Rivers have fascinated me ever since I was a child. In a state crisscrossed by raging rivers, it is only fitting that our history and legends often surround them. These dark murky waters crashing against the shore and spraying white mist over weathered rocks have been a means of crop irrigation, a source of power to water wheels, a means of transportation and recreation for boating and swimming, fishing spots, decent treasure hunting for my fellow enthusiasts, and a more sinister reputation for claiming lives and being the resting places for many of New England's most renowned ghosts.
This river however is a popular spot for locals and those lucky enough to chance upon it in rural Connecticut. The Farmington River is often frequented for kayaking and tubing. The strong rapids could carry one all the way downriver on a beautifully scenic tour of New England's richly green riverbanks. Towering trees lush with full green leaves line the bank and bow so their branches skim the river's surface. The overgrown long grass reaches upwards creating an exotic appearance that could convince one that they were floating down through the heart of a jungle. The warm sun gleamed off the water and the light danced over the ripples and waves like crystals. The river is smooth and swift on most of the journey, but at the far end of the river where the banks narrow the water becomes deeper and faster. The water churns here and gushes between the rocks that jut up from the surface which one must navigate around. The pull of the water is strong and it can be difficult to stay on course. It would be easy for two kayaks to be drawn so swiftly together here that they collide and flip.
The journey back up river is far more difficult. Fighting against the stream of the rapids, one has to row against the current. It leaves the arms and back feeling sore, but pausing ever for a few moments one would find themselves drifting back downstream. Drifting any great distance can be disheartening since so much progress can be lost quickly, which is why it is important to push through the pain until finding waters shallow enough to stake the oar into the sand on the riverbed floor to keep the kayak in place to rest. Though the entire row back upriver was a constant battle against the rapids, it was more fun that I could possibly express to you. The feeling of exploring this mysterious region of untouched flora and guided along blindly at the whim and will of the river, one can relate to the first explorers of the new wold who saw this strange land for the first time and were awed by the vast beauty of it.
While kayaking we happened upon a large boulder beneath a tree where, hanging from a high sturdy branch, we spotted a thick knotted rope dangling out in front of the rock. Realizing this was a makeshift rope swing, I could not pass up the opportunity. Rowing to the nearby shore and dragging my kayak up onto the bank, I abandoned the little craft along with my shoes and giddily scampered up onto boulder. Holding my breath and gripping firmly onto the rope, I pushed off of the rock and clung on for dear life as I swung out into the deeper water, releasing my grip and crashing into the cold rushing water. A few seconds I resurfaced, exhilarated.
Spending the day exploring the river, kayaking, and rope swinging made the experience unforgettable. It was something I would gladly do again, and would recommend to others. But with this warning, be sure you and everyone in your traveling party are strong enough to paddle against the rapids, or it will be difficult for them to return once they have drifted downriver. I would recommend some strong arm training before attempting kayaking in deeper waters with strong rapids. Or you could become the next tale told to frightened children by the campfires on the riverbanks of those who vanish and are never seen again on expeditions such as these on the unforgiving rivers of New England.
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