The Allagash Wilderness Waterway in northern Maine is one of the great canoe-camping rivers in America. It flows for 92 miles through some of the wildest country left in New England, emptying into the St. John River on the Canadian border.

Kevin Slater in the stern navigating the Allagash Wilderness Waterway in northern Maine

If the great rivers and mountains of New England speak to you, summon you, soothe you, then the Allagash is one of those places you have to experience. I’ve paddled all or part of the waterway three times, but until a couple of months ago, I hadn’t been on the river since 1975 – way too long to be away from the ‘Gash. My account of the latest Allagash trip appears Sunday, July 18, on the Travel section cover of The Hartford Courant.

Our trip in late May was typical river travel, which is to say, unpredictable. Weather, as always, was the master, determining more than almost anything else what a day would be like. You pay attention to the weather when you are canoe camping. We didn’t have rain, but we had wind in our faces, and we adjusted. Sometimes you just don’t paddle as far as you planned.

Our group of seven was led by Kevin Slater of Mahoosuc Guide Service in Newry, Maine. We traveled in grand style, late 19th Century style, in wood-and-canvas canoes Slater built himself. Our meals were prepared from scratch over wood fires.

Meanwhile, I got my first good look at the Allagash in 35 years. Unlike so much of the rest of the U. S., it was comparatively unchanged, as if Gerald Ford was still president, as if decades of the nation’s suburban sprawl were erased. Thank goodness that the Allagash, a nationally-designated and state-administered Wild and Scenic River, is still a linear waterway of connected river and lakes, cradled by forest, forever protected. Woods and water and wildlife and almost nothing else. We need more of that.

It is not a bike race. It is a bike ride. It is not a foot race. It is a walk.

Cyclists take a break during the 2007 Discover Hartford Bicycle Tour that attracted more than 1,200 participants

Actually, organizers say it is: “an anti-sprawl, pro-fun, pro-sustainable-city, anti-pollution, anti-couch potato, pro-bicycle, pro-pedestrian event.”

The 2010 Discover Hartford Bicycle & Walking Tour, the third in recent years, will be held Saturday, September 11, starting and ending in Bushnell Park. The first one attracted more than 1,200 riders.

Sponsored by Bike Walk Connecticut, formerly the Central Connecticut Bicycle Alliance, the tour is just that – a rolling tour of Hartford neighborhoods, historic sites, parks and riverfront. There is a 10-mile bicycle tour, a 25-mile bicycle tour and, new this year, a tour that includes a spur to the city’s Batterson Park, which will total about 40 miles.

Walkers will have a choice of two walks of about 1 mile or 1.5 mile each offered at two different times.

Check-in begins at 7 a.m., and the tour starts at 9:15 a.m. The registration fee varies: Under 18 years old, $15. Early bird registration, on or before August 9, is $25 for Bike Walk Connecticut members and $35 for non-members. From Aug. 10 to Sept. 9, registration is $30 for members, $40 for non-members. Anyone registering the day of the event pays $45.

Walking tour registration is $20 on or before Aug. 9, $25 after. On-line registration is available at www.hartfordbiketour.org. Printable mail-in forms also are available at the site. Brochures and forms will be available by mid-month at many Connecticut bicycle shops.

A tour t-shirt and route map are included with registration. Free snack bars and water will be available at stops along the routes. Crews also will be available at sites along the tour to assist cyclists with mechanical problems, though organizers suggest bringing your own materials for tire repair.

Visit www.hartfordbiketour.org for more information.

Bad news for vegetable gardeners and farmers. Late blight, a plant disease which spread rapidly throughout the Northeast last year and destroyed tomato and potato plants by the thousands, has been confirmed again this year in Connecticut.

Sharon M. Douglas, head of the Department of Plant Pathology and Ecology at the Connecticut Agricultural Experiment Station in New Haven, said the blight was confirmed in recent days on tomato plants in New Haven County.

Late blight damage to a tomato

Gardeners tending plots in the Kolp Community Garden in Farmington also suspected the blight had reappeared, but a station scientist checked today and found no evidence of the pathogen.

Late blight is caused by a fungus-like organism that appears as olive-brown to black blotches on leaves and stems. Tomatoes develop brown or black lesions. Entire fields of tomatoes or potatoes can be rapidly infected and killed.

Because the potential for a widespread outbreak in Connecticut is again possible, Douglas said “all tomato and potato plants should be considered at risk.”

Farmers and gardeners must be aggressive in dealing with the blight, she said. Tomato and potato plants should be inspected often. Any plants with symptoms should be immediately removed and placed in a plastic bag to avoid spreading the blight. Affected plants should never be composted.

Avoid overhead watering, which can spread the blight, and stake and mulch plants if possible. Fungicide sprays also may be necessary, she said. Organic fungicides such as copper are one option.

