Westfield Bike
Where: Westfield River
When: 7/23-7/24, 2005
With: Chip, Dave
The Connecticut river trip was closely linked to Xeth and I didn't feel it was appropriate to go there without him, so I began to consider alternatives. Somehow I got the idea of a return to the Westfield river, but with mountain bikes. I knew Dave & Chip both had the bikes, and I'd wanted to ride in the area along the river for some time. I figured we could park at the usual spot by Indian Hollow, and then ride south along the river to a campsite Chip & I had used with our boys a few years earlier. It was a short distance downstream from the camping area, just off a horse/hiking/biking trail. We'd drop our gear there and spend the rest of the day riding with light packs.
By now it was two days before the weekend and we still had no definite plans to go. I was prepared to bag the whole trip, but Chip called and was still raring to go. He was assuming we were going kayaking, but quickly bought into the idea of a biking trip. I still hadn't heard from Dave, so I called his house and spoke with Lia. She said he was planning to go; also assuming it would be a water trip. I spoke with him at his office the next day and sold him on the bike idea, so we were set.
The troops all gathered at my house Saturday morning. Dave brought his van, loaded all of our bikes and gear into it, and we headed west. We made a quick stop in Florence for lunch for Chip, and then continued on to Chesterfield. The weather (and forecast) was perfect as we packed up in the parking area by Indian Hollow. It only took a few minutes to get everything squared away before we mounted the bikes and started our ride. It was a neat feeling to be gliding along the road we'd trudged on so many times before, and the bikes made the trip down to the water go very quickly. I led the way, turning left at the campground to follow the trail toward the ford. The path crossed a small lawn, entered the woods on a dirt road, and then came to the water. The Westfield river was on our right, with a path on the opposite bank leading to the trails on the west side. Straight ahead was the Dead Branch stream, with our route leading into the woods on the other side of the water. The water levels were just about right...low enough for easy crossings but high enough to offer some recreation.
We picked up our bikes, plunged across, and then looked up the trail we'd be riding. It appeared that some piece of heavy machinery had cleared the route recently. The tracks in the mud indicated a bulldozer or something with a double caterpillar track. It had left the trail wider and rougher than I'd expected, but it was rideable. Our ability to ride it was an entirely different question however. It started immediately with a hill climb away from the water, on a rough route with occasional ruts and mud. We were three middle-aged guys who really didn't ride a lot, plus we all had 20-30 pounds of gear in backpacks that shifted our centers of gravity significantly. I'd managed to squeeze my stuff into one of my smaller packs, but Chip & Dave were using their full expedition-sized packs, which restricted their ability to lift up their heads.
We wound up doing a lot of walking in that first section and didn't really start riding until the trail crested the hill and leveled off a bit. It was still quite rough but generally in good shape and soon we were all tearing through the woods. The route offered a variety of hills, hollows, muddy sections and such to help us get used to the bikes. After just a few minutes we arrived at a stream crossing and I called a halt. I ran a short distance toward the river, then came back to announce that we'd arrived at our campsite. This was the place we'd named Growling Grizzly Gulch when Chip & I had been here with our boys in August of 2000. The name came from a combination of Chip's snoring and the small chasm created by the stream that lead down to the river past the campsite. There was still evidence of our campfire from that visit...a few charred sticks in the leaves.
We dropped our gear at the campsite, claimed spots for our hammocks, and then went down to the river to have lunch. It was a beautiful, sunny day with comfortable temperatures. Dave was ready to just call it a day and volunteered to stay at the camp to watch the gear, but we all agreed to give the trails a shot with our bikes. Back up to the campsite we went, where we assembled small daypacks with water and supplies before returning to the trail with our bikes. We climbed back onto the pedals around 2:00PM.
The riding was much easier without the weight of the full packs. It didn't take long before we were speeding down the downhill stretches and churning up the uphills. The trail was more of the same as before...wide and somewhat rough, showing evidence of relatively recent clearing by heavy equipment. We got a good workout as we rode along through the beautiful woods. There was the occasional spill, a few stops for water, rest and conversation, and several walks up slopes too steep for our skills, but mostly we just rode. Our destination on the ride was the Army Corps of Engineers' Knightville Dam. We didn't have solid confirmation, but I was reasonably sure that the trail we were on led to the dam eventually. As for the distance, we thought it might be about four miles.
