Bristol Falls: Orientations

by Miriam Mohiuddin

Lincoln Road hugs the stretch of the New Haven River that flows from West Lincoln to Bristol, as though it were almost an extension of the river. Although the road is about 20 feet above the water, the valley is narrow and the river runs high and fast in the spring months, often reaching the road. At the base of Lincoln Road a bridge crosses the river just east of Bristol; about a mile upstream from this crossing, the river water rushes over a smooth body of rock into a small pool--a local swimming hole referred to as Bristol Falls. Although there is no official sign or parking lot at this point, there is a discrete area to pull off the road and a well-worn path leading from the pavement down to staggered platforms of earth, rock and concrete overlooking the falls. During the summer the hot cars of expectant swimmers and sunbathers line the roadside as their owners walk down the slight descent to immerse themselves in the cool water and steady sunshine.

In the winter months, snow covers the footpath where the scattered remains of a dam sit in a white layer along the edge of the water. A large concrete block embedded with a wooden plank sits obtrusively, half in the frozen riverbed just above the falls and half out of it. Along the path a rusted culvert pokes through the snow, like the chimney to an underground house. Another culvert, lined with snow and empty beer bottles, lies horizontally on the ground, . The presence of this debris seems magnified in the vacant emptiness of winter.

The frozen stillness of the river is cut by the constant rush of the falls. Caught in mid-air, a shelf of ice hangs over the water, which then emerges through an opening in the ice as if it were being poured from a pitcher. White rays descend several feet into a small basin; bubbles rise upward and beads of water spray out in arcs where the rushing water hits the pool. Above the falls, smooth stripped sticks of pine stacked in even piles rest on the frozen eddies. Three large steps of ice lead from the bank to the basin of water below the falls. The water travels over the rock and into the open pool; from there it slips under the bottom step and disappears. The rush of the falls muffles the whir of the occasional car passing by. You would have to be crazy to swim today.

The rocky base of South Mountain drops a quick 70 feet down to the water opposite the road. Pines sprout upward from the rock; these trees seem to tower not so much on account of their own magnitude, but from the height of the embankment and the depth of the riverbed. South Mountain occupies an area of land that has been preserved as the Bristol Cliffs Wilderness area, where a dense tract of forest is preserved without any official trails or roads. A few ponds and several streams descend from the top of the mountain down into the New Haven, adding to the flow of the river.

Last autumn, I accompanied two friends--who were working as forest rangers for the season-- on an excursion to North Pond, which rests on the north side of South Mountain and flows down into the New Haven near the falls. Their assignment for the afternoon was to practice orientation skills. We parked the car above the falls behind a pickup truck with a kayak strapped on top, and followed the path down to the rocks overhanging the falls. A father and son greeted us from the rocks overlooking the falls and we continued our way down to the water, where a man in shorts and a long-underwear top stood by the bank and looked upstream at the falls. From this spot, we watched the waning activity of the summer months as the father and son jumped fifteen feet from the warm stone perch into the bubbly pool just below the falls; it is this element of daring that draws many visitors to the falls. They sunk down and then bobbed to the surface, struck by force of the landing and the shock of the water. I observed as if I were member of an audience at a theatrical performance: the waterfall was the backdrop, and the rock platform was their stage. They jumped through the air with bent legs, plunged down into the water and then bobbed to the surface before they swam quickly to the bank and heaved their bodies back onto the warm stone for another turn. "They must be freezing in there," I commented.

"They are just enjoying one of the last warm days," replied the man standing next to us.
He was a boater, and he told us a bit about the cycle of the river: "In the spring, this water is raging--a couple of years ago it washed the dam right out. It spilled over it as if it were not even there. All the snow-melt needs a place to go, and it directs itself to the most obvious place: downstream."

Our plan for the afternoon was to follow the streamlet up to the pond and, using a topo map and a compass, to routinely orient ourselves along the way; we began by crossing the river. Resistant to the prospect of getting our feet wet, we spent a half an hour searching for a safe route. The river flowed calmly at the time, so it was not the force of its flow that prohibited us from taking off our shoes and crossing, but rather the frigidity of the water. Eventually I gave in to my competitive streak and dared my friends--who were wearing mint-green Forest Service uniforms and carrying radio holsters at their hips--to follow me across the river. We immersed our bare feet in the shallow water and briskly made our way across the sandy floor of the streambed.

On the other side we gradually made our way up to the pond--following the stream and checking our location with the map and compass at every stream crossing. Along the way we passed large, moss-and-fern-covered boulders strewn haphazardly among the trees and on the sides of hills, as if there were on their way down. Later, walking down from the pond, it occurred to us that we could have just crossed over bridge in the beginning. Despite this obvious alternative, I did not regret our earlier direct-action river crossing. We were not in a rush, and I preferred the challenge of trying to make sense of the scattered rock and of trying to make them fit together in a way that would allow us to leapfrog dryly to the other side.

The frigid water of the falls continues to flow throughout the winter

How to get there: drive north on U.S. 7 to route 17 at New HavenJunction…west on 17 up to the town of Bristol, and a couple miles after the town green turn right on the side road--just after a bridge--that starts up a long hill toward town of Lincoln. The falls is a long stretch of rapids on the New Haven River, which this road closely parallels.

Icicles hang down over the frozen embankment