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Goodwin Park Trail and Waterfall - photos
Storr's ski hill isn't a very big hill, with a single t-bar lift and a single slope. It does sport two ski jumps, the newer of which is quite large, but I believe those are reserved for certain groups. It is the kind of ski hill where parents drop the kids off for a cheap afternoon of low impact downhill. Where the kids look like colored marshmallows balanced on a pair of toothpicks and sent floating and bobbing down the side of a large scoop of vanilla ice cream.
Bordering the ski hill is the Goodwin Park trail system, which is one of those city trails with exercise stopping points that were once a fad, I believe. Still, it's a nice little woods walk and when the snow is deep it can make for good cross country skiing. We've also mountain biked some sections of the trail that wind along Mink Brook. Of note, though, is the area between point 9 and 10 on the map. There's a sweet little waterfall here.
Zeke sniffing to find traces of the swimming hole which was last seen right here...
Whenever I move to a new town I do two things:
- ride the roads and streets on a bike, mentally making an imprint of the area's layout
(cars are too fast and you miss the finer details)
- find secluded areas with water...bonus points if there's a waterfall
I like this waterfall no matter the season. It's not a towering or majestic powerhouse, but it has it's own simple beauty. In the summer and late fall the flow is lower and you can examine the shapes that only thousands of years of rushing water can etch into rock. It's a refreshing wade out into the deeper pools and fun trying to get Zeke to stick his head underwater to fetch a rock. Springtime brings the heavy flow of melted snow and the little knoll roars in a victorious rush and thrum.
But winter is the wonder of them all. You seldom know what you'll find but ice will certainly be involved. Last winter the whole area was covered in a perfectly transparent four inch layer of ice. Like a silly collector had coated it in Lucite to preserve the moment. This year there's a thick layer of iced snow, the consistency of pure, uncut Cap'n Crunch Cereal.
The waterfall continues to flow, although mostly hidden from view. There's the almost subaudible gurgle and groan of water and air vying for limited space. Here and there a break in the ice cap, the manifest of a sigh as it escapes in splash and mist, sparkled jewelry growing on the edge of chaotic fissure.
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The Jer Zone
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