny. I left my car at my intended take-out and then Jane ferried me upstream to the put-in. She had to get Andy to a birthday party, so she dropped me off and left quickly. Figuring I wouldn't be there long enough to get into trouble, I carried the kayak past a number of No Trespassing signs and crossed a dirt parking area to the river's edge.
There were a few moments of trepidation as I looked at the churning water. The trip was to start with some rapids - Class I said the guidebook, but the flooding probably raised the difficulty a bit - and I had never done rapids before. Still, I was wearing a new wetsuit and a lifejacket, my gear (including a cell phone) was in a new dry bag, and most importantly, my car was 15 miles downstream, so I climbed into the boat and pushed off.
All went well for the first 30 seconds or so. That's when I came to an obstruction in the water - a downed tree. When I tried to maneuver around it, I got turned sideways to the current and my upstream gunwale dipped down into the water. The current flowed onto the top of the boat and flipped me over before I could react. Fortunately, the water was only a few feet deep and I popped right out of the boat (didn't even get my hair wet), but there I was, standing in the stream with a boat full of water. Just started and already capsized. So much for the Keowee's stability!
I looked downstream and saw nothing but more rapids before the river vanished around a bend. Not knowing if the rest of the ride was the same (or worse!), I held a quick internal debate. Was this beyond the abilities of me, my boat, or both? If I was to continue, I had to believe it wasn't, despite the recent evidence to the contrary. Somehow, I convinced myself that I had just made a mistake - an avoidable mistake - and decided to try to keep going. At worst, I figured, I'd get dumped again and I'd already survived that once. Actually, at worst I'd get dumped again and wouldn't survive, but I decided to ignore that possibility.
I emptied the water from the boat, made my way around the obstruction and started paddling again. I managed to keep the boat straight through the rapids by some fairly ungraceful, frantic paddling and then the river flowed around the bend and smoothed out nicely. Having now survived a full 50 feet of river, I figured I could probably handle the rest of the trip.
The next few miles were pretty, but slow. The river was narrow (10-20 feet) and fallen trees occasionally blocked the way downstream. Some I paddled around or over, others had to be portaged. At one where I had to get out and carry the boat around, I got a good barking-at by a dog in an adjoining yard that probably wondered about the odd creature in his back yard. Yards made up a good bit of the shoreline in the section, along with the occasional forest or farmland. I saw few people, but made a point of saying hello to each as I passed.
After a while, I came to the first of three dams on this section. The guidebook said to carry around to the right, but I wasn't sure if I was at the right dam. Industrial buildings at the dam made me think I was further along. I wandered about the area for a bit before deciding I was indeed at the first dam, and I carried the kayak through a fenced-in parking lot on the right side of the river, down the bank behind one of the buildings, and got back on the water.
The next dam was an easier portage. I got out right at the edge and found myself in a nice little woods. A conservation area or town forest I guess, judging by the well-worn paths. I carried the boat down to the water, took a little break and set off again. A few miles later I found myself at the last and biggest of the dams at the site of a former mill (now condos). I got out on the left, carried the boat around the old mill and down a road and dropped it in the water. I checked my watch and found I was running later than I'd figured, so I pulled out the cell phone and called home, leaving a message as to my whereabouts.
After packing things away again, I returned to the river. A bit of panic returned as I surveyed the section of Class II+ rapids below. After my initial plunge earlier, I was a bit worried about this stretch of water, but I zippered up my lifejacket and pushed off anyway. "Don't get sideways," I kept repeating as the water broke over the bow of the boat. A couple of times I would have liked to be somewhere else in the current, but I was so concerned about turning sideways that I just let the boat stay on the track it was on while I concentrated on keeping aimed downstream. My technique must have been correct, because I made it through and broke into a big smile. Maybe I could do some whitewater after all!
From here on, the trip was mostly just a lot of paddling on flatwater, ducking under the occasional bridge, hoping for more small rapids to keep things interesting, and watching the scenery along the way. I talked to people on shore and checked out the houses I saw. Some were beautiful places with second floor balconies off master bedrooms overlooking the water. Others were run-down shacks littered with junk. A real mix. Other times, the shoreline was nothing but forest so it felt like a wilderness trip. There was some limited wildlife - ducks, hawks, red-wing blackbirds, and one groundhog - but the only waterlife I noticed were turtles sunning themselves all along the way. Fishermen I talked to said they hadn't had any bites. The water was probably still a bit too high.
Other things I remember: A couple of boys fishing off opposite sides of a bridge I passed under. A couple of girls playing with their dogs in their backyard, who ran along the bank to talk to me. They said what I was doing didn't look like much fun. I told them it was. A number of folks out burning brush in their backyards. Several people fishing from the shore, mostly just enjoying the warm spring day. Lots of balls - especially soccer balls - trapped in the debris along the shore. Lots of very loud gunfire from a rod & gun club near shore. Having to slide down into my boat to make it under a particularly low bridge. A small child playing in a fenced backyard that came to the water's edge right where another stream joined the river. I turned right instead of left and found myself paddling upstream, so the child watched as I turned around and headed downstream again. I was tempted to chide him/her for not pointing me in the right direction at the intersection!