Douglas said the massive outbreak last year was initiated by the sale of infected tomato transplants from chain stores throughout the Northeast. Once planted, a long period of wet, cool weather from May into July provided ideal conditions for the blight to flourish.

Because some infested plant material could overwinter, the potential for the disease to affect plants again this year was considered high.

Late blight is infamous as the pathogen associated with the Irish potato famine of the 19th Century.

An excellent fact sheet on late blight is available from the Connecticut Agricultural Experiment Station.

At Litchfield, Ct.

Martha Weik called a few days ago. Martha is the woman I met atop Mohawk Mountain on a cool morning in late April. (See “Martha on the Mountain,” April 30) She had made a hiking stick that she wanted to give me. Could we meet? Of course. We met in Litchfield and talked for an hour over coffee, much longer than our first meeting two months ago.

A detail photo of the hiking staff made by Martha Weik

Martha, 82, talked about her family, what her children were doing in their careers, all the interests that keep her busy. I told her about my family, what my young adult kids were up to in their fledgling careers. We got to know each other better. There was almost no talk of politics; in fact, almost no talk of anything topical in the newsy sense. We talked a lot about place, about Connecticut, especially Connecticut over the decades. She is one of those people, a kindred spirit, who loves the history and traditions of the state, who is happy to recall long ago life and landscapes, as you might expect from someone who can trace her lineage to the Mayflower. Did I know where Swift’s Bridge used to be on the Housatonic River in Kent? Yes, I stopped there in my canoe twice, though the bridge was long gone when I went by. Well, she swam there as a child, when there still was a Swift’s Bridge. Did I remember what Deer Island on Bantam Lake used to be like, when the cows roamed there? No, I couldn’t remember the cows, but I remember a quieter Bantam Lake of many years ago. We talked of rivers, mountains, and trails. The hour flew by.

All the while my new walking stick rested against our table. She had taken 7 or 8 newly made hiking staffs from her car and given me a choice. Martha takes saplings, whittles them into shape and, using a wood-burning tool, decorates them, often with whimsical objects or creatures. The walking stick was, she said, a thank you for the words I had written about her. I picked the stick upon which she had etched “Connecticut,” along with images of a fox, a wildflower and the street-side clock that can be seen along Route 44 in Norfolk, one of Connecticut’s special places. Atop the stick Martha etched her initials, and the year. There were decorative touches top to bottom, and a rawhide strap on the handle. This was folk art meant to be used. Next hike it goes into service.

I told her I wanted to write something in this journal about my new walking stick. She wanted to be sure I knew she did not give me a stick to get publicity. I already knew Martha well enough – knew this in our first brief meeting, really – to know that publicity never entered her mind. She made me a walking stick because she is the Martha I met on the Mountain; an exemplar of the best New England traditions.

Like just about everything else in the plant world this spring, the mountain laurel is blooming early, perhaps a week early. The delicate, cup-like blooms, white or pink, are just emerging and won’t peak for days, but the shrubs already are showy enough to grab your attention. I know this because I bushwhacked my way through a large colony of laurel Wednesday in the hills of northwestern Connecticut.

Laurel can be dense, and you don’t want to work your way through it any more than necessary. I wasn’t following a trail, and I wasn’t lost, but I made my way through much more laurel than I wanted to. Much more.

Dan Kupiec fishing a mountain brook in Connecticut for brook trout, a species native to the eastern U. S.

But I should start at the beginning.

Dan Kupiec, my neighbor and fishing buddy, called about noon. Did I want to fish for brook trout in the Litchfield Hills? A half-hour later we were traveling west on Route 44. Less than an hour after that we parked on a little roadside pull-over, put on our waders and headed up a mountain, following a brook.

It is not everybody’s cup of tea, but I discovered long ago that one of the great pleasures of fly-fishing is to ascend a mountain brook, flicking a fly into tiny pools, seeking native, wild brook trout. Brook trout in these streams are mostly small – sometimes but a few inches, often only 6- or 7-inches long – and consequently of little interest to many anglers. But they are beautiful fish, with fiery orange bellies and white at the tips of their lower fins. Among yellow and chartreuse dots on their sides are red dots surrounded by powder blue halos. Why evolution settled upon that exact pattern I can not be certain, but in the water they all but disappear and that likely is what it is all about. In any event, they are beautiful. To my mind brook trout are among the handsomest creatures in the animal kingdom. That they are found in mountain brooks only makes them more appealing; a beautiful creature in a beautiful setting. Winslow Homer painted scenes like this.

What is more beautiful - a brook trout or the mountain streams they inhabit?

