Charles River
Where: Charles River above Bellingham
When: 11/02/96
With: Solo
Last Spring, I'd paddled the first of four sections of the Charles River, as listed in the AMC River Guide for Massachusetts. My journey had started in Bellingham and continued downstream to Medfield. Above Bellingham, said the guide, the river really wasn't worth paddling. Nonetheless, I wanted to check it out.
My opportunity came on a Saturday following an overnight gathering of the B.U.M.S.. Jane and Andy had wisely gone to Maine the previous evening and weren't due back until late in the evening. When the guys all cleared out around 10:30AM, I found myself with time on my hands, so I tossed the Keowee on the car and headed to Bellingham.
My put-in spot was a small pond above a broken dam, just upstream of where I'd started my journey downstream in the Spring. The day was cool, but not too cold, and the water was moderately high from a recent rain. I got the boat into the water pretty quickly and pushed off.
Though the water was high, there wasn't much current to speak of. A short period of steady paddling got me through the pond and into a narrow waterway. I followed the river upstream as it meandered through a grassy, marshy valley bordered by trees and the occasional house. The channel was reasonably deep and wide, and free of obstructions, so I had no trouble making my way upriver.
Occasionally, the river would divide and I'd have to chose which branch to follow. Usually, the two branches rejoined a short ways upstream, so it wasn't an issue. One time however, I followed a channel that wound up petering out in the marsh. Unfortunately, by the time I realized my mistake, I'd already gone a good ways up the channel and backtracking would've taken a good while. Figuring I was pretty close to the true channel, I pulled the boat to shore and climbed out. Sure enough, the river was just a short ways away. I hauled the boat out of the water and proceeded to make an impromptu portage. Most of the way, I was able to find relatively solid ground to stand on and I just dragged the boat through the brush. Other times, I had to use the boat as a make shift bridge between bits of terra firma.
It took a little doing, but finally I managed to get the boat back to the water's edge and I pushed off again. I had a few scrapes and cuts and the boat was covered with broken twigs, but otherwise we'd made it just fine. "Leave it to me," I thought, "to turn a simple trip into an adventure!"
Back on the river, I continued upstream, watching and listening for Route 495. The river guide had warned that the culvert under the roadway was often impassable in high water and I wondered if I'd be able to pass through. Rounding a bend, I saw the road in front of me and I could see daylight through the culvert, though the clearance seemed pretty low. I paddled up and found myself stymied. The boat would fit under the ceiling, but there were only another six inches or so of clearance. I tried to see if I could slide down into the boat far enough to make it through. Though I'd done something similar - though not quite so extreme - before, I wasn't exactly thrilled with the prospect of inching my way through 100 yards of dark concrete tunnel, propelling myself with my hands on the ceiling of the culvert. As it turned out though, I couldn't slide down far enough, so I was spared the tunnel experience. Others had apparently made it however, at least I assumed so from the spray painted inscription, "This tunnel dedicated to smokers."
Since I could go no further, I turned around and went back. Riding with the current now, I made quick progress and was back to the car pretty quickly.
Next trip: From 495 up.
When: 11/02/96
With: Solo
Last Spring, I'd paddled the first of four sections of the Charles River, as listed in the AMC River Guide for Massachusetts. My journey had started in Bellingham and continued downstream to Medfield. Above Bellingham, said the guide, the river really wasn't worth paddling. Nonetheless, I wanted to check it out.
My opportunity came on a Saturday following an overnight gathering of the B.U.M.S.. Jane and Andy had wisely gone to Maine the previous evening and weren't due back until late in the evening. When the guys all cleared out around 10:30AM, I found myself with time on my hands, so I tossed the Keowee on the car and headed to Bellingham.
My put-in spot was a small pond above a broken dam, just upstream of where I'd started my journey downstream in the Spring. The day was cool, but not too cold, and the water was moderately high from a recent rain. I got the boat into the water pretty quickly and pushed off.
Though the water was high, there wasn't much current to speak of. A short period of steady paddling got me through the pond and into a narrow waterway. I followed the river upstream as it meandered through a grassy, marshy valley bordered by trees and the occasional house. The channel was reasonably deep and wide, and free of obstructions, so I had no trouble making my way upriver.
Occasionally, the river would divide and I'd have to chose which branch to follow. Usually, the two branches rejoined a short ways upstream, so it wasn't an issue. One time however, I followed a channel that wound up petering out in the marsh. Unfortunately, by the time I realized my mistake, I'd already gone a good ways up the channel and backtracking would've taken a good while. Figuring I was pretty close to the true channel, I pulled the boat to shore and climbed out. Sure enough, the river was just a short ways away. I hauled the boat out of the water and proceeded to make an impromptu portage. Most of the way, I was able to find relatively solid ground to stand on and I just dragged the boat through the brush. Other times, I had to use the boat as a make shift bridge between bits of terra firma.
It took a little doing, but finally I managed to get the boat back to the water's edge and I pushed off again. I had a few scrapes and cuts and the boat was covered with broken twigs, but otherwise we'd made it just fine. "Leave it to me," I thought, "to turn a simple trip into an adventure!"
Back on the river, I continued upstream, watching and listening for Route 495. The river guide had warned that the culvert under the roadway was often impassable in high water and I wondered if I'd be able to pass through. Rounding a bend, I saw the road in front of me and I could see daylight through the culvert, though the clearance seemed pretty low. I paddled up and found myself stymied. The boat would fit under the ceiling, but there were only another six inches or so of clearance. I tried to see if I could slide down into the boat far enough to make it through. Though I'd done something similar - though not quite so extreme - before, I wasn't exactly thrilled with the prospect of inching my way through 100 yards of dark concrete tunnel, propelling myself with my hands on the ceiling of the culvert. As it turned out though, I couldn't slide down far enough, so I was spared the tunnel experience. Others had apparently made it however, at least I assumed so from the spray painted inscription, "This tunnel dedicated to smokers."
Since I could go no further, I turned around and went back. Riding with the current now, I made quick progress and was back to the car pretty quickly.
Next trip: From 495 up.
