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The Coast

There is something compelling about coastal regions. One feels strangely drawn by the starkness, the constant motion, the crashing sound of water against shore - it is soothing and almost hypnotic. Here, the two great surface substances of the globe, land and ocean, meet with a complex, never-ending dance of wind, waves, tide, erosion, and sedimentation. The profound dissimilarity of water and solid ground keeps the coast in constant change and adjustment, making it a blur of activity in comparison to the leisurely pace of most geologic processes elsewhere.

Connecticut's stretch of coast, while not as stormy as some, is just as compelling. There is beauty in the quiet of a marsh, the simplicity of sand, the calm of a harbor, the strength of a rocky headland, and the rollicking rhythm of gentle waves. Lured by the resources of this sheltered shoreline, human activities have long focused on Connecticut's Coast - from native American fishing camps to the harbors, homes, marinas, big cities, and suburbs of the present day. But although Connecticut has a quiet shoreline, the coast here, as elsewhere, is always changing. This 98-mile zone of quiet change still gives rise to sentiments like this one from Timothy Dwight: "Neither the poet nor the painter can here be ever at a loss for scenery to employ the pen or the pencil."'

Three principal features combine to make Connecticut's sheltered Coast: the Coastal Slope, a drowned coastline, and Long Island Sound.

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