Steve Fagin: All rivers connect to faraway places

Aug. 17—Among the many joys of kayaking on rivers in southeastern Connecticut is that they all flow into Long Island or Fishers Island sounds, which lead to the Atlantic Ocean and beyond — a reminder that our region is connected to the rest of the world by water.

Theoretically, you could put in on the Connecticut, Niantic, Thames, Poquonnock, Mystic or Pawcatuck rivers, or any of their tributaries, and keep going all the way to the Azores, New Zealand, Antarctica or anyplace else along the Seven Seas. Realistically, of course, you'd be better off sticking closer to home.

Over the years, friends and I have enjoyed paddling up and down just about every navigable river within 50 miles of New London — but after glancing at a map the other day, I realized that I somehow had overlooked one small waterway: Four Mile River, at the border of Old Lyme and East Lyme.

When I mentioned this oversight to fellow kayaker Andy Lynn, he said the river offers a worthy launch site, and offered to join me there for a paddle.

And so, the other morning we met at the state boat ramp in Old Lyme, barely 60 yards across the river from Rocky Neck State Park in East Lyme.

"This is a great spot. I can't believe I've never been here before," I said, as we carried our sea kayaks to the nearly deserted ramp. Unlike many large launches with busy parking lots designed to accommodate boat trailers, the tiny Four Mile River ramp is situated at the end of a dirt road called Old Cart Path. Tall grasses surrounding the site contribute to a sense of remoteness.

After unloading our boats, we then drove 100 yards around the bend to leave our cars in an unpaved parking area, and then walked back to the ramp.

Google Maps shows the narrow waterway winds some nine miles north to its source near Grassy Hill Road — why, then, is it called Four Mile River? In addition, some maps use the name Fourmile River.

Even though we knew the river pinches tighter and shallower to the north, Andy and I initially headed in that direction to see how far we could get. Sure enough, we soon scraped bottom just beyond Four Mile River Marina, where we turned around and steered back south.

After passing beneath the Amtrak railroad bridge in less than a quarter-mile, we approached the southern tip of Rocky Neck and entered Long Island Sound. The tide was coming in, but we decided to head east against the current, so that we would enjoy an easy paddle on the way back.

Immediately after we rounded the point, the gracious Ellie Mitchell Pavilion came into view. This 356-foot-long, rustic structure was built in 1936 by the Works Progress Administration, using stones and native lumber from other state parks. It was added to the National Register of Historic Places in 1986; few government structures are built today with such style.

We swept past the park beach, where sunbathers were stretched out in the sand, and crossed the mouth of Bride Brook. This brook, originally known as Sunkapung, a Native American word for "cold water," was renamed after an unusual wedding ceremony in 1647.

According to various historic accounts, Jonathan Rudd (sometimes referred to as Thomas Rudd) planned to marry a young woman named either Mary Metcalf or Mary Burchard, but a snowstorm blocked the arrival of an official to perform the ceremony. John Winthrop, a magistrate from what was then Massachusetts Bay Colony, had been visiting nearby and agreed to fill in. However, his jurisdiction extended only to the east side of the brook, while the west side was part of Saybrook Colony.

Winthrop had the perfect solution: He would officiate while standing on the east side of the brook while the couple remained on the east side.

The brook also is the subject of a separate tale involving a border dispute between what was then New London and Lyme. According to legend, the matter was settled by a fistfight in which combatants from Lyme prevailed.

Andy and I witnessed no brawls or weddings as we continued past the curved shoreline of Giants Neck. Before it was developed as a beach community in the early 20th century, Giants Neck had been occupied by the Nehantic tribe in pre-colonial times, and also had been the site of a factory that produced menhaden fish oil and fertilizer.

Next, we continued east, past a pair of tiny islands, Long Rock and Long Ledge, en route to Black Point — like Giants Neck, a small village with its own beach, club, and residents' association.

We bobbed around in gentle waves, admiring handsome waterfront homes at the tip of the peninsula. Had we continued east we would have entered Niantic Bay, but we had already paddled four miles and planned a slightly roundabout route back to the Eight Mile boat ramp.

"Ready?" I asked.

"Let's go," Andy replied.

Rather than cut directly across to Giants Neck, we steered east of Watts Island, near the mouth of the Pattagansett River, and then hugged the shore while passing Huntley Island, which contains a handful of cottages. Not a bad place to live, we agreed.

The tide pulled us past Seal Rock off Black Point, then Rocky Neck.

Before long, we were back at the boat ramp.

No attempting to cross the Atlantic on this trip, or working our way to the South Seas or Indian Ocean. But we could have — theoretically.