We braved the waters of the Connecticut River today.
This is where the West River joins the Connecticut, and where we put in.
We headed downriver to where the Whetstone Brook lets out into the Connecticut.
It’s channeled at this point, as you can see. The wall behind Kevin is the road leading to the bridge over to New Hampsta. We’ve crossed under a railroad trestle to get here, and how shall I describe the ambiance? It has all the odor of Venice, with none of the charm. The brook itself, however, is a delight.
Kevin was determined to do some whitewater kayaking, in reverse. He charged up the waterfall several times, getting soaked. That boy enjoys getting soaked, what can I say.
I snuck up on the falls myself.
The only way to stay in position is to hang on to the rock, obviously – so this is a sport that combines the skills of rockclimbing, with those of whitewater kayaking. Yes, indeedy.
On our way back upriver, we admired the ingenuity of one Fawkes, who has staked out a dining space on an island of rubble, in the Connecticut River.
No flowers were harmed for this post.
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