Abbey Pond Trail
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How to get there: leave downtown Middlebury heading east on Washington Street past the Grand Union. When road forks, bear right onto Seminary Street Extension. When road forks again, bear left onto Quarry Road and take it east till it dead-ends into Route 116. Turn left (north) on 116, and within a mile you'll come to a sign for the trail along the roadside; turn right onto a gravel road through a sugarbush with plastic pipeline taps, and this eventually leads to a parking area at the trailhead. Trail begins to the north and is gravelled at first, till you get around a huge pile of rocks. |
Adventures at Abbey Pond
Dani Golden
Loose rock!" Benjie called from above me just as I scooted out of the boulder's tumbling path. We were not far from the trailhead leading up to Abbey Pond, just off Route 125, a few miles north of East Middlebury, but we had detoured to play on and explore a remarkable rock heap. How could Benjie, Rob and I, three adventurous and mischievous college kids, ignore the lure of this huge pile of rocks and boulders, beckoning us to its summit?
"Thanks for the warning," I yelled as I shook a speckled brown boulder in front of me, making sure it wouldn't carry me down the hill when I put my weight on it. Benjie's warning reminded me of the most important rule of boulder climbing: never climb directly below somebody else. As I scooted over to the right, out of Benjie's fall-line, I tried to remember some other helpful hints for boulder climbing that I have accumulated in my years of hiking. Always maintain three points of contact when scampering up a hill of debris; keep your center of gravity low and centered; don't look down. Fortunately, all of these precautions have become innate to me, allowing me to enjoy this natural jungle gym without fearing danger.
When I joined my hiking partners on the top, our group--called The Driven Sleet--congratulated ourselves on our first team ascent while marveling at the massive gravel pits that we were now gazing down at. About twenty-five feet in front of us lay two deep craters, reminders that gravel originates from somewhere in nature. To our west lay the energetic, roaring river that will guide up us to Abbey Pond; to our north, we can see the barren gray oak trees that fill this wilderness area and invite us to enter its haven of adventure.
Anxious to start the hike, I headed down the opposite wall from the one we had climbed up, which leads right into the woods. However, Rob went down the side we had ascended. Just as I was about to make my last move on the boulders and jump to the ground, I heard a tumbling roar from the opposite wall. "RRrrruumbblee. . . Crassshhh. . . . . . Crack." Then a bellowing yell that echoed from the rocks: "I'm O.K.!" Rob screamed from the direction of the rockslide. Good, because a casualty on a school-sponsored trip would be awful.
Surviving the challenge of these huge mounds of boulders with their loosely aggregated walls allows us to enter the even more exciting exploration leading to Abbey Pond. The trail begins just a few yards from the rock hills. Littered with fallen leaves, the wide gravel path is bordered by trees of every size; as the trail meanders through fallen branches, obtrusive roots and scattered debris, it gradually becomes narrower. The black and white speckled gravel is replaced by the earth-toned brown dirt as the trail leads us deeper into the forest. A maze of branches explodes from the towering trees, hiding the misty gray-blue sky. I could easily imagine Rob and Benjie swinging from this canopy of branches, yelping to one another in some made-up language. On a hot summer day the shade from the trees would cool you off as you head up to the pond; in the fall, the changing colors of the leaves would dazzle your eyes and introduce you to nature's covert collection of vibrant colors. But, if you hike this trail on a warm January day, like we did, the barren gray trees will create a beautiful winter picture as they blend in with the dirty white snow that sparsely covers the ground.
Just before a wooden bridge that crosses the screaming, icy river, there is a registration box where you can sign in. Standing on the bridge looking upstream you'll see an active gorge formed by the river's brutal force. Frozen water, fallen branches, barren trees and the unpredictable river itself all beckon you forward on a nice day of winter hiking. For the first part of the hike, the river stays on your right, roaring the sounds of nature's own music. The river demonstrates its savage strength as it forces its way through masses of rock, forming intricate caves and hidden holes.
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Clear, slippery icicles welded together in clumps hang off every side of the rocks; break off one of the many icicle pops dripping from the rocks and taste the sweetness of the frozen water. "Look, I'm a unicorn!" Benjie exclaimed as he broke off a long, pointed horn and pranced around with it stuck to his forehead. After breaking off two sharp swords, Rob and I tiptoed through the crunchy snow, hunting our prey. "Ooww!" screamed Benjie when I poked him with my sword. "Run for it!!" Rob howled as he ran deeper into the woods. Throwing his unicorn horn into the river, Benjie chased after us, leaving the remaining clump of nature's frozen sculptures undisturbed for the next traveler to contemplate. |
Leaving the river for a while, you head left, deeper into this remote wilderness. A mixture of fallen autumn leaves and freshly fallen snow coats the ground, creating a wet mush of brown to walk on. A few of the large oak trees are thick enough to hug, but most have trunks about the diameter of a telephone pole. Many of the trees lay dead on the forest floor, casualties of the 1998 ice storm. Halfway up to the pond the trail seems to fork off, away from the river. As we contemplate which path to take, we quench our thirst by sipping from our unbreakable, high-tech plastic Nalgene water bottles.
