Fall Hiking and Paddling at Huntington State Park

It may seem that four months without a blog post is a bit excessive.  Of course, on the other hand, I'm not really sure how many folks were sitting at home and checking my blog every couple of hours in the hopes that I'd written something.  For those of you who have been doing so, please accept my apologies.  The rest of you can just read this and murmur something about how time flies.

Since Ian and I returned from General Synod, the big family adventure was our family vacation in the Canadian Maritimes, where we stayed with friends on Prince Edward Island and then camped for the rest of the trip as we visited Cape Breton Island, Halifax, Lunenberg and Cape Chignecto on the Bay of Fundy. These places would probably have made great blog posts, except that we didn't have much going in the way of internet access. Upon returning home to Connecticut, things have been work-work-work, all the time, with a bunch of funerals and meetings. Oh well....
So today, which was a genuine day off for EVERYONE in the family, Kimberly, Ian and I loaded up our canoe and kayak and headed up to Collis P. Huntington State Park, located on the borders of Bethel, Newtown and Redding, Ct.  On this October day, the drive was beautiful, with the autumn leaves providing just a hint of color.

Starting Down the First Stretch

When we reached the park, we popped the boats in the water right next to the parking area and paddled down the first bit of water toward the main pond, passing down the West Lagoon, an area a couple hundred yards long that had the feel of a lazy river, rather than a pond.  In spots, the tree branches from both sides of the pond met and formed an arch down which we paddled.  At the end of this first stretch, we paddled under a foot bridge and entered a somewhat larger pond, the East Lagoon.

Mallards Ignoring Us

As we entered the East Lagoon, the feature that first caught our attention was a spillway on the far side.  After paddling over to it, went to the north end of the pond, where we encountered a flock of mallards who seemed completely unconcerned with our presence.

Returning to the south end of the pond, we paddled under another foot bridge into Lake Hopewell.  We paddled past a small stone "lighthouse" into the channel between an island and the west shore of the lake and found ourselves in wonderfully clear water, where we could easily see the bottom, along with fish and a huge turtle that was probably 16" or so across.  Other turtles sunned themselves on a log, plopping into the water in a most undignified way as we neared them.

Turtles, Prior to Their Retreat

 After circling the island, looking for a landing spot, we went ashore and climbed to the top of the hill for lunch, There were lots of trees that had been chewed by beavers, but we never did see a dam or a lodge anywhere in our trip.  After lunch, we made a fairly quick circuit of Lake Hopewell, watching a couple throwing sticks into the water for their black lab to retrieve and seeing a couple of anglers casting, but nobody catching anything.  With a quick duck back under the two foot bridges, we paddled back to the end of the East Lagoon, with maybe an hour and a half's actual paddling time elapsed.  After we loaded the boats back on top of the car, we switched from Tevas to hiking boots for a ramble around the park's trail system.

Horses Graze as Their Riders Picnic

Much of the trail that we hiked had a lot of what Ian called "PUD," Pointless Up and Down, going over several ridges that run across the park (though the park map gives absolutely no sense of terrain).  A surprise for us was that we ended up sharing the trail with mountain bikers and horseback riders, who must have stayed on the somewhat gentler trails.  The park website says that they also offer cross-country skiing in the winter, so I expect that we'll have to venture back in a few months to see which trails are designated for that.

It was a fantastic day, just warm enough for great paddling and just cool enough for comfortable hiking.  This is what fall in New England is supposed to be!

Tampa: Days 1 & 2

Yesterday, Ian and I flew to Tampa for the UCC's General Synod XXVIII.  We settled into a motel just outside of the city and took a short drive to Ybor City, a section of Tampa started by a Cuban cigar manufacturer by the name of Ybor a little over a century ago.  Over time, Ybor City became the center of cigar manufacturing in the US, though that industry has all but died out, with only small shops offering hand-rolled cigars instead of industrial scale operations.  These days, Ybor City  has become a tourist area featuring lots of tattoo parlors and nightclubs, and is served by a streetcar that runs into center city and has three other connecting lines.  After dinner of Cuban sandwiches at Carmines, we returned to the hotel and turned in.

This morning, Ian and I picked up some sandwiches and headed up to Canoe Escape, where we loaded into an old school bus and headed out to for a paddle trip on the Hillsborough River.  We put in at Sargeant Park and spent about an hour paddling upstream of the put-in, where we saw and photographed several alligators, snowy egrets, herons, and other interesting wildlife.  Shortly after we turned around and went downstream from the put-in, we heard thunder rumble and the rain soon followed.  Undaunted – well, slightly daunted – we kept paddling, making our way down the beautiful little river, passing palm trees and live oaks hung with Spanish moss, passing a school group huddled under umbrellas and complaining about how they were tired and wet, and finally reaching what would have been the half-way point of our trip, Morris Bridge Park.  Given the thunder, we decided to cut the trip short and arranged a pick up by the Canoe Escape shuttle.  

