2.2 miles (plus forty three by bike) from Poplar Street Access to Hatchery Brook Campsite

It was about three PM when I launched from the southern end of the Turners Falls Dam portage. I was now paddling through the traditional homeland of the Pocumtuck peoples. Like other native peoples, the Pocumtuck never received compensation for the land they were forced off of in the late 1600’s.

It was interesting to once again be down low on the river. Because of the bike ride I now had some idea what was going by over the bank, beyond my sight. I knew there was a farm stand selling ice cream along that bank somewhere. I rued the fact that even if I did find it it would probably require a climb through poison ivy. I decided to be content with the memory of the ice cream I had enjoyed on my bike ride.

There was a campsite in just over two miles and then another eight miles more. I had the fleeting thought that I could go to the farther one. But then I asked myself, “Why push?”

I had just ridden my bike 118 miles in one-and-one-half days. I hadn’t had much of a stop all day. I have spent a lifetime trying to remember to enjoy my days and not always push myself to an extreme. I gave myself credit for opting for the shorter distance. I also gave myself credit for thinking to wear my bright orange bike vest over my life jacket. I wanted to be as visible as possible to the motor boat drivers, especially those zooming around waving beer cans at me.

It did not take me long to arrive at the first campsite. Hatchery Brook was running into the CT River here. The river was warm and a bit brown looking whereas the side brook was cold and clear. Just before putting in, I heard there had been a recent raw sewage leak into the river. They were asking people not to be in the river below a certain point for at least a few days. On my schedule I figured I was okay, but still I could not help but think of the pollutants that are dumped into the river on a regular basis. It is quite possible this side stream was polluted as well, but compared to the river it seemed much cleaner. I allowed myself to dip into the cool water and rinse off the sweat from the last few days of bike riding in over ninety degree temperatures.

The site itself was lovely. The walk up to the site was a chore. The beach was uneven and it was difficult to pull my boat up far enough to be safe if they released water from the dam. But that turned out to be the easy part. The site was situated sixty feet above the river and there are over sixty steps to climb to get there. The hard part for me was trying to avoid the poison ivy that covered many of the stairs and obliterated the path in places.

I tried to take as much as I could in each load so that I only had to make two trips up and down from the boat. With my arms so loaded with gear it was inevitable I would drop something. I had to carefully lift one dry bag out of the poison ivy I had dropped it in. When I returned to the boat for a second load I again rinsed off in Hatchery Brook hoping to avoid getting the itchy poison ivy rash.

By the time I set up camp and made dinner I was really glad I had not tried to make more miles on the river. Even though it was still fairly early I crawled into my tent. I was glad to get into a horizontal position and call it a night.