Last of the Late Starts

I tinkered the morning away thinking about where to go and whether or not I should wait for the tide to come in.  Finally, I loaded up and headed inland to fresh water away from the tides.  The day was partly cloudy with a light wind out of the north and temperatures that would not top 60F.  

I put in on the small cove.  A dozen cars with roof racks telegraphed the presence of the "dreaded" kayak club.  Somewhere out there was an aimless fleet of chattering dippers.  Hopefully, they had a good long head start on me.

Many of the trees are changing color - perhaps half have changed.  It is a hardwood forest and the color shift is vibrant.  I head straight out across the main river, down to the point and up the Shephaug.  I follow the shore closely noting many old beaver cuts.  In fact, I don't spot any fresh cuts - all the stumps are well aged.  I spook a Great Blue Heron every once in awhile, but otherwise there are few birds.  But the colors in the trees are excellent.

For the first time, I go ashore where the old railroad bed emerges from the reservoir.  Up until 1940 there was a railroad connecting the coast with Litchfield.  It ran down the cove where I started, crossed the Housatonic, and then weaved its way along the Shephaug.  It must have been a beautiful train trip.  The rail bed is pretty obvious.  It looks like the best farm road in the world - old farm roads are common in the forests, but this one is as smooth as a new bicycle trail due to the well made bed where the rails once were and, since it wasn't a road, it has rarely if ever, seen wheeled vehicles like wagons or cars.  There are no ruts or potholes or elevation changes other than the very slight uphill grade along the river.

Old rail bed

I return to my canoe and head up to the stone culvert that let a small creek pass under the rails. A few of the kayak clubbers pass by.  The water is a foot or so higher than normal - obvious to me when I see the culvert entrance.

The kayak club has successfully scattered themselves all over, which defeats the safety in numbers idea that seems to be the reason for most people to paddle in a club.  Second to last, is a furiously paddling guy in an expensive canoe.  Last is a spherical guy in a red jacket paddling a kayak that is blaring music which sounds to me like a bad cover of 1980's U2 stuff.  I don't get this at all - you'd think the club would've have drowned that goofball by now.  

I mess around with the culvert for ten or fifteen minutes.  There's enough water on the far end to turn the canoe before paddling out.  

I don't pass the tail end of the kayak herd until the confluence with the Housatonic. I give everyone a once over to see if they're okay. The furiously paddling guy in the expensive canoe must be the leader and seems rather competent.  He is hanging with two people on paddleboards who are tired and slow, but still chattering away.  Everyone else in the club has ditched them...nice bunch.  

I take out at 4pm.  That's getting too late for this time of year.