Kingsland Bay State Park

How to get there: Take Route 7 north to Vergennes, turning left at junction with Route 22A and following 22A south through the downtown center (Main Street). Shortly before you would cross the Otter Creek, turn right (west) onto Sand Road and follow it for about 8 miles till you reach the park entrance. The gate will be shut, but walk along entrance drive till you reach the main building, which dates to late 1700's. This lakefront property used to be the summer girls' camp Ecole Champlain, and the remains of many of there buildings are scattered around. "Nature Trail" follows shoreline north from concrete swimming dock…near the tip of the bay there's a wooden staircase descending to near the water, but if you take that just be aware that you've left the main trail which loops around to return to center of park.

Arriving at Kingsland Bay State Park, I immediately sense the presence of water. Neither sound, nor smell, nor sight initially reveals Lake Champlain to the visitor; rather, the Lake is in the wind, in the earth, and in this place. Walking through the gate of a weathered wooden fence and down a gravel road towards the anticipated lake, I approach a compound of buildings which once served as the home of Ecole Champlain, a girls' summer camp until the late 1960s. A grove of trees shelters the path of this walk which leads toward the first of the compound buildings, the distinguished old Hawley House. The historic beauty and intrigue of this building initially distract me from exploring the great open expanses of light and air just beyond the house to the north and west--immediately recognizable as Lake Champlain. I suffice to wait, delaying gratification, for the appropriate moment to devote time to the Lake's wonder.

In its distinct physical design and waterfront location, the Hawley House represents a magnificent former age of the town of Ferrisburg. Constructed in 1790 by the first settlers of this area, the Hawley House now serves as a history museum for the park and its surrounding area. Composed of cut-stone blocks and aging wood--which frames the windows and doors and provides a wrap-around porch--this imposing structure expresses a sense of the past and evokes a certain dignity of enduring presence. A walk around the porch reveals to my attentive ears the creaks and chatterings of its wooden boards and handrail, which invoke a feeling of looking backwards through time at the trails of footsteps that have for so long been scattered about this place. A widow's walk around a large square tower resting atop this building reminds me of the importance of this place as a haven for travelers abroad. Nestled in the shade of the woods abounding to the right--out onto the point of the bay--the Hawley House must routinely feel the cool winds that blow off the lake in the final moments of the day.

These winds draw me to the lake, which is only a slight meander through the clearing of clean-cut grass off the porch of the Hawley House. The regional geography of the lake can be seen clearly in the contours of the land that form the bay; like mountains arising from the water, the effect of the lake over the course of time can be seen clearly in the way in which it has carved out the land and left the naked, rocky shores warmed by a blanket of forest on all sides. The clearing at the water's edge, downhill from the Hawley House and the rest of the compound, stands marked by a tall beacon--a flagpole which reveals this place to any boats sailing near the bay. This clearing also features, as a product of the recent past, a large flat concrete slab which juts out approximately fifty feet into the bay and provides visiting boats with space to dock. As the water flows into the bay, waves roll against and off of this concrete slab, provoking a feeling of destination. As I stand on the edge of this concrete dock, the cool wind rushes at my face and pricks my cheeks with its briskness. Over time, countless people must have stood at this nook on the shore and pondered distant places along the lake--and the travelers that might soon be arriving to tell of these faraway shores.

Stepping back from the shore and past the assortment of wooden buildings that comprise the compound of the expired "Ecole Champlain," I am reminded of the past role of this place as camp. A visit in winter proves rewarding due to the effects of cold, like ice-coated rocks and boulders and the sharp briskness of the air coming off of the lake; however, one can't help but imagine this place in the smooth warmth of the summer. If one listens closely, one can almost hear the laughter of children's voices and the excited patter of feet roaming in and among these buildings. These footsteps have left a trail trodden in the earth along the rocky shore of the bay, heading out to its point and then looping back through the woods that adorn this peninsula, returning the visitor once again to the compound.

Evidence of the course of time abounds along this trail. By the lake, the land and the woods along the bay seem as timeless as the constant rhythmic ebb and break of the water. Deviating from the trail draws the exploratory hiker anywhere from twenty to fifty feet down to the shore. A reminder of the constant purchase of youth in this age-old place becomes apparent in the discovery of a small fort along this shore; tucked into a cranny of the rock and roofed by an interwoven variety of medium-sized logs, this fort bears the semblance of the playful spirit and imagination of youth. Chosen with care, this spot also reveals a brilliant view of the lake and the mountain formations that sketch its distant opposite shores--a place of wonder and thought. As I sat in this spot, I couldn't help wondering what thoughts have been shared with these walls of rock down through the ages.

These walls of rock, incidentally, are composed primarily of sandstone; created by the winds, water, and earth, this rock struck me in the precision in which time has carved its contours, surfaces, and layers. Its colors contrast with each other brilliantly, as rich navy blues juxtapose themselves against almost glowing tan and orange hues--as if sand had been melded into the rock in oozing layers and frozen that way for eternity. This rock crumbles in razor-like lines, leaving each chunk and shard with sharp edges and color contrasts to explore through and around its surfaces; this sandstone rock also provides a playful visitor the ability to carve clear, bright lines on its flesh with any other piece of sandstone. Past visitors to the fort and beyond have left fading marks on these walls, invoking a sense of wonder as to who else might have visited this place, and when. "I wish you were here 11/11/99" reads one inscription; "Glad I could finally make it," I think in response. Given the relative agelessness of the rock and the lake, the view from this nook along the shore must have been similar to each new or veteran visitor. However, each new day provides a unique difference thanks to the combination of the elements of weather. I try to imagine the view and its differences as a series of Monet paintings--of the haystacks, say, or the Chapel Rouen.

Moving on to the point of the bay, the beaten trail provides shelter through a thick forest lined with fallen trees and patches of dense underbrush. Evidence of the power of ice is apparent in the woods--as it is on the shore, which runs parallel to the trail twenty feet to its left and down a short, sloping drop. Ice on the shore coats transparently the large, crumbling boulders that have broken apart from the land; peeling this ice away, it separates in contours that mold perfectly to the rocks which it blankets so smoothly. The trail eventually arrives at the point of the bay, where it then bends back into the woods and eventually leads once again to the former camp's compound and the Hawley House. Before completing the bend into the woods, however, a view from the point sparks in me a sense of awe and admiration at the vast empty space which the lake creates as it lies, vaguely visible, through the patterns of trees which shelter the point of the bay.

As the trail returns to the camp compound, I am left longing for a retreat to the wonder and vibrancy of youth which this place has clearly harbored and nurtured for so long. As old as the area around Kingsland Bay may be, it still evokes these carefree feelings of youthful exploration and discovery. A daily journey on this trail around the point might prove therapeutic to any hiker, reviving pleasant feelings of contented, youthful energy. I find myself back at the Hawley house just in time to catch the brilliant reflections of the sun's smoldering glow, vanishing beyond the distant rocky shores across the bay; another day at Kingsland Bay fades into another tomorrow.

text by Andrew Dutterer

photos by Ben "Jamin'" Jervey