After a while the trail began to change. An open area appeared through the trees on our right (where the river was) and the pathway became more like a dirt road than a rough path in the woods. At some point the evidence of the bulldozer (or whatever) disappeared and other trails came out of the woods and joined our route. We suspected we might be approaching the dam. I got ahead of the others and stopped at a fork in the trail to wait for them to catch up. When they didn't show up right away, I left my bike so they wouldn't pass by and walked down the fork leading toward the river. The other fork appeared to be the main trail, but I thought this route might offer a way to cross to the other side (where we'd need to be, eventually). The trail quickly petered out and became overgrown, then emerged from the woods into the river valley. To my left loomed the mass of the dam and directly in front of me was a broad meadow with no obvious route across. There was also no sign of the river (though I knew it was there).
I returned to the main trail and greeted the others when they arrived a few minutes later. I told them we were nearly at our destination and we chugged the short remaining distance (mostly uphill) before the trail ended and we found ourselves riding on the paved roads of the Knightville Dam Project. The road led past the main Project building, then turned to cross the top of the dam. We rode across; enjoying the smooth pavement, perfect weather and views of the river valley spreading north from the dam.
We thought the road might continue all the way across and down to the road on the opposite shore, but it ended at the spillway, leaving us staring across a wide expanse of open space and brushy meadow. Needing to get across, we started to follow the road back across the dam. The plan was follow that down through the recreation area below (picnicking and such) and back along other roads until we found our trail. We didn't get far though before Dave suggested just carrying the bikes down the dam face and bushwhacking though the brush at the base of the spillway to get to a rough path we'd seen in the woods. We turned around, hopped the fence, picked our way down the rocks covering the upstream face of the dam, and within a few minutes were on the path.
A small gate offered one final, easily passed obstacle to our progress before we started our return trip upstream. The route started as a paved road, then left to the right, crossed the river (looking VERY small...perhaps portions of it are diverted before it reaches the dam) and became a dirt road though the open river valley. High vegetation along the sides quickly turned the road into a corridor between green walls, but at regular intervals there were openings cut on the right that offered views of the river (back to full size again). Perhaps the openings had something to do with fire control or provided access for fishermen. We kept an eye on them for opportunities to go for a dip in the water. Dave especially wanted to wash off some of the trail dust and enjoy the cool water. Finally we just stopped at one of the openings, dropped the bikes and went down to the river.
It turned out to be a nice little spot, with water deep enough to immerse ourselves and a rocky shore for resting and drying off in the sun. Soon we were all in the water. Everyone found a pool or other spot to claim, and discovered techniques to remain in place against the river's current (mostly involving wedging one's butt up against a submerged rock). Dave announced he was "deploying his sea anchor" and his bathing suit came off. Chip & I did the same, though our communion with nature didn't last long once we realized that folks on bikes and motorcycles were cruising by on the road fairly regularly and could see us through the opening in the brush.
We enjoyed the water for a good while, dried off in the sun, and then returned to the bikes to continue our ride. A short time later we came to a parking lot and a gate that closed the route beyond to motorized vehicles. The road entered the woods and became a shaded ride again, climbing a bit to a high bank above the river. Soon after the gate we noticed a large, deep pool in the river below. Though we'd just come out of the water, it seemed like too good an opportunity to pass up so we stashed the bikes in the woods and went down for another swim. This was true swimming; with water deep enough to dive into and a pool long enough for some continuous swimming. A set of rock ledges on the shore offered a nice place to jump and rest afterwards. Dave stayed near those rocks for the most part, while Chip and I each swam down to the end of the pool and back.
We finally got our fill of the pool and resumed our biking. By this time it was getting to be about 4:30 or so. We started to look for the Indian Hollow crossing that would take us back to our campsite. The trail stayed fairly level and easy to ride, going through woods for the most part. Other than a fisherman or two we didn't run into anyone else along the way. Finally the path emerged into a meadow I recognized and came to the side path down to the ford below the campground. Dave and I arrived first, and once Chip joined us we proceeded to the river and crossed. A second crossing (of the Dead Branch stream) landed us back at the path where we'd started our riding earlier in the day. We all commented on how much colder the water in the Dead Branch was, compared to the very mild water in the main river.