Two bits of drama remained on this trip. The first was at Populatic Lake, which the Charles flows into and then immediately flows out. Drama probably isn't the right term. I got lost! The guidebook said the outlet was 200 yards along the left shore from the inlet, but the high water had flooded the area and it was difficult to discern any sort of established channel. Faced with the prospect of wandering around the extensive lake area, exploring various options, I looked for some clues. I spotted some folks fishing from a boat in what appeared to be a possible candidate for the route, so I followed them as they trolled along. Still unsure that I was in the right place, I started watching the weeds in the water for some signs of the current flow and found I was indeed on the right track.
The final bit of excitement for the trip came at a place called the Rockville Rips. The water split in two at a small island, tumbled over the remains of an old, broken dam, then recombined and rushed under a small bridge with three spans. The roar of the water was a bit too loud, so I pulled to the shore and surveyed the route. The guidebook said the left and middle spans were best in high water, but none of the routes looked runnable to me. Either way would've required a quick turn around the island and then another turn to get under the bridge. I evaluated my ability to maneuver my boat quickly in rough water and then carried the boat up and over the road to the other side of the bridge.
Maybe I'll run them another day.
Beyond this bridge, the river became flat and fairly boring, just a slow, meandering route through a variety of settings. I was pretty tired by this time and just wanted the trip to end, so my attitude was not the best. The final section was especially tough to take. The high water had flooded a wide marshy area and the actual river channel was difficult to follow as it meandered about. It wasn't particularly pretty either, so I was happy when I finally spotted the road where my car was parked. Though I'd been paddling non-stop for nearly 5 hours, I leaned into the blades and drove myself the next few hundred yards to take-out. Sun-burnt, somewhat dehydrated, and exhausted, I loaded the boat onto the car and headed for home.
When: 4/21/96
With: Solo
The Charles River originates in Hopkinton and then flows some 80 miles to Boston Harbor. At its beginning, the river is no more than a small brook but eventually it widens into a something paddleable. The AMC River Guide describes the lower 64 miles of the river, splitting them into four sections, each a day's journey. The first section, beginning in Bellingham, is described as being rather pretty with some Class I-II rapids in high water. Recent heavy rains and snow melt had raised the water level and I thought it would be a good place to try out my paddling skills and my Keowee kayak on some rough water. I'd only paddled on flat lakes and ponds before and was curious to see how my boat and I would do in rapids. The Keowee is not designed for whitewater, but what it lacks in maneuvering ability it makes up for in stability, so I figured it could handle this easy stuff.
The day was beautiful - warm and sunny. I left my car at my intended take-out and then Jane ferried me upstream to the put-in. She had to get Andy to a birthday party, so she dropped me off and left quickly. Figuring I wouldn't be there long enough to get into trouble, I carried the kayak past a number of No Trespassing signs and crossed a dirt parking area to the river's edge.
There were a few moments of trepidation as I looked at the churning water. The trip was to start with some rapids - Class I said the guidebook, but the flooding probably raised the difficulty a bit - and I had never done rapids before. Still, I was wearing a new wetsuit and a lifejacket, my gear (including a cell phone) was in a new dry bag, and most importantly, my car was 15 miles downstream, so I climbed into the boat and pushed off.
All went well for the first 30 seconds or so. That's when I came to an obstruction in the water - a downed tree. When I tried to maneuver around it, I got turned sideways to the current and my upstream gunwale dipped down into the water. The current flowed onto the top of the boat and flipped me over before I could react. Fortunately, the water was only a few feet deep and I popped right out of the boat (didn't even get my hair wet), but there I was, standing in the stream with a boat full of water. Just started and already capsized. So much for the Keowee's stability!
I looked downstream and saw nothing but more rapids before the river vanished around a bend. Not knowing if the rest of the ride was the same (or worse!), I held a quick internal debate. Was this beyond the abilities of me, my boat, or both? If I was to continue, I had to believe it wasn't, despite the recent evidence to the contrary. Somehow, I convinced myself that I had just made a mistake - an avoidable mistake - and decided to try to keep going. At worst, I figured, I'd get dumped again and I'd already survived that once. Actually, at worst I'd get dumped again and wouldn't survive, but I decided to ignore that possibility.
I emptied the water from the boat, made my way around the obstruction and started paddling again. I managed to keep the boat straight through the rapids by some fairly ungraceful, frantic paddling and then the river flowed around the bend and smoothed out nicely. Having now survived a full 50 feet of river, I figured I could probably handle the rest of the trip.