Since we finished the canoe trip earlier than we had planned, Ian and I had to improvise plans for the afternoon.   We crossed the 4.8 mile long Howard Frankland Bridge across old Tampa Bay and went to Haslam’s Bookstore  in St. Petersburg, not planning on buying anything, but with the hope that we just MIGHT come across a hard-to-find book or two that needed to come live chez Bryant-Smith.  Though Haslam’s is, according to one brochure, the “destination bookstore” for new and used books, we still didn’t find anything that we simply couldn’t live without.  It is, however, still a place where, if I lived in the area, I’d end up spending an inordinate amount of time and money.

Haslam’s isn’t far from Gulfport, so Ian and I made a quick trip to that town’s municipal beach, which opened onto a bay separated from the Gulf of Mexico by a series of barrier islands, Ian and I decided to head over to the beach at 130^th Avenue in Treasure Island, which was on the Gulf itself.  We parked and made our way to the beach, taking off our shoes and socks before stepping onto the soft, white sand.  On the drive over, we had seen several rain squalls blowing across the area and one of them was making its way down the beach toward us, so we dipped our toes in the water, took a couple pictures, grabbed a few seashells and hightailed it back to the car, accompanied by a stream of folks who had hastily hauled down their umbrellas before the rain hit.

Back in the car, Ian announced that he wanted barbecue for dinner.  We checked Yelp! and found Smokin’ J’s Real Texas Barbeque, for which I’ll write a separate post.  Ian was amused that I was the first Facebook check-in and had to create a listing for the restaurant.  My commentary, which turned out to be the new description for the restaurant was, “Great pulled pork, ribs & brisket.  LIFE CHANGING wings.” 

After dinner, we returned to the hotel, where we were treated to a gorgeous rainbow before settling in to watch TV and blog.  Tomorrow will be an early start.  I’ve got to return the rental car and we’ve both got to get checked into the Marriott and attend the first events of Synod in the afternoon.

Sourdough Jesus and the Mountain of Doom

I’m back from vacation, so now it is time to spend a bit of time catching up from all of the exhaustion that comes from aggressive recreation. It is also time to catch up on (or, more accurately, start) my blogging so that my son doesn’t end up calling me a slacker.

As we have for the last many years, my family spent the 4th of July week with friends in the Adirondacks and it was great to be with them again. We loaded our station wagon to the gills with gear, strapped our canoe and kayak to the roof and headed off for our adventures in the North Country, with a side trip to celebrate the 400th anniversary of the founding of Quebec.

We had some great paddling on the Rollins Pond loop and another more ambitious trip along the Saranac River that took us through a lock, which is the first time I’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing a lock in action, though I’ve seen plenty of old ones on other trips. My son did a great job with his kayak on what was certainly the most demanding trip he’s taken under his own power.

Another day, my family and some of our friends decided to climb Mt. Poco-Moonshine. While I love hiking, the Adirondacks are my least favorite place to do it. The folks who laid out the trails were, in my considered opinion, nuts. They did their best to draw straight lines between the trailheads and the summits, with the result being trails that are steeper and rockier than anywhere else I’ve ever hiked. This year, my knees (which I hurt a few years ago on the Appalachian Trail) were threatening to give me trouble and the heat and humidity were making it hard to breathe so I turned around partway up the trail and let the rest of the group finish the hike without me. Fortunately, Kimberly brought me some blueberries that she picked at the summit, so the day wasn’t a complete loss.

On Sunday, we attended the Willsboro Congregational United Church of Christ, www.willsboroucc.org, which was a real treat, as it was the first time I’ve been out of the pulpit since my sabbatical and I was really much more in the mood to participate in worship than to lead it. Since it was the Sunday following July 4, the hymns were all patriotic ones, which didn’t suit my taste as I would really rather keep God and Country separate, but the Rev. Jan Jorgensen gave a great sermon, the choir sang very well and the congregation was warm and welcoming.

It was a communion Sunday and the sacrament was served by intinction with a wonderful sourdough bread that reminded me of the many types of bread that I’ve used when celebrating communion. On World Communion Sunday, I’ve often used a mix of breads to celebrate the diversity of God’s people: Russian black bread, tortillas, pita, naan, challa, even those communion wafers that taste like cardboard. My wife has often joked that we should use raisin bread, so we’ll have all of communion in one simple package, without having to worry about the perennial wine v. grape juice controversy. My favorite was on a youth retreat many years ago, when the people who were supposed to bring the communion elements forgot, so we ended up using grape soda and a somewhat stale hotdog bun; it wasn’t gourmet, but it was definitely in keeping with the spirit of the gathered community. Sourdough Jesus in the Adirondacks was perfect, much better than the time in the Poconos when the deacon brought in onion pita, which has an unforgettable flavor when dipped in grape juice, but that’s another story for another time.