Thursday, October 29, 2020

Costly River Diversion


Wrapped up last week with a Friday morning paddle on the Nashua River from Petapawag in Groton, MA.  I knew at the outset that my paddling odometer for 2020 would eclipse the 1,000 mile mark on this day.  The last time I paddled that many miles in a year was 15 years ago when a bit younger and stronger.  I never really expected to hit that mark again...that is until COVID 2020 came along.  Guess this might serve as my COVID achievement.

Paddled up to a cut-off section of the Nashua known these days as the "Dead River"...

It's located upriver of the Route 225 Bridge and before the river's confluence with the Squannacook River.  Where the other end of this cut-off section was located, and just how the river's change in course came about mystifies me.  After leaving the main stem of the Nashua I entered the Dead River section...
...and paddled about 0.7 miles in what formerly would have been an upstream direction until reaching navigations end.  There I marked my gps position and after going ashore followed the old and now dried-up riverbed.  The photo below is looking in a northwesterly direction or downstream...


Before paddling back out to the Nashua proper I went ashore for lunch at the apex of the Dead...

Once back out on the Nashua I found the spot where the river long ago turned westward...

This spot is about a tenth of a mile upriver from the present entrance to the Dead.  Hard to believe it could have filled in so much.  This got me wondering how long ago the break through happened, and if it was brought about by man or nature.  Once home I researched the issue not expecting to find much in the way of information...boy, was I wrong.  Samuel A. Green in his 1912 The Natural History and Topography of Groton Massachusetts provided an historical account of the river's change in course at this location.  Green describes an area once known as "The Neck" as a peninsula that was a part of Amos Farnsworth's farm.  The peninsula was "one hundred and thirty rods around (2,145 '), and joined to the main land by a neck, probably not more than thirty rods (495') wide."  The map below has been modified to show the river's original course and the neck/peninsula...


Green tells us "It is highly probable that the neck was cut through, and the island formed, during a freshet which took place in January, 1751."  
  
The same map as above but showing where the river broke through the neck...
...thus creating an island.  I tried to imagine the farmer, Amos Farnsworth, finding that the river had cut through the neck and isolated about twenty acres of his property.  For the next 24 years he need to use a boat in order to access this part of his farm.  Little did he know that the river's diversion would ultimately cost him and his youngest son, Benjamin, their lives.

Tragedy struck the Farnsworth family on December 5th of 1775 when Amos and Benjamin both drowned while trying to cross over the river from the island.  A somewhat detailed account of this tragic event was found in People and Their Homes in Groton, Massachusetts in Olden Days by Francis M. Boutwell published in 1890.  Boutwell relates an account told to him by Amos Farnsworth's granddaughter, Lydia Farnsworth.  She explains that her 71 year old grandfather had sheep grazing on the island, and with the approach of winter was attempting to bring them back to the main land in a boat.  His 18 year old son Benjamin was helping him.  Apparently, the sheep became agitated and caused the boat to capsize.  Other farmers working a distance off heard Amos telling his son to stay calm, However, by the time the men arrived to help, both Amos and his son had drowned.  Benjamin's body was readily found, but the body of Amos wouldn't be discovered until the following March when his surviving son, Amos Farnsworth, Jr., walked the river for "not less than ten miles" before finding his father's remains in Hollis, New Hampshire.  Boutwell reminds readers of this son having fought at the Battle of Bunker Hill the previous June and subsequently losing his father and brother only 6 months later. This story has me wondering if the name "Dead River" originated with this event rather than in reference to it being a cut-off section.  Both father and son were buried in the Old Burying Ground where their tombstones stand near one another...

The inscription on the father's tombstone...

      The poem at the base of the father's grave reads:

Tho in deep water was my Body lost,
And found before it crumbled into dust,
And Buried here as this dost say,
Till trumpet sound at the last day-
And tho in Adam all mankind did die,
But yet in Christ we may grim death defy.

(*a few letters changed to suit present day spelling)

After finding their graves I visited the spot where their farm was located and looked out upon the view they had towards the river...



