11.3 Miles to Selden Neck State Park Cedars Camp Area

I was within a days paddle to Long Island Sound and the end of my trip. It was about 22 miles away. But I was in no hurry to finish. I did not want to reach my goal tired, at the end of a long day and pushing against an incoming tide. I decided to take a slow day and finish earlier the next day. That would leave me in better shape for the drive home. My friend Karen Deets had made arrangements for me to stay at one of the CT state park campsites eleven miles away. I looked forward to a slow, relaxing day of paddling and a more relaxing stay at the campsite. I wanted to catch up on my writing. Little did I expect that this short day would provide me with the greatest challenge of the trip.

It was a beautiful morning that promised to be quite hot before long. I made my usual stop at the outhouse. These made things so much easier, even when they were infested with spiders. I had seen these critters in many of the outhouses. This one had more than the usual number of them. I don’t usually mind spiders but sitting with my butt exposed while they surrounded me was a bit unnerving. At least the view from the privy was nice.

I was glad I had pulled Jenny so far up on shore the night before. The tide had come in and the water had risen well above where I thought it would. It was a number of feet up from the night before and she could have floated away if I had left her closer to the shore. I wondered if I would finally feel some benefit of paddling with the outgoing tide. So far the head winds had outweighed any tidal benefit.

I thought of all the changes I had seen in the river since I began over a month ago. It had gone from a small spring to a large tidal river. I saw very few people up north. The river was much more populated in its southern sections. And the boats were continuing to grow. I passed some that were three stories high and required a swing bridge to be able to get past the bridge.

I had seen close to one hundred bald eagles on this trip. The fact that this once endangered creature had made such a comeback gave me hope for the future. I wondered what it would take to get more people to really care about the environment. I was sure that once people were introduced to the miracles of nature they would learn to love it and want to protect it. I was thrilled to see a father taking his two young children out for their first canoe-camping trip. Perhaps if all children were required to spend some time in nature’s wild places the next generation would do a better job of caring for mother earth.

I encountered a fascinating natural phenomenon. Much of the river was glassy and calm. But there were patches of swirling water not caused by obstacles in the river. On closer examination I saw hundreds of fish fins sticking out of the water. Sometimes a fish jumped into the air. As I paddled over these areas I could see hundreds of silver fish swimming below me. They looked to be about one foot long. I asked many people what they were and got a number of conflicting reports. They may have been bunker fish or alewife.

I was really shocked when a large grey-black nose broke the surface near my boat. It looked like a dolphin but no one I spoke with thought they would be in the river. Imagine my surprise when I got home and saw that in fact a young dolphin had been spotted in the Connecticut River around the time I was there. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x_6HDpfMP3s

I arrived at the campsite quite early and pulled Jenny as far up onto the shore as my sore side would allow. Even though it was early afternoon I was quite hungry. I noticed there were sassafras trees down here. I had not seen them for many years. After admiring a butterfly on the beach I went up to the picnic table and cooked two more of the dinners I had left. I was just starting to eat when a plethora of jet skis arrived. Some had single occupants. Many had two. I felt inundated by this group of fourteen which included many large men and only three women.

One male in particular frightened me. He kept talking about “those fucking democrats,” blaming Biden for the cost of gas and everything else that was wrong in his life. Some of these individuals were wearing clothing that suggested they were supporters of our former republican president. I am fairly certain I heard the word “fucking” one hundred times. They were drinking beer and throwing cans onto the beach. Periodically they would look at Jenny and then at me.

A huge internal struggle began. I wanted them gone. I wanted to call someone and have them removed. This was “my” campsite. Deets had paid for it. I wanted my quiet time to write. As their rhetoric heated up I felt less and less safe. I was beginning to resent them.

Then I remembered how much I have talked about treating all people kindly. I recalled a time on the Continental Divide when a couple was unkind to me when I stopped to get water at the spring near their campsite. I did not want to be like that couple. I fought the resentment I was feeling. I texted Deets and told her I was feeling a bit unsure of my safety. I imagined I would probably be okay but I was not certain. And after being alone for days, the blaring music and raucous conversation was overwhelming me. I knew what I had to do. It terrified me.

I walked down to the beach on the pretense of getting something out of Jenny. I mentioned I was camping here for the night. I told them I had been hoping for a quiet last evening since I had just paddled down from the Canadian border and would be finishing the next day in Long Island Sound. Then I said the scariest thing of all.

“I’m one of those fucking democrats you are railing against” I said. “And I am old enough to be most of your mothers. I don’t know how you talk about your mothers and I don’t care what political party you belong to. But I do care about being kind to one another. All I ask is that you practice kindness.”

They looked at me as if I had fallen from Mars. A few of them tried to engage me in political arguments. I refused to engage, telling them flat out I wasn’t going to argue politics. I told them I had spent years being abused and living at the bottom of the economic ladder. I kept repeating that kindness and taking care of each other is all that mattered to me. One woman began to ask me about my trip. One of the men also became interested. He went to his jet ski and proffered a granola bar and bottle of water. I graciously accepted and thanked him, giving him the information about my blog that he requested. Not long after, they picked up the cans scattered on the beach and left. A few circled back around gunning their motors and staring at me, but most left peacefully.

I returned to my campsite and felt myself shaking. I had had no idea what was going to happen when I told them I was one of the enemies they were railing against, but I knew I had to do it. I wanted to personalize “those people,” putting a face to “them” and I wanted to see these jet skiers as humans deserving as much consideration and respect as I did. After it was over I wanted to cry. I also wanted to celebrate having overcome some of my fears and following my beliefs even when it scared me. I called a few friends to share the experience.

Not long after, more jet skiers arrived. This time one middle aged woman came up to the picnic table. When she asked me if I was scared I replied, “Only of drunk jet skiers.” She became defensive and I realized she was drinking hard alcohol from her flask. When she insisted I take food that I didn’t want I did not argue. She would not take no for an answer. I would take the open bags of chips, nuts and Oreos she was proffering and get rid of them the next day.

A few more motorized watercraft stopped before evening came and I felt comfortable setting up my tent for the night. I let the mosquitoes in my tent do their biting before drifting off to sleep.