Always Go Under the Bridge

I'm looking for the put-in, but I'm in the wrong place, all of the directions seem to be ambiguous.  Even the town's signs are in odd places.  The old guy coming out of the house tells me that the British burned a hundred ships, a deal they struck with the town that saved the village from the same fate.

I paddle straight away the half mile across the river to a low island and broad area of marsh.  It is grey, but the clouds are well on their way to going east and leaving the sky clear.

On the way upstream to Hamburg Cove, I pass the largest great blue heron that I've ever seen.

I do not usually photograph houses, but at the mouth of the cove are two beautiful houses that look to be 150-200 years old.  They seem to be exactly where they should be.

Even though it was time to turn back, there was a bridge up ahead and one always goes under the bridge.  Bridges are often gates leading to very different landscape than the one you are in.  This bridge is true to that.

Self Portrait

Connecticut River from Essex, Hamburg Cove, North Cove.