Unencumbered by heavy packs this time, and with several additional hours of biking "experience" under our belts, we did a better job of riding up the trail. Our weary legs worked against us a bit however and we were all glad to get back to the camp and call it a day. It was about 5:00PM when we arrived. Chip & Dave proceeded to set up their hammocks (I'd done mine earlier) while I stretched out to rest and give my legs a break. Chip did the same once he had his hammock up but Dave took his sleeping pad and went down to the river to find a spot to relax. I joined him down there around 6:30, practiced my fly-casting a bit, and then returned to the campsite at 7:00 to start dinner.
Dinner was the usual tortellini, with a tomato-based sauce, and was a fairly quick affair to prepare and eat. By 8:00 we were done and cleaned up and I returned to my hammock. It was comfortable and offered protection from the mosquitoes that had been bothering us all evening. Dave followed my lead, while Chip went down to the river to explore. He returned at 9:00 or so, saying he'd spotted some small, furry brown thing by the water, and retired to his hammock. Both Chip & I had small radios and we hoped to be able to tune in the Red Sox game but the reception in the deep river valley was spotty at best. Stations would fade in and out. I gave up and just read a book until I started to doze off.
The rest of the night was spent as usual for me, napping for stretches of an hour or so then waking for a short time. At 10:30, a pair of owls began hooting up by the main trail and I listened as their calls grew closer to each other and then departed. The same hoots, though from a single bird, heralded the dawn Sunday morning as the owl flew nearly directly over our campsite. I watched the light grow in the sky, noted a time of 5:20AM on my watch and decided I'd get up at 6:00. At 6:45 I awoke from a deep sleep and went down to the river with my fishing gear. I cast a bit, explored the riverbanks, rested in the day's first splashes of sunlight, and finally ascended to the campsite at 8:00.
Chip & Dave were awake, but still resting in their hammocks. We decided to have breakfast by the river, so I loaded up my daypack with the stove, cook pots and bagels and we followed the stream down through the gulch. Water for coffee was quickly boiling. We each claimed a semi-comfortable rock, loaded up bagels with cream cheese, and enjoyed a relaxed breakfast along the water. Returning to the campsite afterwards, no one was in a great hurry to leave. I returned to my hammock with a book while Chip & Dave had an animated conversation for the next two hours.
Around noon they ran out of things to discuss. There was a general agreement that it was time to go, so the campsite was quickly disassembled, the gear returned to the backpacks, and before long we were back on the trail with our bikes aimed toward Indian Hollow. A couple of dirt bikes had roared past earlier, and we kept an ear out for their possible return as we rode the trail. It was a quick and easy ride out, with only one final stop at a hill so Chip could take some action photos. He positioned himself down the trail to get shots of me and Dave then did his own ride while I took his picture. Dave wiped out a bit further down, but wasn't seriously injured. A few moments later we were at the Dead Branch crossing again and then on our way out and back to the car.
We took some time to hang out by the stream at the parking area and go for one final dip in the water before departing Indian Hollow and heading for home. A stop at Scotti's Driving Range and Sandwich Shop for lunch completed the festivities. We arrived in Hopkinton just a bit past 3:30PM, said our goodbyes and parted ways.
Post-Game Analysis:
Growling Grizzly Gulch is an awesome campsite. Easy to find if you know it's there, but hidden enough from the trail to offer some privacy. It's a beautiful location, with a flat area for camping, each access to water and a cool gulch. The only drawback is river access. You can get to the river in about 5 minutes, but it's a scramble through the woods down and back and involves dealing with some steep slopes. We'd discussed lying in the river to look at the stars, but the idea of making our way through those woods in the dark killed that idea. There ARE spots for camping down closer to the river, including several right at the river's level. If no flooding were expected, those would be great for a future trip with easy water access.
We considered taking the bikes out Sunday morning and completing the ride up the old road on the west side of the river to Chesterfield Gorge. In the end there wasn't much interest, but it might be worth doing another time. Just an up and back...around 8 miles round trip.
It was perhaps a good thing we didn't go kayaking in Connecticut. A review of the on-line river gauge for that stretch of the Farmington River showed flow rates of just 120 CFS most of the day Saturday and about 200 CFS on Sunday. Based on past experience, 150 CFS is about the minimum level needed, and 300 CFS is preferable. It would have been a slow, scratchy paddle!
