Jennifer Crystal
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How to get there: Drive north out of Middlebury on Route 7. About two miles past Chipman Hill, turn left onto Belden Road directly across from where River Road (much more highly trafficked) comes in on the right. Follow Belden Road under a narrow railroad overpass, then into the parking area at the Belden Dam hydro plant. The trail begins at a footbridge which crosses Otter Creek above the dam. |
I don't know what to expect upon arriving at the Otter Creek Gorge. I'm initially caught off-guard by the fact that the trail can only be reached via a sturdy yet slightly daunting wood-plank footbridge that is precariously suspended over a rushing waterfall, which flanks the Belden Dam and hydro plant (below, left). Indeed, the trail itself is full of surprises, ultimately tossing our group from a windy, narrow path out into an open pasture. The trail, for the most part, follows a creek that teases the eye with a variety of currents--from swiftly moving rapids to the calm of a lake at dawn.
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After crossing the footbridge we find ourselves on a narrow, swerving path flanked by tall pines mixed with oaks, maples, and hemlocks. Through the brush to my right I can make out the waterfall; its cascades are white in color and swirl down in every direction over jagged rocks--although some of the falls have been frozen mid-tumble, since it is winter (top, right). Swells of snow and icicles create an awning over those plumes of water still falling, which are as roaring and wild as the crashing waves of an ocean during a storm. Curiosity gets the better of Paddy, and then Kirsten and I follow his lead as he pushes his way through the branches, edging closer and closer to what I fear will be a severe drop-off at the edge of the waterfall. Reminding myself that Paddy knows what he's doing in the woods, I continue along behind him just a few feet more and, to my great surprise, find that the drop-off I'd anticipated is in fact the largest, flattest portion of rock over which the water somersaults. We climb out onto this rock-- though we have to be careful, because much of it is covered in layers of ice that blend right into the granite; a few wrong steps and we'd run the risk of being swept up in this whirlpool that even the most skilled kayaker would hesitate to undertake.
Crouching gingerly on the rock, I am at once entranced by this natural phenomenon that is so very close to me and also distinctly aware of my own boundaries within nature; the waterfall is inches away from my grasp, yet I must remain the captivated onlooker--for, tempting though it seems, to become a part of this savage rollercoaster of water would be to overstep my own limits. I glance up at the concrete dam trying desperately to suppress the water and watch in awe as the falls just fight on through, bursting with life as they crash down at my feet. For a brief moment I wish I could do as the water does, but I am so taken in by watching it that I am almost thankful for the natural barrier placed upon me.
Sitting so close to the water affords me the opportunity to see the layers and layers of ice that have built up on all of these rocks. Leaves and debris are caught under them, as if they were on display in glass cases. I can also examine the sharp, pointy edges of the icicles dripping from the snow by the dam, both of which would be invisible to someone remaining safely back on the trail. I am glad I took the risk of walking out here; had I not, my walk through this particular area of the trail would not have evoked in me such a unique sensation of amazement.
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I want to squat on this rock a while longer and listen to the water crash about me, but I realize I have not gone more than a few hundred feet into the trail; now I decide to continue on. Paddy, Kirsten, and I carefully scramble back up the slick embankment until we are safely back on the path, once again shaded by the trees overhead. Though the walk through this forest is not difficult, small roots that jut up from the ground and rocks scattered across the trail call for careful stepping. As the path zigzags, I start to lose sight of where I am headed, focusing on nothing more than the silent shifting of my feet from left to right; the waterfall seems far away. I take a deep breath, glancing up at the patches of blue through the bare branches above me. |
Though we are fewer than ten minutes from campus, Middlebury College and the stresses it can provide seem far off; I start to lose myself in the stillness around me. I am awakened from my reverie, however, as the path suddenly turns slightly downward, spilling me out into a clearing of brush replete with fallen logs to sit on, a tree that has split at its base in the shape of a V, and a few reeds perching on the edge of the water.
To the right, the waterfall is once again in plain view. At the base of its steep incline, the water swirls madly together; then its intensity diminishes as it moves swiftly forward--in a clear stream with small whitecaps--in the direction of the clearing where we stand. One large rock stands out in the water just to the right of the clearing, worn smooth by the water that dances over it; the other sloping bank of this area of the creek is riddled with inclines of rock leading up into pines and some birch. Three of the pines stand taller than the rest, as if they were elders calmly watching over the rushed activity below--a juxtaposition that mirrors the unexpected sense of serenity I feel while walking next to this turbulent, charging water. The fact that the trees in this area are of different sizes and types reflects the varying nature of the trail itself. Several jagged rocks to the left of the waterfall on this side of the creek lead up to the dam and hydro plant, while a wooden staircase, leading up to a canoe portage, serves as a reminder of human presence in this environment.
