November 4, 2009

It is as if there are two Connecticut Rivers.

There is the beautiful Connecticut, picturesque, spanned by covered bridges, framed by mountains, rich with cultural history, with large and luxuriant marshes at its mouth.

There is, too, the Connecticut that is choked by 17 dams, still fouled at times by poorly treated sewage, its forested banks increasingly pocked with commercial and residential development.

The Connecticut River near Littleton, New Hampshire

Call it the contradiction of the Connecticut. Two new books illustrate this dichotomy nicely.

“Two Coots in a Canoe: An Unusual Story of Friendship,” by David E. Morine, (Globe Pequot Press, $22.95) is a sprightly and revealing account of a canoe trip Morine and his old college buddy, Ramsay Peard, took on the Connecticut in 2003 when they were 59 and 61 respectively.

“The Connecticut River: A Photographic Journey Through the Heart of New England,” (Wesleyan University Press, $35.00) is a visual tour of the river in 136 full-page color photos taken by Al Braden.

The Braden book is for the most part a celebration of the river, one that mostly gives us the scenic Connecticut, the one we all cherish. It does not, however, ignore the other Connecticut – Braden’s captions address thermal and sewage pollution head on, and an afterward by Chelsea Reiff Gwyther, executive director of the Connecticut River Watershed Council, an environmental group devoted to the protection of the Connecticut, is a plea to address the problems facing the river.

Having said that, if you want the Connecticut in all its sparkling glory, grab the Braden book. You’ll understand why people like Peard and Morine wanted to paddle the whole river. Whatever the issues, much of the Connecticut is still easy on the eyes.

Two Coots gets to the nitty-gritty of the Connecticut in an account that is at times funny, at times angry, at times poignant. When Peard called Morine and suggested they canoe the Connecticut, Morine agreed with one condition. No camping. They would rely on strangers along the river to welcome them into their homes. They would mooch their way down the river.

They pulled it off. The Watershed Council put out a news release and e-mailed its membership. Morine and Peard were inundated with offers of lodging for a night. Those nights with strangers along the 410-mile length of the Connecticut are literal and figurative windows into life along the river, and enrich Morine’s book.

For two decades Morine was the head of land acquistion for The Nature Conservancy, and he well knows the harm that dams do. “There are seventeen dams on the Connecticut River. All the dams are degrading, but the one at Holyoke is the worst by far: dirty and disgusting, like a ball of hair clogging up a drain.”

As for the marginal water quality in some sections of the Connecticut and many other American rivers, Morine says: “One of the great fears of Homeland Security is that terrorists will contaminate our water supply. If clean, potable water is so important to our homeland security, why aren’t we aggressively cleaning up our rivers?”

But Two Coots is no jeremiad. It is an honest, enjoyable, playful and ultimately insightful account of their trip, one in which the highs and lows of each day – and a long river trip will have many highs and lows – leave us with a real feel for the river. Both rivers.

At East Hampton, Ct.

Hiking with friends in Hurd State Park yesterday we came upon a most unusual mushroom, a whitish, shaggy-looking thing growing in a crevice in a silver maple on the banks of the Connecticut River.

Bear's Head Tooth growing in East Hampton, Ct.

I couldn’t recall having seen one before. In this very wet year, of course, the fungi are flourishing. Returning home, I checked the National Audubon Society Field Guide to North American Mushrooms. What we saw was something called Bear’s Head Tooth, which can be as much as 12 inches wide and 20 inches high. This one was about half that size. Not only is it edible, the guide says it is “very good when cooked slowly.” Uhh. You first.

Sun-drenched Maples

October 25, 2009

At Farmington, Connecticut

The color of the fall foliage in Connecticut is never bad.

That is not to say it is always great. Some years are better than others. This season is a B.

Weather of course is a big factor. You want enough rain during the growing season but not too much. You want sunny fall days, cool fall nights. No hurricanes. No serious insect issues.

This year the heavy rains of spring and much of summer made many trees vulnerable to fungal diseases. I noticed some maples shed their leaves in September, likely afflicted with some dampness-related malady. We lost some fall color right there.

But then there was today, a Sunday with a clear blue sky following heavy rain yesterday. It was a day in which the yellows and golds of American beech, the hickories and the birches were brilliant against the sky, dominating the late-October foliage palette. Witch hazel, a fall-blooming small tree, put forth its diminutive, stringy yellow flowers as part of the understated understory display.

Crossing Lake Dunning in a kayak early afternoon it was as if the sun had dispatched a ray of sunshine for each of these trees, turning leafy canopies into radiant, mirror images of itself. Enough of a show, I thought, to make the season, and salvage the weekend.