Once back at Petapawag and the weather improving by the minute, I decided to take another shot at locating the spot where John Tinker's trading post once stood.  Since my last attempt I'd realized the 1659 course of the river was to the east of Boutwell Island rather than west of it as it is today.  Near the mouth of Nod Brook I followed the old and now partially cut-off section of river while imagining my kayak to be a canoe loaded with pelts.   I was looking for a spot not far from Nod Brook's mouth where such loaded canoes may have easily landed.  Other than right at the mouth of Nod Brook the riverbank is about 12 to 15 feet high for most of this section but there was one spot with a swale...
...sloping very gently up from the river and where canoes could land.  I was feeling good about this location being ideal and as I got ready to re-enter my boat a frog decided to hitch a ride...
Took a fair bit of persuasion before he finally agreed to vacate my boat's cockpit.

In heading back to Petapawag I followed the river's old route the short distance to the mouth of Nod Brook, and stumbled upon this granite marker and a tree with 3 blue blazes...

The map below shows the area in relationship to the John Tinker historical marker which states the "Indian Trading Post" was located "about 500 yds easterly of this marker"...

So, was the granite marker I came across placed there as a boundary marker possibly before the dam downriver at Babbitasset Falls raised the water level in 1860?... or was it used to mark the spot referenced on the John Tinker historical marker? The distance for the Tinker marker is very close to 500 yards.  As to the swale, if it's natural rather than man-made, I believe it would've made an ideal path up from the river to the Trading Post.   

Trash was on the light side...


Sunday, October 25, 2020

Autumn River Rambles

The weather forecaster's predictions for this past week provided all the temptation I needed for one more camping /paddling trip.  Left early Monday morning and headed west on the Mass Pike.  Stopped in Wilbraham for a bit of paddling above the first dam on the Chicopee River at Red Bridge.  Plan was to see how close I could get to the village of Three Rivers in Palmer, MA where the Ware and Quaboag rivers join to form the Chicopee.  Found an excellent map and other helpful information on the Massachusetts Paddler.com website  .

Launched just upstream of the dam...


Paddled across the river which is more like a lake and crossed under the old Boston and Albany Railroad's Athol branch...

...which prior to the construction of Quabbin Reservoir saw trains running along the Chicopee and Swift rivers. 

This area beyond the bridge had the feel of a pond and provided a view of Mt. Minechaug...


Once back out on the lake-like Chicopee I headed towards the village of Three Rivers...
...passing the ruins of two electric generating stations...

Once past the second station the real Chicopee began to appear in the form of shallower and faster-flowing water until I approached the end of navigation near the Bridge Street bridge (seen in the distance)...
The water here is a mixture of the Quaboag, Ware, and Swift rivers.

This five-story factory looms over the south bank...

After turning about I got this brief look at the Chicopee confined by steep rock walls on each side...


Aside for a couple of guys fishing from small power boats the river was quiet...until this open-cockpit helicopter passed well below the treetops a few times (a safe way to fly these COVID days) ...

Before leaving the boat launch I asked a local fisherman how the fishing was.  He replied not so good and noted that as the river has become cleaner due to better wastewater treatment measures, the fishing has deteriorated.  If I understood him correctly, he was saying that the previously less-treated wastewater provided food to the fish.  
 
Once back on the turnpike I headed further west to the KOA campground in Westhampton and pitched my tent on a raised pea-stone filled pad...something I've come to appreciate this camping season.

The next morning was up before dawn and driving Route 20 west to the Housatonic River when I encountered this westbound CSX freight passing through Chester, MA...

The freight headed west towards Pittsfield and I southwest towards Sheffield, both communities on the far west side of Massachusetts.  