Dan and I fished and we fished, climbing steeply up the mountain toward a cascade with a big pool where we knew the fish might be bigger. But by the time we approached the pool, it was getting late. Worse, if we were to fish this pool we faced a tricky descent of about 200 feet down an extremely steep bank, then back up. Meanwhile, the trail had become indistinct. We decided to fish that pool another day. I was sure there was a better trail just south of us, so we decided to take that back to the car. It would be an easy downhill trek. We cut through the woods. But there was no trail where mister-know-it-all thought there was.

As I said, we were never lost. All we had to do was return to the brook and follow it back to the car, but that would be slow. Still, even if not lost, we were not, uhh, where I thought we would be either. We headed east, toward the car, blazing our own way, which, we discovered minutes later, was thick with laurel. What might have been a 15-minute walk became a half hour event pushing our way through thick shrubbery.

But we arrived at the car somehow unscratched, our water bottles empty. Dan had plenty of water in the car. Our laurel adventure notwithstanding, it had been a beautiful afternoon communing with the brook and its brook trout. We toasted the outing appropriately, sending mini-cascades of water tumbling down our throats.

The leaves are full and fresh, temperatures are ideal, and the songbirds have arrived in Connecticut. This is a great time for picnicking, especially if you can find one of those special, quiet spots where the picnic tables are spread out and the scenery is special. Find an isolated table, bring lunch or dinner, and keep your binoculars ready. The sight of a scarlet tanager alone would make the outing worthwhile.

My outdoors column called Walkabout appears May 29 on the cover of The Hartford Courant Living section. In it I talk about four very special picnic sites around the state, each with privacy and a view. Let’s hope for beautiful weather.

The birthplace of Gen. Nathaniel Lyon, the first Union general killed in the Civil War, is today a little-known and little-visited picnic site within the Natchaug State Forest in Eastford, Ct. The stone chimney is all that remains of the Lyon homestead, and serves as a centerpiece for the picnic area, with four picnic tables, grills and a water pump.

In addition to those mentioned in the column, here are a couple of other very nice picnic spots:

In Bigelow Hollow State Park in Union, take a left off the entrance road to the boat ramp on Bigelow Pond. To the left of the ramp on a rise are a couple of tables with nice views of this quiet pond. In June, mountain laurel blooms profusely along the shore of the pond. Very nice.

In the Housatonic Meadows State Park picnic area in Sharon, stay to the right when you enter and follow the road to a small parking area next to the Housatonic River. You’ll see the table.  Fly-fishers and kayakers are part of the scenery here.

My stories on bicycle trips in the Connecticut River valley from the Canadian border to the sea are the cover of today’s Living section in The Hartford Courant, with photos by Mark Mirko and Rich Messina. They can be seen on-line at: http://www.courant.com/features/travel/

The Columbia Bridge spans the Connecticut River between Columbia, N. H. and Lemington, Vt.

The 410-mile-long Connecticut River is New England’s longest river, beginning in spruce forest in northern New Hampshire, where the river is narrow and intimate. It is still bordered by scenic farms in Vermont and New Hampshire and parts of Massachusetts and Connecticut. By the time it reaches the sea at Old Saybrook and Old Lyme it is a mile-wide and heavily tidal. Along the river are covered bridges, lighthouses, historic homes and farms. In fact, it is a river so rich in history, so varied in its landscapes that it captures the essence of New England in one ribbon of water.

The Connecticut is one of only 14 federally designated American Heritage Rivers. The marshes at its mouth are designated as internationally significant under the Ramsar Convention, an international treaty intended to protect especially valuable wetlands. The Connecticut has a long cultural history and rich flora, fauna and scenery that has appealed to artists for centuries.

May 7, 2010

At Salisbury, Ct.

The hike to Lions Head on the section of the Appalachian Trail that passes through Salisbury is high on my list of the best half-day hikes in Connecticut. If you like to hike and haven’t done this one, well, it is a must-do. From the little dirt parking area off Route 41 to the Lions Head lookout is 2.3 miles, 4.6 miles round trip. For many people, I’ve found, myself included, a hike of 4 to 5 miles is just right most days – not too long and tiring, but just long enough to make it worth while and get some real exercise. Lions Head is a moderately steep climb that reasonably fit adults and most children can do in a few hours. Hiking the trail today we came upon a conga-line of middle-school students with their teacher. They seemed happy. Of course, who wouldn’t be happy to be hiking the Appalachian Trail on a 70-degree sunny day in May?

Hikers Frances and Jay Knobel atop Lions Head lookout on the Appalachian Trail, Salisbury, Ct. Lions Head has outstanding views to the north, east and south.