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When: 7/23-7/24, 2005
With: Chip, Dave
We'd set aside this weekend some time ago for a Stupid adventure. The destination and activity were left undecided, though most bets were on a reprise of the annual kayak adventure in Connecticut. As the date got closer, I sent out another message to see if anyone was still interested in going. Chip responded immediately that he was on board. Xeth took a bit longer to reply and after a brief exchange of emails he bowed out, citing a heavy work schedule. Dave waited even longer, then sent a "So, are we going?" message.
The Connecticut river trip was closely linked to Xeth and I didn't feel it was appropriate to go there without him, so I began to consider alternatives. Somehow I got the idea of a return to the Westfield river, but with mountain bikes. I knew Dave & Chip both had the bikes, and I'd wanted to ride in the area along the river for some time. I figured we could park at the usual spot by Indian Hollow, and then ride south along the river to a campsite Chip & I had used with our boys a few years earlier. It was a short distance downstream from the camping area, just off a horse/hiking/biking trail. We'd drop our gear there and spend the rest of the day riding with light packs.
By now it was two days before the weekend and we still had no definite plans to go. I was prepared to bag the whole trip, but Chip called and was still raring to go. He was assuming we were going kayaking, but quickly bought into the idea of a biking trip. I still hadn't heard from Dave, so I called his house and spoke with Lia. She said he was planning to go; also assuming it would be a water trip. I spoke with him at his office the next day and sold him on the bike idea, so we were set.
The troops all gathered at my house Saturday morning. Dave brought his van, loaded all of our bikes and gear into it, and we headed west. We made a quick stop in Florence for lunch for Chip, and then continued on to Chesterfield. The weather (and forecast) was perfect as we packed up in the parking area by Indian Hollow. It only took a few minutes to get everything squared away before we mounted the bikes and started our ride. It was a neat feeling to be gliding along the road we'd trudged on so many times before, and the bikes made the trip down to the water go very quickly. I led the way, turning left at the campground to follow the trail toward the ford. The path crossed a small lawn, entered the woods on a dirt road, and then came to the water. The Westfield river was on our right, with a path on the opposite bank leading to the trails on the west side. Straight ahead was the Dead Branch stream, with our route leading into the woods on the other side of the water. The water levels were just about right...low enough for easy crossings but high enough to offer some recreation.
We picked up our bikes, plunged across, and then looked up the trail we'd be riding. It appeared that some piece of heavy machinery had cleared the route recently. The tracks in the mud indicated a bulldozer or something with a double caterpillar track. It had left the trail wider and rougher than I'd expected, but it was rideable. Our ability to ride it was an entirely different question however. It started immediately with a hill climb away from the water, on a rough route with occasional ruts and mud. We were three middle-aged guys who really didn't ride a lot, plus we all had 20-30 pounds of gear in backpacks that shifted our centers of gravity significantly. I'd managed to squeeze my stuff into one of my smaller packs, but Chip & Dave were using their full expedition-sized packs, which restricted their ability to lift up their heads.
We wound up doing a lot of walking in that first section and didn't really start riding until the trail crested the hill and leveled off a bit. It was still quite rough but generally in good shape and soon we were all tearing through the woods. The route offered a variety of hills, hollows, muddy sections and such to help us get used to the bikes. After just a few minutes we arrived at a stream crossing and I called a halt. I ran a short distance toward the river, then came back to announce that we'd arrived at our campsite. This was the place we'd named Growling Grizzly Gulch when Chip & I had been here with our boys in August of 2000. The name came from a combination of Chip's snoring and the small chasm created by the stream that lead down to the river past the campsite. There was still evidence of our campfire from that visit...a few charred sticks in the leaves.
We dropped our gear at the campsite, claimed spots for our hammocks, and then went down to the river to have lunch. It was a beautiful, sunny day with comfortable temperatures. Dave was ready to just call it a day and volunteered to stay at the camp to watch the gear, but we all agreed to give the trails a shot with our bikes. Back up to the campsite we went, where we assembled small daypacks with water and supplies before returning to the trail with our bikes. We climbed back onto the pedals around 2:00PM.
The riding was much easier without the weight of the full packs. It didn't take long before we were speeding down the downhill stretches and churning up the uphills. The trail was more of the same as before...wide and somewhat rough, showing evidence of relatively recent clearing by heavy equipment. We got a good workout as we rode along through the beautiful woods. There was the occasional spill, a few stops for water, rest and conversation, and several walks up slopes too steep for our skills, but mostly we just rode. Our destination on the ride was the Army Corps of Engineers' Knightville Dam. We didn't have solid confirmation, but I was reasonably sure that the trail we were on led to the dam eventually. As for the distance, we thought it might be about four miles.
