Once again we were blessed with the opportunity to spend the weekend camping in a new place, seeing new things, and spending time with an old friend. This trip took us to a state we have never explored, only driven through. It is certain now that we will visit again. We made camp at Rocky Neck State Park in East Lyme, Connecticut. This situated us about ten miles east of the mouth of the Connecticut River where it empties into Long Island Sound. The park itself was beautiful with many hiking trails some of which wound along beside saltwater estuaries which were teeming with birds, particularly wading shorebirds such as the Great Egret, Snowy Egret and Greater Yellowlegs. There is an excellent beach on the ocean here as well, but we hardly paid attention to it as there was a lot on our agenda. I was surprised to find on our one trip to the beach that the ocean water was nearly the same temperature as the sultry air. Being a north shore beach goer all my life this was a new phenomenon I had only experienced when stationed in Panama in the Air Force. I'm sure I could get used to it!

As for the campground it was nice, but I wouldn't want to be there when it was full. As always seems to be the case we had some unruly neighbors who had zero consideration for other campers. What I found to be especially egregious in this case was that they allowed a large group of youngsters under ten to continue to scream and make noise not just beyond the quiet hour of ten, but into the wee hours before dawn, while the intoxicated and loud adults continued to drink and argue. Despite numerous complaints and threats by the State Park personnel to have the police in it continued until almost dawn. If it had been going on in any neighborhood in New England you can bet the police would have been involved. To State Park's credit Saturday night was a good deal quieter than Friday. Not quite sure what makes people think they are entitled to act this way in a campground where they are clearly and knowingly disturbing other people, it's a wonder there aren't more violent incidences. Enough of this, I'll wrap it up by saying if you can't camp without disturbing other campers then you shouldn't be camping. If you have to act the way this group did then find a campground with a group site away from other campers and do your best to keep the peace. Nobody is there to listen to your loud, obnoxious selves. OK, off my soapbox, I'm sure that's not what you want to read about.

We had come to Connecticut for a different kind of noise. One we did not quite understand the full magnificence of, but were about to learn. It sort of came as a surprise to me, the definition of this word that we had been using for the past month or so since the topic first came up while we were camping at Baxter. The conversation was something like, "Autumn is coming, and it will be time for the swallow murmuration on the Connecticut River. We went last year, and would definitely go again this year, we should plan a trip," and so, the trip was planned. We would camp nearby the Connecticut River and paddle out to see the murmuration. There it is again, the murmuration. I knew it was a large gathering of birds, whether it be starling or swallow, but I suspected the word murmur had more than one meaning and that a murmuration described the vast number of birds which would arrive during this. However, according to the dictionaries murmuration is "the act of murmuring" so, it refers to the noise that over a million birds gathered can make, and not to their numbers. Indeed it was impressive, though the distance made it sound much more of a murmur than a racket, and so the name is perfect. I imagine a murmuration of starlings would be a good deal louder than swallows, and there were enough blackbirds and grackles which took refuge in the phragmites earlier each evening than the swallows to raise the sound level a few notches.

On Friday we arrived at one and set up camp, later taking a stroll around the campground and out to the beach. The weather was extremely muggy for September. As the day wore on we began to get ready to head over to the river and put in. I have to admit some trepidation about putting in so near the mouth of such a large river. All I had to compare with was the mouth of the Merrimack which is very tidal, and very difficult to navigate. I am not sure I would ever put my kayak in there, but within minutes of starting our paddle along the Connecticut River my fears were allayed, there were no such concerns here. As we headed out from Pilgrim Point we were soon on the lee side of the island where the swallows would come to roost, paddling in calm waters. As we paddled along the shore of this apparently nameless island we began to see large flocks of swallows begin to gather high above us. The island itself appeared to be completely covered in phragmites eight to ten feet high and so thick nothing but a bird could get through. It looked like the perfect roost for so many birds.