The next few miles were pretty, but slow. The river was narrow (10-20 feet) and fallen trees occasionally blocked the way downstream. Some I paddled around or over, others had to be portaged. At one where I had to get out and carry the boat around, I got a good barking-at by a dog in an adjoining yard that probably wondered about the odd creature in his back yard. Yards made up a good bit of the shoreline in the section, along with the occasional forest or farmland. I saw few people, but made a point of saying hello to each as I passed.
After a while, I came to the first of three dams on this section. The guidebook said to carry around to the right, but I wasn't sure if I was at the right dam. Industrial buildings at the dam made me think I was further along. I wandered about the area for a bit before deciding I was indeed at the first dam, and I carried the kayak through a fenced-in parking lot on the right side of the river, down the bank behind one of the buildings, and got back on the water.
The next dam was an easier portage. I got out right at the edge and found myself in a nice little woods. A conservation area or town forest I guess, judging by the well-worn paths. I carried the boat down to the water, took a little break and set off again. A few miles later I found myself at the last and biggest of the dams at the site of a former mill (now condos). I got out on the left, carried the boat around the old mill and down a road and dropped it in the water. I checked my watch and found I was running later than I'd figured, so I pulled out the cell phone and called home, leaving a message as to my whereabouts.
After packing things away again, I returned to the river. A bit of panic returned as I surveyed the section of Class II+ rapids below. After my initial plunge earlier, I was a bit worried about this stretch of water, but I zippered up my lifejacket and pushed off anyway. "Don't get sideways," I kept repeating as the water broke over the bow of the boat. A couple of times I would have liked to be somewhere else in the current, but I was so concerned about turning sideways that I just let the boat stay on the track it was on while I concentrated on keeping aimed downstream. My technique must have been correct, because I made it through and broke into a big smile. Maybe I could do some whitewater after all!
From here on, the trip was mostly just a lot of paddling on flatwater, ducking under the occasional bridge, hoping for more small rapids to keep things interesting, and watching the scenery along the way. I talked to people on shore and checked out the houses I saw. Some were beautiful places with second floor balconies off master bedrooms overlooking the water. Others were run-down shacks littered with junk. A real mix. Other times, the shoreline was nothing but forest so it felt like a wilderness trip. There was some limited wildlife - ducks, hawks, red-wing blackbirds, and one groundhog - but the only waterlife I noticed were turtles sunning themselves all along the way. Fishermen I talked to said they hadn't had any bites. The water was probably still a bit too high.
Other things I remember: A couple of boys fishing off opposite sides of a bridge I passed under. A couple of girls playing with their dogs in their backyard, who ran along the bank to talk to me. They said what I was doing didn't look like much fun. I told them it was. A number of folks out burning brush in their backyards. Several people fishing from the shore, mostly just enjoying the warm spring day. Lots of balls - especially soccer balls - trapped in the debris along the shore. Lots of very loud gunfire from a rod & gun club near shore. Having to slide down into my boat to make it under a particularly low bridge. A small child playing in a fenced backyard that came to the water's edge right where another stream joined the river. I turned right instead of left and found myself paddling upstream, so the child watched as I turned around and headed downstream again. I was tempted to chide him/her for not pointing me in the right direction at the intersection!
Two bits of drama remained on this trip. The first was at Populatic Lake, which the Charles flows into and then immediately flows out. Drama probably isn't the right term. I got lost! The guidebook said the outlet was 200 yards along the left shore from the inlet, but the high water had flooded the area and it was difficult to discern any sort of established channel. Faced with the prospect of wandering around the extensive lake area, exploring various options, I looked for some clues. I spotted some folks fishing from a boat in what appeared to be a possible candidate for the route, so I followed them as they trolled along. Still unsure that I was in the right place, I started watching the weeds in the water for some signs of the current flow and found I was indeed on the right track.
The final bit of excitement for the trip came at a place called the Rockville Rips. The water split in two at a small island, tumbled over the remains of an old, broken dam, then recombined and rushed under a small bridge with three spans. The roar of the water was a bit too loud, so I pulled to the shore and surveyed the route. The guidebook said the left and middle spans were best in high water, but none of the routes looked runnable to me. Either way would've required a quick turn around the island and then another turn to get under the bridge. I evaluated my ability to maneuver my boat quickly in rough water and then carried the boat up and over the road to the other side of the bridge.
Maybe I'll run them another day.
Beyond this bridge, the river became flat and fairly boring, just a slow, meandering route through a variety of settings. I was pretty tired by this time and just wanted the trip to end, so my attitude was not the best. The final section was especially tough to take. The high water had flooded a wide marshy area and the actual river channel was difficult to follow as it meandered about. It wasn't particularly pretty either, so I was happy when I finally spotted the road where my car was parked. Though I'd been paddling non-stop for nearly 5 hours, I leaned into the blades and drove myself the next few hundred yards to take-out. Sun-burnt, somewhat dehydrated, and exhausted, I loaded the boat onto the car and headed for home.