After a while the trail began to change. An open area appeared through the trees on our right (where the river was) and the pathway became more like a dirt road than a rough path in the woods. At some point the evidence of the bulldozer (or whatever) disappeared and other trails came out of the woods and joined our route. We suspected we might be approaching the dam. I got ahead of the others and stopped at a fork in the trail to wait for them to catch up. When they didn't show up right away, I left my bike so they wouldn't pass by and walked down the fork leading toward the river. The other fork appeared to be the main trail, but I thought this route might offer a way to cross to the other side (where we'd need to be, eventually). The trail quickly petered out and became overgrown, then emerged from the woods into the river valley. To my left loomed the mass of the dam and directly in front of me was a broad meadow with no obvious route across. There was also no sign of the river (though I knew it was there).
I returned to the main trail and greeted the others when they arrived a few minutes later. I told them we were nearly at our destination and we chugged the short remaining distance (mostly uphill) before the trail ended and we found ourselves riding on the paved roads of the Knightville Dam Project. The road led past the main Project building, then turned to cross the top of the dam. We rode across; enjoying the smooth pavement, perfect weather and views of the river valley spreading north from the dam.
We thought the road might continue all the way across and down to the road on the opposite shore, but it ended at the spillway, leaving us staring across a wide expanse of open space and brushy meadow. Needing to get across, we started to follow the road back across the dam. The plan was follow that down through the recreation area below (picnicking and such) and back along other roads until we found our trail. We didn't get far though before Dave suggested just carrying the bikes down the dam face and bushwhacking though the brush at the base of the spillway to get to a rough path we'd seen in the woods. We turned around, hopped the fence, picked our way down the rocks covering the upstream face of the dam, and within a few minutes were on the path.
A small gate offered one final, easily passed obstacle to our progress before we started our return trip upstream. The route started as a paved road, then left to the right, crossed the river (looking VERY small...perhaps portions of it are diverted before it reaches the dam) and became a dirt road though the open river valley. High vegetation along the sides quickly turned the road into a corridor between green walls, but at regular intervals there were openings cut on the right that offered views of the river (back to full size again). Perhaps the openings had something to do with fire control or provided access for fishermen. We kept an eye on them for opportunities to go for a dip in the water. Dave especially wanted to wash off some of the trail dust and enjoy the cool water. Finally we just stopped at one of the openings, dropped the bikes and went down to the river.
It turned out to be a nice little spot, with water deep enough to immerse ourselves and a rocky shore for resting and drying off in the sun. Soon we were all in the water. Everyone found a pool or other spot to claim, and discovered techniques to remain in place against the river's current (mostly involving wedging one's butt up against a submerged rock). Dave announced he was "deploying his sea anchor" and his bathing suit came off. Chip & I did the same, though our communion with nature didn't last long once we realized that folks on bikes and motorcycles were cruising by on the road fairly regularly and could see us through the opening in the brush.
We enjoyed the water for a good while, dried off in the sun, and then returned to the bikes to continue our ride. A short time later we came to a parking lot and a gate that closed the route beyond to motorized vehicles. The road entered the woods and became a shaded ride again, climbing a bit to a high bank above the river. Soon after the gate we noticed a large, deep pool in the river below. Though we'd just come out of the water, it seemed like too good an opportunity to pass up so we stashed the bikes in the woods and went down for another swim. This was true swimming; with water deep enough to dive into and a pool long enough for some continuous swimming. A set of rock ledges on the shore offered a nice place to jump and rest afterwards. Dave stayed near those rocks for the most part, while Chip and I each swam down to the end of the pool and back.
We finally got our fill of the pool and resumed our biking. By this time it was getting to be about 4:30 or so. We started to look for the Indian Hollow crossing that would take us back to our campsite. The trail stayed fairly level and easy to ride, going through woods for the most part. Other than a fisherman or two we didn't run into anyone else along the way. Finally the path emerged into a meadow I recognized and came to the side path down to the ford below the campground. Dave and I arrived first, and once Chip joined us we proceeded to the river and crossed. A second crossing (of the Dead Branch stream) landed us back at the path where we'd started our riding earlier in the day. We all commented on how much colder the water in the Dead Branch was, compared to the very mild water in the main river.
