Steve Fagin: Flood vs. tide: The flood prevails

Jul. 20—Hazy skies, drenching humidity and stifling heat would have made kayaking up the Connecticut River enough of a challenge this week, but I also struggled to make headway against an overpowering current.

What was going on?

I had set out to paddle from Great Island, near the mouth of the river in Old Lyme, to Calves Island, a tiny islet north of the Baldwin Bridge. I've kayaked this route countless times in all seasons, including winter, when paddlers have to watch for drifting ice floes, and early spring, when melting snow significantly raises the river level — but I hadn't anticipated such a tough slog in mid-July.

After launching from the Great Island boat ramp, I headed north along the east shore of Great Island, but soon bogged down in sandbars, shoals and mudflats at low tide. Time for Plan B: I turned around, passed the mouth of Black Hall River, cut across Griswold Cove, entered Long Island Sound and steered for deeper water along Great Island's west shore .

From here, it should have been an easy paddle, boosted by a gentle south wind and incoming tide. I looked forward to a carefree voyage while watching ospreys dive and egrets stalk among the reeds.

However, the Connecticut did not cooperate. Silt-choked water that rushed downriver clashed with tidal water from the sound that tried to push upriver, creating swirling, confused chop. I knew these chaotic conditions could only have been caused by floodwater from devastating storms that ravaged northern New England over the weekend. This surge had made its way with a vengeance hundreds of miles downriver, carrying tree branches, driftwood and debris.

From my perspective, conditions were arduous but not treacherous — not nearly as dangerous as in early spring, when raging torrents can uproot trees and rip apart buildings. That said, inexperienced paddlers should not set out on any rain-swollen river. During decades of kayaking, friends and I have paddled in much more challenging waterways, including The Race, Wicopesset Passage, Plum Gut, Hell Gate, and Class IV rapids on the St. John River in northern Maine. By comparison, the lower Connecticut River this week was calm. I took a deep breath and pushed north.

My boat was already slowed by cargo that included a tent, sleeping bag, extra clothes, food and water bottles. The floodwater made it all the more sluggish.

I planned to rendezvous with my son, Tom, who had spent the past few days kayaking and camping from Old Mystic to Hammonasset Beach in Madison. He had already paddled some 60 miles and still had to cover about 30 miles back to Old Mystic.

I should also mention that as part of Tom's self-styled "doorstep adventure" series, he doesn't use a car to transport his kayak and gear to a boat ramp and back, but rolls them for miles on portable wheels. By comparison, my little excursion barely registered as a drop in the bucket.

Just north of Great Island, I came upon a man rowing across the river in a double-ended peapod dinghy.

"That looks like work," I said, pulling alongside. "Where you heading?"

"North Cove in Old Saybrook," he replied, nodding toward an inlet about half a mile west. "How about you?"

"Calves Island."

"Ooh, you've got a lot of hard paddling ahead," he winced. "If you want, I'll get my powerboat and give you a ride."

"Thanks. That's a generous offer, but I'm OK," I said.

We wished each other luck and separated.

I found that by hugging the river bank I could avoid stronger currents. I stayed close to Marvin Island, passed beneath the Amtrak railroad bridge, crossed the mouth of the Lieutenant River, and then tried to find lee behind rocks and boats moored north of Ferry Landing State Park.

I could see and hear cars and trucks rumbling across the Baldwin Bridge. Not too much farther.

The current slackened somewhat after the river widened. Calves Island lay dead ahead.

I steered for the west shore and saw Tom waving from a strip of sand.

"I should have warned you about the current," he said, when I pulled ashore. It had taken me three hours to cover five miles.

"No problem. Where's the campsite?"

He pointed uphill to a grove of trees. It was only about 10 feet in elevation, but still the highest spot on the island.

We carried my gear to a patch of sand not far from an enormous oak tree, where I set up my tent not far from Tom's. I fell asleep immediately after dinner.

It was already hazy and humid when we rose at 5 a.m. Time to hit the river, before a rising sun sent the temperature skyrocketing toward 90 again.

"Lot easier going this way," Tom said, as the current tugged us south.

The paddle back to Great Island took less than an hour. Tom joined me ashore for a few minutes, helped hoist my kayak onto my car, then climbed back in his boat.

"See you in a couple days," he said, and began paddling toward the sound.

New advice for paddlers, hikers

Not long ago, kayakers only had to check the weather forecast and tide chart before setting out. Now, prudent paddlers should also assess air quality because of out-of-control Canadian wildfires, as well as the ozone level, heat index, relative humidity and flood conditions.

Likewise, before hitting the trail, hikers in Connecticut should check the daily forest fire danger report, posted by the state Department of Energy and Environmental Protection on portal.ct.gov/DEEP/Forestry/Forest-Fire/Forest-Fire-Danger-Report; as well as the air quality report posted by the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency on airnow.com.