The trail continues back up from the clearing and winds until it reaches a fork in the road at a tree. Though this is a crisp January day, there is not a drop of snow on the ground; it is hard to believe the snow-and-ice-laden waterfall behind me is still a part of this same trail.The orange markers indicate that hikers should continue to the left, but there is also a clear path to the right. At first glance it seems that both options are similar, yet after walking a few steps to the right I suddenly come to the edge of a sheer cliff perched high above crashing, swirling whitewater, perhaps even more intense than that at the initial waterfall. The cliff is full of pines that interlock at the top, and is rather steeply sloped--making it difficult to sit comfortably at the edge and truly look down at the crashing water. Yet, somehow, these intruding trees make me feel safer on this ledge than if it were completely open. I wonder if I am an intruder here, too, or if the trees are there to welcome people in, drawing us ever closer to the churning water below but still holding us back from getting too close, from breaking our limits and tumbling down.
The opposite ledge of this cliff is made up of large rocks that jut out from a steep incline. Small caverns have formed in between some of these rocks, and seem to beckon me to them, inviting me to climb inside and explore over on the other side there. But this is impossible; instead, I must look from a distance and simply admire the mystery of these caves. Some of the rocks simply have small indentations on their surface. Tiny icicles have formed from the overhangs of many of these rocks, creating a filigree in delicate contrast to their rushing liquid form below.
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Climbing back up from this area is tricky, given the steep hill of smooth, bare rock, some of which is covered in ice; it is as if the hill begs me to stay in this peaceful place and sit here awhile, thinking perhaps of nothing at all. But curiosity eventually draws me back up to complete the trail.
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There is no clear path back up, but once I have reached the crest I re-encounter the yellow T.A.M. markers, which point out the trail as it continues along to several remarkable beaver dams that impound small amounts of frozen water, surrounded by stumps of fallen (or perhaps chopped) trees. A great patch of sky peeks through here where the trees are cleared away, and the open area--as well as our wonder over the ingenuity of these dams--calls us out onto the ice. |
We giggle nervously as the frozen water cracks beneath our boots, but Kirsten assures us it is not deep. Tracks cover the ice, but it is hard to tell what left them--perhaps the beavers, or maybe a dog accompanying someone on a walk along this path. This thought reminds me all too quickly of the imprint of man in this natural setting; the tracks beg the question, am I right to walk here and try to find some connection to this area? Or am I intruding on the work of the beavers in their home? I remember that back at the man-made Belden Dam, the water burst through with tremendous force; was it fighting against man's attempt to quell its natural path? Here at the beaver dams, I hear no roaring water; it sleeps quietly under its frozen layers. I want to jump on the ice and crack through to see what lies underneath, but instead I decide to let things alone and step softly back onto land.
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The path continues upward from the beaver dams, and several frozen cow tracks can be seen on the ground as the trail eventually opens up to enter a large cow pasture, completely out in the open (above). My shoes lose their light tread as I walk across the frozen, muddy field, perhaps to the amusement of the herd of brown-and-white cows grazing lazily towards the far right corner of the pasture. Though I was protected before by the canopy of trees over the trail, I can now sense the biting wind and what feels like a decrease in temperature, rendering me more than eager to find my way back to the marked path. However, it isn't easy to follow the trail at this point; the markings get both hard to find and difficult to read. By staying on the left edge of the field, though, the trail is eventually rediscovered (thanks to Paddy's bushwhacking skills!).
We aren't too nervous when we initially can't find our way back to the trail, since we know eventually we just need to head in the direction of the Otter Creek; nevertheless, I can feel the sense of relief that permeates our group when we finally get back onto familiar territory. I suppose the protective trees and steady path give us a sense of security, whether we are conscious of it or not. I realize this is close enough for me to come to this place; I do not want to get completely lost, or let myself get swept up in the rushing waterfall. It is not my place to do so. I am just glad the water, the trees, the rocks, the path, and the beavers all let me in to show me their way for the afternoon.
