Vermont Semester Update #11 - Running the Lamoille River to Lake Champlain

River Trip

For the past five days, we have been out on the Lamoille River. We did a lot less swimming than I had expected, which is good because the water was really, really cold! It has rained a decent amount during this section and it got quite windy too, but the paddling was pretty easy and the rapids were fun. No one capsized!

Now that it is marginally warmer, green things are growing. We have been eating wild ramps, trout lily leaves, and lots of ground nuts. All of these edibles are delicious!

The banks of the river accumulate some pretty strange stuff. We saw quite a number of dead animals, as well as a lot of trash and knick-knacks. We also found and skinned a dead beaver.

Some of the paddling days were surreal: Rain drizzled down from the velvety clouds as we floated down the river. Greens and browns blurred with subtle purples and grays, flashing with red raincoats and blue and yellow life jackets. Paddles dipped in slow, methodical rhythm and the sound of the moving water mixed with the patter of raindrops. Everyone enjoyed the day of sun immensely. It was short compared to the others, but it was full! We tossed a salvaged tennis ball back and forth between boats for a while, paddled a set of rapids, and got a little swamped. Despite the wet, we still had fun and were pretty warm.

After a beautiful day camped on the shore of Lake Champlain, we now have our rowing boats and our re-supply, and we are ready to go onto the next phase of this journey!

- Rosa

Journal Entry

Old yellow grass, fallen over, and flattened by the snow through the winter. Green mosses pushing up through the grass. Small bush-like flowers standing two and three feet high, brown and brittle, small dead bugs from last year cresting the branches. Raspberry bushes standing up here and there, still showing no signs of new life. The wind rustles the spruce tree behind me, the spiky green needles occasionally falling onto my page. The dead leaves rustle on some of the fallen stalks, adding a dry chime to the wind and birds of spring. A pile of sheep droppings, dried out over the winter, sits next to a fallen spruce bough. There is bright green moss climbing up the roots of the spruce, reaching for the trunk. The snow is receding, leaving a washed-out look to the ground, where the grass all lays in the same direction. In front of me, the forest seems ragged an unclear. The old maple stands tall against the grey sky. Its bark is large and chunky, and the one gallon syrup bucket is small in comparison. - Zac