Monday, July 8, 2013

Nature! Glorious Nature!

I ran out to the Colchester causeway on Sunday (decided to try the lake instead of the river....).  This is the bike path that nearly stretches to the southern tip of South Hero, but there's a cut to allow boats to pass through. Rain threatened all morning, but held off during most of my run. Cool observations:

  • stormwater: on one side of the Causeway is Mallet's Bay, on the other side the broad lake. The bay side looked pretty normal - dark water, not much sediment. The lake side was the color of a latte. It was odd running out on the narrow rock-raised pathway, just a few yards wide, with two totally different bodies of water on each side. (Photo above is from normal times.)
  • wildlife: I saw a lonesome loon (solo in the middle of the day -- that doesn't seem normal) but the coolest sight was a little brown-furred river otter hanging out on a rock along the path. At first sight I thought, is there a pet ferret on the loose? But I stopped my run to watch the critter, and he hung out long enough that I could identify him in a Google search later. So cool!
  • bike ferry: tons of cyclists heading north and south on the bike path use the pontoon ferry to get across the cut in the bike path. They load the bikes into a specially designed rack and take a quick ride a few dozen yards to the other side of the cut.

This is not the otter I saw, but it looks a lot like him! Photo by http://www.flickr.com/photos/ndomer73/

Thursday, July 4, 2013

A River Runs Through It (And I Fell In It)

Vermont broke records for precipitation in May and June -- constant, pounding storms, with periods of normal rain as our only relief. That kind of rainfall turns streams into rivers and rivers into highways of water.

The river in front of the building where I live is normally broad and strong -- the Winooski River drains a major watershed and it the last conduit into the lake for a huge area of mountains and streams. The amount of rain we had turned a normally large river into a massive force that demands your attention and respect. I clearly didn't give it enough of either on the morning of July 4.

There's a trail along the river that starts near my building and heads into the woods and along the water. Heading out for a run that morning, I caught up with another runner at one spot on the trail where the river had lapped up into the land, creating a 10-long puddle of muddy water over the narrow trail. The river was coffee-colored with sediment from the rains, and moving swiftly, but that section of river is also deep enough that there weren't rapids or white water. Fellow runner decided to turn back, I decided to inch through the puddle carefully and check out its depth. Slogging through ankle-deep water, I made it to the other side of the puddle and continued my run on wet but clear trails. Around the highway bridge I ran into a neighbor who warned me the rocks were a little slick, and I took her advice to stay on the high side of the trail. All in all, a nice run while the skies were merely gray and not actively raining, and pretty stunning views of the massive, swollen river.

Heading back, I slowed to walk when I got to the long puddle over the trail. The path here is close to the river normally, but the high water level blurred the edge of the trail and run of the water. But I'd walked through here earlier and it was deep so I wasn't cautious...

And just as I was thinking that that other runner shouldn't has wussed out, I found myself completely in the river. The water had taken out a chunk of the riverbank where the trail ought of have been, but the hole in the path wasn't discernible under the muddy stretch of water on the trail.

I basically stepped into a muddy water slide was instantly up to my neck in the river, trying to get footing where was no ground to step on. I had two thoughts, simultaneously: 1) this is a really swift river, and 2) this is foul stormwater.  Both are reasons to act quickly and get out of the water. I reached just above my head to a clump of plants on the bank and pulled myself out, hoping the plants were secure enough to not give way too.

The entire incident lasted maybe 5 seconds, during which I was startled, scared, annoyed and then relieved. And completely drenched. I stood on the trail laughing, and feeling somewhat ridiculous for doing exactly what emergency officials tell you not to do: don't be cavalier around storm-swollen rivers, don't drive (or walk...) through watered-covered surfaces because you don't know the conditions below the water.

Lesson learned, the hard way.