This hike packs a lot in a comparatively short distance; a forest with a rich mix of species and some wonderful old trees; a couple of brooks to treat the eye; woodland wildflowers and birds, a terrific view from the top. Watch for some nice American beeches, old hemlocks, a big white birch and several massive oaks. Wild geranium and starflower bloomed along the edges of the trail today, and deep-pink sheep laurel blossoms brushed our shoulders in places. Our bird of the day was the veery, that cousin of the American robin, with its pleasing combination of cinnamon back and gray-white belly. I thought I heard a raven croak several times, but never got a look. Can’t count that one.

A big part of the appeal of this trail of course is the view from Lions Head lookout, elevation 1,738-feet. The view northeast to southeast is miles of rolling Litchfield Hills, Prospect Mountain and Canaan Mountain among them. You’ll see farms, country estates, and several of the state’s nicest lakes – Wononscopomuc and the Twin Lakes. You could spend an hour with binoculars identifying this or that in the distance. Yes, that’s the private Salisbury School on the hilltop off in the distance to the east.

As for the name Lions Head, I read somewhere that the exposed rock outlook in fact is supposed to resemble a lion’s head. I’ve not been able to discern the resemblance myself, but maybe I haven’t found the right vantage point. Guess that is another reason to keep hiking.

May 5, 2010

At the big pond down the street, the kingfishers have been back for at least a month. The herons and swallows are back, too. The spotted sandpipers arrived within the last week, best I can tell. Alarmed, they fly out in front of me just over the water as I approach in a kayak and circle back behind me to that narrow ribbon of terrestrial habitat – water’s edge – where they spend so much of their time. We play out this little drama over and over until fall, when they leave.

Trees are leafing out about a week early in Connecticut

In my vegetable garden by the river, the lettuce, the chard and the parsley are doing fine. Might be enough chard to pick for a dinner later this week. A row of carrots is planted, but not yet poking through. The real work remains, planting squash, bean, pepper and tomato varieties, more herbs, eggplant and a row or two of cutting flowers.

It is a mild spring so far, and the leaves are, by my assessment, a week ahead of schedule in inland Connecticut. Many trees are filled out with the buttery greens and velvet textures of young, unblemished leaves.

May is one of the great months in Connecticut with those infant leaves and the arriving songbirds, some of the birds just passing through on their way north, some settling in for the season. It is not only a new landscape; it is a new environment. Suddenly, I awake each morning to the song of a Carolina wren in the side yard. Bird songs increase by the day.

Nancy Register Splane, left, and Jay and Frances Knobel hiking along the Shepaug River, Washington, Ct

From my study this afternoon I heard a pair of pileated woodpeckers uttering their loud, distinctive, almost diabolical call. They are year-round residents, but from their squawking and aerial acrobatics the message they sent was one of May, merriment and mating. I ran out with my camera but, wanting their privacy, off they went.

I always thought during my daily newspaper journalism days that it would be wonderful some time to take the entire month of May off and just be outdoors every day. In Connecticut, May introduces summer. Now that I am a freelance writer – semi-retired, some claim – I do have more time to venture afield, often combining work and play.

I hiked for two hours along the Shepaug River one day last week with an old college friend, Jay Knobel, his wife, Frances, and her college friend, Nancy Register Splane. We hiked a little more than four miles through the Steep Rock Reservation, nodding to the common mergansers and the mallards, listening for the early arriving warblers, stopping to stare at the river, one of the prettiest anywhere.

I’ve been traveling the state, in fact, immersing myself in the month of May and working on my next column for The Hartford Courant, May 15, in which I will talk about some very special picnic sites – isolated, cozy picnic tables you can have to yourself, with terrific scenery. There are a couple of nice ones in the Steep Rock Reservation.

At Cornwall, Ct.

Martha atop Mohawk Mountain, Cornwall, Ct., whittling

It was 51 degrees and windy when I arrived atop Mohawk Mountain about 9:45 yesterday morning. Sitting on a rock was an older woman, wearing warm clothes and gloves, whittling a hiking staff from a dead sapling that was something less than two inches in diameter at its thick end. We were the only people atop the mountain, elevation 1,677 feet, from which there are expansive views of the surrounding Litchfield Hills and into the Massachusetts Berkshires.

I approached, asking if in fact she was making a walking stick, and she said, pleasantly, that she was. She said she likes to take a cut or fallen sapling or branch, strip the bark with her knife and let the wood dry. Then she burns images into the stick. Perhaps images of wildflowers one day, images of leaves another. She said that she likely would decorate this stick with an image of the Berkshire peaks that spread before us on the horizon.

Her name is Martha, and she lives in Morris, a rural town not that far away. She has lots of interests that keep her busy, she said, and this was one of them. She also makes quilts. She is 82. I told her that one of the reasons she is 82 and headed for 102 is that she took the trouble, on this cool morning, to venture to the top of one of Connecticut’s higher peaks to whittle in a peaceful setting with a view. She is not passing time, I thought, she is living well.