Halfway to the Sea

After reading about Trip to the Sea ["DifferentStrokes, "May/June], two alums mote in to sharetheir own stories of adventure on the Connecticut.

WHAT WAS MISSING FOR ME IN Brad Parks's hilarious story was any mention of the Hartland Rapids, located seven miles downriver from White River Junction. When my classmate Chick Mock and I approached these rapids during our own Trip to the Sea in 1936 we were amazed to find that the entire Connecticut River was flowing through a 50 foot channel cut through rocks in the middle of the river. We consulted our dope sheet) which pointed out the danger of these rapids and advised that a short carry would easily avoid them.

However, it was a warm, sunny day in June, the air was fresh, our exams were over and we felt that we could take on anything the river had to offer. As soon as we entered this natural sluice, the canoe shot forward on the current, and we dug our paddles in hard to keep control. The rocky sides rushed by, and we began yelling at the top of our lungs with glee and excitement.

That was true until we saw dead ahead that the entire river poured over a huge rock in a spraying waterfall. Our canoe flew out into space, with Chick rolling out one side and me the other. I tried to grab hold of one of the big rocks that I was thrown against, but finally I was holding onto the rock wall of the rapids. Chick was clinging to the rocks on the other side. Our canoe was wedged upside down between us in the middle of the river.

Suddenly, above the roar of the water, we heard an explosion. We worked our ways back to the canoe, righted it and hung on the rest of the way through the rapids.

An examination of our sad-looking canoe explained the bang we had heard. The canvas at the gunwale on one side was ripped from bow to stem. The water pressure had blown up the canvas until it burst like a giant balloon. The good news was that the canoe was still watertight.

Even though we didn't make it to the sea (our trip ended in Hartford, Connecticut, where my family provided all the hot home-cooked food we could eat), the Hartland Rapids were the highlight of a Dartmouth experience that has always ranked high in my memories. My only regret is that I will never paddle down the Connecticut River with Dartmouth women or float by Hartford in the nude.

DAVID E. DUFFY '38 Bloomfield, Connecticut

SUMMER 1942. THE FOUR OF US roommates had military deferments until our accelerated graduation that December. We decided that we needed one last adventure before leaving our alma mater. Chuck Dittmar, secretary of the Dartmouth Outing Club in 1942, had the idea: a two-day canoe trip down the Connecticut, ending in the Northampton area.

At the last minute Brad Copeland checked into the infirmary at Dicks House with the flu. Chuck, Chet Solez and I crowded our equipment into a single canoe and headed south. Determined to reach our two-day destination, we paddled until it was nearly dark. When the lights of Windsor, Vermont, came into view; we pulled the canoe up a bank, pitched a little tent and prepared for bed.

Suddenly without warning, the three of us were caught in the beams of powerful searchlights. Two policmen, guns drawn, screamed at us to raise our hands above our heads. Chet, in the process of taking a drink, raised his canteen, and the cops shouted, "Watch out, he has a bomb!" Not until we were handcuffed were we told that we were trespassing on federal property. The Boston & Albany railway bridge, unseen by us in the darkness, was guarded by Army troops with instructions to shoot anyone suspected of sabotaging this crucial link for war materiel to reach Montreal. We were suspected German saboteurs!

The cops marched us to the police station, searched our belongings and triumphantly produced our geographical survey maps of the Connecticut valley. Here was the proof they needed to support the charge of intended sabotage. Although we displayed several kinds of identification of our Dartmouth student status, they locked us up for the night.

In the morning we were shown the telegram sent the night before to railroad headquarters in Boston. It read: "Three young men claiming to be Dartmouth students apprehended near the B&A railroad bridge trespassing on off-limits property under suspicious circumstances. Shall we prosecute?" The answer, received that morning: "Negative. Release them."

Back on the river, minus our confiscated maps, the fun had gone out of our trip. We continued to Claremont, New Hampshire, and carried the canoe to the railroad station. Chet and Chuck took the next train;south to their homes in New York, while I returned to Hanover with the canoe.

In the ensuing years, on three different occasions when applying for government service,! have been forced to explain in writing the details of my only arrest. Apparently the government, starved for Dartmouth talent, decided to take a chance by employing me.

HOWARD B. LEAVITT '43 Pelham, Massachusetts