In my new release, “Coburn Hideaway”, dense forest underbrush embraces a vigorous brook which tosses about in a frenzy as it cascades through a gully of glistening boulders. Mosses spread in vibrant blankets amidst the waterfalls, undeterred by the swift current and furious plunges.
When a few friends and I came upon this brook snaking beneath a small bridge in the wilds of Vermont’s Northeast Kingdom, the tell-tale sound of cascading water could be heard echoing up from the forest understory downstream. I couldn’t resist making a descent into the gorge to investigate the waterfall, lugging everything from my camera bag and tripod to my fishing rod and waders.
Without even the faintest trail to follow, the bushwhack down to the base of the falls was grueling. But the absence of a footpath, as well as the overall remoteness of the place, makes it likely that I’ve been the only person in many decades to peer up from the foot of these cascades. That’s worth every scraped elbow and labored breath!
Purchase a Fine Art Print or Inquire About Licensing
Riffles on a woodland trout stream purr softly beneath the forest canopy in the wilds of Northern Vermont amidst a luxurious mingling of leaves and mosses.
Vermont’s “Northeast Kingdom” is comprised of the three northeasterly counties in the state, encompassing over two-dozen towns in one of the most spectacularly scenic regions in all of New England. A celebrated patchwork of wild forests and picturesque farmlands nestles into 2,000 square miles of countryside where stirring mountain vistas loom ever-present on the horizon.
Over the coming weeks, I’m excited to be releasing a range of new work from this region of Northern New England which I recently produced in earlier this month.
Purchase a Fine Art Print or Inquire About Licensing
Remote woodlands of Central Connecticut emerge from the grip of winter, channeling fresh spring rains through a sprightly brook which tumbles through the hills. The forest floor is obscured beneath a dense blanket of leaf litter, remnants of last autumn that have only recently thawed after several frigid months bound up in ice and buried by snow.
Depending on whose metric we use, there are anywhere from a dozen to as many as a hundred waterfalls in Connecticut. But because so much of the state is criss-crossed by roads, most of them are can be seen with a fairly short walk from the blacktop. Some are even visible without leaving the roadside.
“The Cascade”, a 15-foot horsetail on Carr Brook, is among the few that aren’t quite so easy to reach. This waterfall demands a ¾-mile drive down an old dirt logging road, then a mile long hike through the hills.
Purchase a Fine Art Print or Inquire About Licensing
Bolstered by rains and recent snowmelts, a frenzied brook (photo at top) races down steep hillsides beneath a leaf-bare canopy. Warmer months lay ahead, but for now, resilient mosses are the only sign of life in this rugged forest.
Small streams, such as this one in the Housatonic Valley with empties into Jackson Cove (photo above), are termed “seasonal brooks” and possess such small watersheds that they nearly run dry between late spring and autumn. Only come late winter and early spring (and possibly after hurricane-level rains) do they snap to life with meltwater and rainfall, swelling to become spirited brooks that eagerly carve their way down from the highlands en route to low-lying river valleys.
Purchase a Fine Art Print or Inquire About Licensing
In my new piece, “Shipyard Abyss”, sunlight struggles to reach the depths of a dark ravine where Mine Brook plunges over tiers of jagged bedrock in an eager race to join the Connecticut River nearby.
Although I can’t find any formal name for this striking cataract in the Middle Haddam Historic District of East Hampton, it was once at the heart of a bustling shipyard and trading port throughout the 1700s and 1800s and the brook along which it is formed drove several mills. In those early times, before trains and tractor trailers made it possible to transport large amounts of goods over land, the entire navigable length of the Connecticut River was lined with thriving cities and maritime villages that served as crucial hubs for shipping and shipbuilding.
The advent of the railroad in the 1830s marked the beginning of the end for maritime culture along the Connecticut and, within a few decades, business began declining steadily. By the late 1800s, when the rail system in the state had grown to extensive proportions, commercial shipping traffic nearly vanished and the river grew quieter than it had been in centuries. These days, several of the smaller riverfront villages such as Middle Haddam are beautiful wooded hamlets which bear little resemblance to the noisy, frantic ports that they once were.
Purchase a Fine Art Print or Inquire About Licensing
My new release from the Brian E. Tierney Preserve, “Tierney Springtime”, brings you into the wooded hills of Roxbury in Western Connecticut. Jack’s Brook, a lively tributary of the Shepaug River, is found snaking through a rock-strewn glen in the faint morning twilight as broad, verdant leaves of riverside skunk cabbage jostle in the breeze.
Although the lush greenery of skunk cabbage is a refreshing sign of spring, anybody that has traipsed through patches of this plant in the wetlands as a child is all too familiar with the potent stench of its sap. That foul odor, not surprisingly, inspired the comparison to the rank odor unleashed by frightened skunks. Luckily, the stench of skunk cabbage isn’t quite as noxious and doesn’t linger nearly as long as that of an actual skunk, but it’s unpleasant just the same.
In spite of its unfortunate reputation, eastern skunk cabbage is actually a quite remarkable plant which is expertly adapted to the climatic extremes of New England. Beginning as early as January and February, the mottled flower hoods of skunk cabbage can be found melting through the snow and ice on their wetland habitat. That’s right: skunk cabbage is one of the rare plants that is able to generate it’s own heat, sometimes in excess of 20° to 30°F above that of the surrounding air. This incredible ability affords it the opportunity to push its flowers up in late winter in order to draw pollinating insects before its competitors have so much as sprouted. And believe it or not, even that offensive odor serves a very clever purpose. Since the smell roughly resembles that of rotting plants and animals, it attracts flies and similar insects that emerge very early in the year and pollinate the flowers of the skunk cabbage.
But truth be told, finding this natural garden of springtime foliage was actually just a welcome bonus along the route to my planned destination. The sight that had drawn me out to Tierney Preserve to begin with was a waterfall locally known as The Cascades which was mentioned in Russell Dunn’s book, Connecticut Waterfalls: A Guide. He had opted to prepend that generic name with the name of the brook upon which the 15-foot falls are formed, thus making them Jack’s Brook Cascades. You can see this waterfall in my new piece, “The Falls at Tierney” (above), where they weave through a rocky, woodland gorge in the faint morning light filtering down through the springtime canopy.
From a purely technical perspective, the waterfall really is more of a steep, spirited cascade. But I can understand why Dunn included it in his waterfall guide, since Jack’s Brook Cascades are every bit a waterfall by aesthetic standards. That is to say, it simply feels like a waterfall. Suffice it to say, you can expect to see “The Falls at Tierney” added to my ever-growing Waterfalls of Connecticut collection, which I urge you to check out at connecticutfalls.com if you haven’t visited lately. I’ve added a few more waterfalls over the course of the past season, so you’ll probably find something new.
Purchase a Fine Art Print or Inquire About Licensing