We paddled at a leisurely pace along the shore of the island and I busied myself with spotting and identifying other birds in the area. Every now and then an ooh or an ahh would prompt us to crane our necks to the skies to see more and more swallows arriving all the time. There was now a virtual cloud of birds circling and swooping overhead, now high, now low, now down to the water, now back up so high they would disappear. I was soon aware that despite having watched birds rather amateurishly my entire life, this was far more than I had ever seen gathered anywhere, far exceeding huge flocks of starlings and shorebirds I had seen in earlier days of my life. The numbers seemed to multiply exponentially, for every thousand that would appear it seemed they were soon ten times as many as before. I began to estimate in the tens of thousands and soon realized the numbers were in the hundreds of thousands and even into the millions. We had to remind ourselves of the possible consequences of staring skyward with gaping mouths in awe of this incredible aerial display.

The rising moon and setting sun became beautiful backgrounds as the swallows continued to gather. All the while the murmuration continued to grow as there was a constant audible hum of swallow calls as they dipped and swooped seemingly in all directions without ever colliding, which was incredible in itself. My mind drifted to the Great Plains and thought of the multitude of buffalo which once roamed there, to distant Africa where huge numbers of animals gather on the Serengeti. I thought of huge schools of fish and many other things we take for granted because we see them on a regular basis on television, but seldom in real life. I thought, "This is something real, and very similar to those things, and it's right here in New England." Because we are privileged whether we know it or not to all have our own little time machines, our cars, this incredible event was less than a day's journey from the warmth and safety of our home. Here we were witnessing a mass migration of living things better imagined in some far distant land than around the mouth of a large freshwater river in New England.

The sun was sinking and still they came. Thousands would swoop low over the water near us, then climb to the heavens to join their brethren in a beautiful dance across the golden sky and across the face of the moon as he watched from the opposite perspective. As the sun set and the sky began to darken tens of thousands at a time would swarm down in what I can only describe as a tornado as they descended into the reeds to choose a roost for the night. We paddled back in by the light of the moon, joined by many other paddlers who had also been drawn to this place to witness such an awesome spectacle. Not even the noise of the campground could spoil the feeling of having witnessed something magical, and I went to sleep dreaming of returning the following night to see it once again.

Next morning we awoke at dawn and strolled down to the salt marsh in the campground which lay between the campsites and the beach. Here we found gathered in good numbers, but not even a fraction of what we had witnessed the night before, many shorebirds, but especially Great and Snowy Egrets that were hungry and using the pre-dawn light to fish along the tiny stream which wound its way through to the ocean. Some sort of fish was running in the stream, herring I imagine, and the egrets were making swift sport of stabbing the water and capturing them in their bills before swallowing them whole with a quick flick of the neck. We watched for an hour or more before heading back to camp to make breakfast. Later in the day we took the kayaks to nearby Rogers Lake for some freshwater to paddle. Despite the overcast sky the day was hot and humid and we were glad for a spot to jump in the lake and cool off. Predicted thunderstorms held off during the day, but our evening expedition back to the Connecticut River appeared in jeopardy.

We made a late lunch/early dinner and checked the forecast again. Radar showed no impending storm heading in our direction, so we decided to head to the river and see how it looked. Waters were calm, and the sun even looked as though it may make an appearance before it sank below the horizon. We geared up and set off. Tonight we would be on the water alone whether due to the fact that others had better ways to spend a Saturday evening, or they were just scared off by the thunderstorm predictions we'll never know, but the loss was theirs as we encountered an even better display than the night before. If possible, there seemed to be even huger numbers of swallows gathered this night. We weren't sure if there just appeared to be more because of the gray sky background, or if there actually were more. We will never know, but we certainly were not disappointed. Again we watched as hundreds of thousands gathered and eventually dropped down into the reeds. To our north we watched as huge thunderheads rolled by, but other than a short, almost imperceptible rain which hardly dampened our clothes and not our spirits at all, there was none of the type of weather we had been warned of. In fact, it sort of contributed to the ambience.

The passing storms did manage to cool things down somewhat, and riotous campers apparently took their warnings seriously, perhaps still hungover from the night before, so even the passing rain which came late that night was of little concern as we dozed off again in out tents. Next morning we slept in a bit as the sun was still hiding behind the clouds though it had now risen well above the horizon. We made tea and coffee and set about breaking down camp. We took another jaunt down to the stream where we had seen so much egret activity they day before and once again found a good number of birds most of whom appeared to be full and ready for some mid-morning preening and a nap. It had been a great weekend full of amazing sights, and we agreed we would surely take this adventure again!