While I'd previously paddled sections of the Housatonic River in Connecticut including its tidal reach from Long Island Sound, this would be my first time paddling a section in Massachusetts. Information I used for paddling the stretch below Sheffield came from a Paddling Guide for Berkshire County available on the Housatonic Valley Association's website.  I launched at the Rannapo Road Bridge and headed downriver past the rocky base of Bartholomew's Cobble.  In my mind was an account I'd recently read on the Lenox History.org website telling "As early as 1662 John Pynchon, son of the founder of Springfield attempted to establish a trading post on the Housatonic between Sheffield and Ashley Falls.  The area was too wild to sustain the post but it does indicate the area was known to the English settlers of the Connecticut River Valley."  The site also mentions the name Housatonic having been a corruption of the Mahican (Native American tribe) word Outhotonnook meaning "over the mountain" and that it wasn't until 1725 that a tract of land 12 miles wide by 18 miles long was purchased from the Mahican Chief (sachem) Konkapot.  Only a mile or so downstream I reached the confluence of the Konkapot River and paddled a bit of it while wondering if Pynchon might have picked this spot for his trading post...


Further along and after entering the State of Connecticut I explored a bit of another tributary, the Blackberry River, before returning to the Housatonic.  Below the Blackberry/Housatonic confluence was this old railroad bridge stone pier standing in the middle of the river...
Information found online indicates a bridge was built here by the Connecticut Western Railroad in 1871, and this stone pier likely supported that very bridge until 1965. A photo of a train crossing this bridge can be found at this BridgeHunter.com site

Eventually I reached an old abandoned dam in North Canaan...
...where there's a portage trail river left for those continuing downriver.  The view looking back up from where the portage trail ends...

 Before heading back upriver I enjoyed lunch with a fine river-view...

The trip upriver afforded this view of Bartholomew's Cobble...

Paddling upriver past Rannapo Road brought me to my turnaround point at the Housatonic Railroad/Route 7A bridges...

Mountains could be seen to the southwest...
...perhaps Mt. Everett and Race Mtn?

Paddled back to where I'd started from at Rannapo Road noting that I hadn't encountered another soul the whole time.  No need for social distancing on this day.  The sound of a train's horn was frequently heard to the east.  I believe it was the Housatonic Railroad performing switching services for the various industries in North Canaan, CT.

After a good night's rest in my tent in Westhampton I broke camp and headed to the nearby Littleville Lake in Huntington, MA.  The lake was created by the US Army Corps. of Engineers as a flood-control project in 1953 by damming the Middle Branch of the Westfield River.  It also serves as an additional drinking water supply for Springfield, MA.  Things were calm and foggy at the boat launch...

The view to the north as the fog began to lift...

Some foliage provided a golden glow...

An eagle watched my approach...

Upon reaching the north end of the lake I rounded a point...
...and surprised 3 river otters.  While they slid off of a rock and bobbed briefly before submerging, I was all thumbs with my camera and failed to snap a photo.  I rarely get to see otters and when I do they usually don't stick around too long. 

Just beyond where the eagle and otters were seen I reached the end of navigable waters...
...and paddled back to the boat ramp to begin the drive homeward.  Decided to take the long and scenic route via Rt.112 and the Mohawk Trail.  Early into the drive while still in Huntington an overlook allowed this view of the Knightville Dam on the East Branch of the Westfield River...

A sign on the kiosk there hosted a good number of ladybugs...

Three of them elected to hitch a ride with me bringing along some good luck in the form of a beautiful afternoon...72 degrees and sunshine!


Trash encountered along the way...

 


Littleville Lake had but a little...





 


Sunday, October 18, 2020

One River Led to Another

 

Got out of the block early on a couple of weekday mornings this past week (Rt 225 bridge above).  Enjoyed the Sudbury River between Egg Rock and Pantry Brook on one day, and the Concord River from Two Brother's Rocks to Egg Rock on the other.  Also, while in the neighborhood, checked out the first mile or so of the Assabet River. Some photos taken along the way:

Monument Street Bridge on the Concord... 


The Assabet River had some color...

...and an immature hawk...

A killdeer at Clamshell Bank on the Sudbury...


The Sudbury's Fairhaven Bay...


Two Brothers Rocks Historic Site in Bedford...

...where Governor Winthrop and his deputy stepped out of a canoe (which I doubt they had a hand in paddling) back in the spring of 1638...


Trash picked up along the route...