Unencumbered by heavy packs this time, and with several additional hours of biking "experience" under our belts, we did a better job of riding up the trail. Our weary legs worked against us a bit however and we were all glad to get back to the camp and call it a day. It was about 5:00PM when we arrived. Chip & Dave proceeded to set up their hammocks (I'd done mine earlier) while I stretched out to rest and give my legs a break. Chip did the same once he had his hammock up but Dave took his sleeping pad and went down to the river to find a spot to relax. I joined him down there around 6:30, practiced my fly-casting a bit, and then returned to the campsite at 7:00 to start dinner.
Dinner was the usual tortellini, with a tomato-based sauce, and was a fairly quick affair to prepare and eat. By 8:00 we were done and cleaned up and I returned to my hammock. It was comfortable and offered protection from the mosquitoes that had been bothering us all evening. Dave followed my lead, while Chip went down to the river to explore. He returned at 9:00 or so, saying he'd spotted some small, furry brown thing by the water, and retired to his hammock. Both Chip & I had small radios and we hoped to be able to tune in the Red Sox game but the reception in the deep river valley was spotty at best. Stations would fade in and out. I gave up and just read a book until I started to doze off.
The rest of the night was spent as usual for me, napping for stretches of an hour or so then waking for a short time. At 10:30, a pair of owls began hooting up by the main trail and I listened as their calls grew closer to each other and then departed. The same hoots, though from a single bird, heralded the dawn Sunday morning as the owl flew nearly directly over our campsite. I watched the light grow in the sky, noted a time of 5:20AM on my watch and decided I'd get up at 6:00. At 6:45 I awoke from a deep sleep and went down to the river with my fishing gear. I cast a bit, explored the riverbanks, rested in the day's first splashes of sunlight, and finally ascended to the campsite at 8:00.
Chip & Dave were awake, but still resting in their hammocks. We decided to have breakfast by the river, so I loaded up my daypack with the stove, cook pots and bagels and we followed the stream down through the gulch. Water for coffee was quickly boiling. We each claimed a semi-comfortable rock, loaded up bagels with cream cheese, and enjoyed a relaxed breakfast along the water. Returning to the campsite afterwards, no one was in a great hurry to leave. I returned to my hammock with a book while Chip & Dave had an animated conversation for the next two hours.
Around noon they ran out of things to discuss. There was a general agreement that it was time to go, so the campsite was quickly disassembled, the gear returned to the backpacks, and before long we were back on the trail with our bikes aimed toward Indian Hollow. A couple of dirt bikes had roared past earlier, and we kept an ear out for their possible return as we rode the trail. It was a quick and easy ride out, with only one final stop at a hill so Chip could take some action photos. He positioned himself down the trail to get shots of me and Dave then did his own ride while I took his picture. Dave wiped out a bit further down, but wasn't seriously injured. A few moments later we were at the Dead Branch crossing again and then on our way out and back to the car.
We took some time to hang out by the stream at the parking area and go for one final dip in the water before departing Indian Hollow and heading for home. A stop at Scotti's Driving Range and Sandwich Shop for lunch completed the festivities. We arrived in Hopkinton just a bit past 3:30PM, said our goodbyes and parted ways.
Post-Game Analysis:
Growling Grizzly Gulch is an awesome campsite. Easy to find if you know it's there, but hidden enough from the trail to offer some privacy. It's a beautiful location, with a flat area for camping, each access to water and a cool gulch. The only drawback is river access. You can get to the river in about 5 minutes, but it's a scramble through the woods down and back and involves dealing with some steep slopes. We'd discussed lying in the river to look at the stars, but the idea of making our way through those woods in the dark killed that idea. There ARE spots for camping down closer to the river, including several right at the river's level. If no flooding were expected, those would be great for a future trip with easy water access.
We considered taking the bikes out Sunday morning and completing the ride up the old road on the west side of the river to Chesterfield Gorge. In the end there wasn't much interest, but it might be worth doing another time. Just an up and back...around 8 miles round trip.
It was perhaps a good thing we didn't go kayaking in Connecticut. A review of the on-line river gauge for that stretch of the Farmington River showed flow rates of just 120 CFS most of the day Saturday and about 200 CFS on Sunday. Based on past experience, 150 CFS is about the minimum level needed, and 300 CFS is preferable. It would have been a slow, scratchy paddle!
More pictures