We decide to stay near the river and head right. This fast flowing, wild river creates both visual entertainment and a series of physical obstacles. Meandering through gorges, leaping over fallen branches, and spilling over cliffs, this amazing river can steal your eyes for so long you forget to watch your footing. Skillful negotiation of the trail is essential, for the river has sprayed everything nearby, encasing the rocks and branches in a thin frozen sheet. Although losing your footing might be a nice way to cool off on a warm summer hike, slipping into this powerful vessel of water in the middle of January could easily cause hypothermia or frostbite.
About half-way up the trail, we encountered an intricate river crossing. The top of one small rock reaches the surface, with just enough exposed area above water to place one careful step on it. While hunched over and attempting this slippery maneuver, though my Nalgene bottle spilled out of my pack.
"Hold on! I got you!" Benjie yells as he grabs a nearby branch and lunges for Nalgene. A swipe and a miss. As he goes for another try his footing fails on the icy rocks, and he slides down towards the freezing white rapids that now hold Nalgene captive. But his quick feet find a small piece of grippable gray rock, salvaged from the overwhelming ice sheet. He stays dry. Now that he's so close to the water, he ditches the branch and reaches for Nalgene's blue loop. He touches it, and swoosh! Nalgene tumbles down the mini-waterfall, crashing into the surrounding rocks. Fortunately, Nalgene is sucked down under a rock and then pops back up into a little side eddy. Benjie's daring nature emanates from his tortured physique as he leans further across the river, all for the glory of water.
"Gotcha!" And the chilled Nalgene is returned to my warm pack--which I will now keep zipped, especially while crossing rivers.
The river that almost terminated my Nalgene's thus-far-successful career as water carrier requires several additional precarious crossings, and thus more adventures. As you close in on the destination of Abbey Pond, though, the trail flattens out and the river floods over it in places, forming a mess of frozen water; a small footbridge or some planks of wood would certainly be helpful at this point, but there are none. Rob tried to test the sturdiness of the ice by stomping on it, but his attempt merely led to a jagged ice fishing hole and a wet boot. My retired ice-skating techniques led me to a similar soggy outcome. Even Benjie's trapezoidal maneuvering on the criss-crossed branches reward him with mildewed socks. Remaining dry in this swamp of snow and ice is quite a feat. Once you cross this section of the river, you leave the river behind and head up the steep trail, nearing the ominous pond. Looking up at the trees might make you want to become one with them.
"How about a picture of us in the trees?" I suggest to Rob and Benjie.
"Sure," exclaims Benjie, always ready to explore anything and everything that is climbable. "I used to be able to shimmy up trees pretty well." I watch Benjie jump onto the trunk and start making his way to the top as I back away to get a good picture. Craaack! Buuump! Craash! One down, I think, as I stand dumbfounded over Rob and a fallen tree. "I'm O.K.," Rob manages to say as he lies paralyzed on the cold ground. Then a smile, and laughter. "Quick! Get a picture!" yells Benjie, doubling over with laughter as he shimmies down his tree. Benjie grabs the tree trunk and holds it over Rob's shocked body, pretending to beat him while I snap the picture. "My poor arse!" moans Rob, giggling. "It took the brunt of the fall."
"Good thing it's padded," I add.
"Next time remind me not to climb a dead tree--okay, guys?"
| Our adventures continued right up to the trail's end, where a vast plate of whiteness comes into view. The trees become scarce as the thickets and brush dominate the banks of the pond. A ridge of mountains about 1500 ft from the pond cast shadows on the frozen white sheet. Sitting on a log you can faintly hear the river nearby, but mostly this serene place echoes the quivering branches swaying in the wind. It occurred to me that taking a dip in this cool water in the summer would be so satisfying after such an adventurous trek through the woods. But since it's winter, we settle for writing our hiking group's name in the snow-covered pond, while testing the stability of the underlying ice. |  |
"The driven Sleet has landed!" The three of us cheered as we admired our artwork on the glistening white pond.
