These days, as the staggering level of wealth inequality in our society asserts itself in more and more ways, I’ve been thinking about Benevolent Overlords—the juggernauts who find ways to shower the unwashed masses with their lucre. Imagine a mad king, strutting through a castle square each day, pressing a few jewels into some peasant’s grubby mitts, and ordering them to dance. Or picture Jack Nicholson as the Joker in the 1989 Batman, flinging fistfuls of cash into the crowd at a Gotham City parade, just before unleashing a fog of poisonous green gas from his armada of gigantic balloon animals. There’s often a catch with this flashy, impulsive kind of wealth redistribution.
The idea of Benevolent Overlords tends to be overindulged these days—just look at our tax policies. But sometimes you do find examples of people with great piles of money investing in stuff that can be fun for the public. And one of the more curious instances of this generosity looms above the city of Meriden, Connecticut. On the top of East Peak, a little traprock mountain in the Hanging Hills (Connecticut AKA The Nutmeg State is skilled with monikers) there’s a girthy 32-foot castle tower made from local rocks. It looks like something that was airlifted in from the Scottish countryside and plunked onto the peak, to lend Meriden some internationalist class. In fact, that’s not too far from the truth of how this stone tower—the Castle Craig came to being.
In the late 19th Century, the closest thing to royalty in Meriden, CT was an industrialist named Walter Hubbard. The co-owner of a manufacturing company that cranked out iron goods like candlestick holders and fences, Hubbard curried favor with cityfolk and civic leaders by donating 1,800 acres of land to Meriden—so that Frederick Law Olmsted’s shit-hot landscape architecture firm could sculpt it into a vast public green space with wandering paths, ponds with fountains, and other dreamy features. The resultant park was named Hubbard Park, but Mr. Hubbard wasn’t content with simply slapping his name on the green space. He was an avid traveler and when scoping out the exposed summit of East Peak, Hubbard allegedly recalled the medieval towers he had visited on trips to Scotland, France, and Bulgaria. And I guess Hubbard must have thought, “Why settle for a barren summit when I can build a castle tower right here?”
That was all it took to catalyze the construction of Castle Craig—a whim, and a ton of money. Traprock was cut from the local cliffs and whittled into building blocks. When the project was completed in late October of 1900, a public celebration was hosted at the foot of the finished tower, for which Hubbard organized an oyster bake. According to a local newspaper report, Hubbard procured six barrels of bivalves and they were roasted on a big fire under the supervision of a Meriden hotel manager (presumably because hotel managers at the time had to know their way around oysters.) All of the Meriden residents who attended caught streetcars to the park entrance, but to reach the tower itself, they had to schlep their way up the rugged paths to East Peak. When was the last time you hiked to a mountaintop oyster bake hosted by an industrialist?
For a destination in a city park, Castle Craig is a surprisingly robust hike. There’s no singular way to get there, thanks to Hubbard Park’s spiderweb of trails, but you’ll be looking at a minimum 3 miles round-trip with at least 600 feet of elevation gain. (All that traprock makes for good climbing.) The soothing blue of Merimere Reservoir, which runs along the base of East Peak, pairs nicely with the ascent to the tower. And when you emerge from the woods and find the Castle Craig looming above you, an internal staircase offers a safe passage to the turreted observation deck at the top.
Did East Peak need the addition of a medieval tower? Not really. But in our current age of ostentatious wealth hoarding, the way in which Castle Craig compliments the local landscape feels like a tonic. If Elon Musk had donated the land for Hubbard Park, he would have installed something like the Hollywood sign on top of East Peak. But it would light up in bright neon colors, flashing vividly at night, and it would read “69.”
When I arrived at Castle Craig for the first time, sucking on winter air, I was reminded of a myth about benevolent lords that once captivated the American public—the myth of Camelot, as conceived by Jackie Kennedy after the assassination of her husband. In an interview with Life magazine’s Theodore H. White, she borrowed a line from a popular Broadway musical about the world of King Arthur. “Don’t let it be forgot, that for one brief shining moment there was a Camelot,” Kennedy said to White. It was a savvy means of legacy protection, ensuring that her husband would be remembered for his positive contributions to society. And it worked. Climbing up the stairs inside Castle Craig, a structure which would have been right at home in the world of noble King Arthur, I wondered if Walter Hubbard had been protecting his legacy as well.
That shouldn’t take away from the fact that Castle Craig is a gift—a place that inspires the kind of curiosity and wonder that can transform first-time outdoor explorers into lifelong hikers. (My early trips to the Appalachian Mountain Club huts with my dad sealed my fate as a hiker.) And if we insist on continuing to sustain these hierarchies of wealth in our society—which, to be clear, I don’t think we should sustain—then at a minimum, we really need to figure out how to make the modern day Walter Hubbards spend their money on projects as fun and accessible as the Castle Craig: a singular piece of another Camelot, nestled in the suburban woodlands of central Connecticut.
Check it out this year. And if you know someone with a lot of stock shares, bring them.
CASTLE CRAIG
Hike distance: 3-6 miles (depending on chosen trails)
Elevation gain: 600-800 feet
CLICK HERE for a map of Hubbard Park
or CLICK HERE for a curated AllTrails route and map
This year’s New England winter has been less snowy and more sodden than others, and this poses some heightened risk for hypothermia—the deadly combination of being too cold and too wet simultaneously. Two hikers in Maine recently experienced this the hard way, after getting lost in the woods near Sebago Lake. Luckily they were found and rescued before things took a grave turn, but their experience is a cautionary reminder that layering is vital to being outdoors in the winter and staying safe. At a minimum, you’ll want an insulating base layer that can wick moisture away from your skin—something synthetic or made of merino wool. Next, a middle layer for warmth (like a fleece) is essential. And as for the final layer, a winter jacket that has water-resistant properties or waterproofing is going to make it easier to hike for the next few months. I don’t want to make any assumptions about how those two hikers in Maine got lost. Because getting lost is not always the result of being unprepared. It can happen to any of us. So if you’re going hiking this winter, again, please layer up! And if it’s rainy, consider making your hike a short one, or sticking to familiar hiking ground.
Also, speaking of outdoor elements and bodily risk, I saw Michael Mann’s Ferrari and while the movie is far from perfect—the stuff about Enzo Ferrari’s personal life just isn’t all that interesting, and Adam Driver feels somewhat miscast—the movie’s racing sequences are worth the trip. The narrative backbone of the film is the notorious 1957 Mille Miglia road race around Italy, in which lux sports car manufacturers like Ferrari competed for primacy on the backs of racing drivers: who attempted to complete a dangerous 1,000 mile race on public roads, traversing mountains, cities, you name it. More than any other movie I’ve seen, Ferrari captures the environmental treachery and terror of road racing. A wisp of fog, a stray dog crossing the street, or a pothole could mean instant, gruesome death. And then there are the crowds of spectators lining the roads! Again, this is not a great movie, but it left me humbled by the natural elements.
Oh, one last thing: I’m currently reading a wonderful book loaned to me by a friend: Nathanael Johnson’s Unseen City: The Majesty of Pigeons, the Discreet Charm of Snails & Other Wonders of the Urban Wilderness. It’s an enchanting memoir about discovering the unique ecology of the city through the eyes of a child (Johnson’s daughter), and a challenge to the rest of us to try looking at local trees, shrubs, and muck with the curiosity that’s often hammered out of us by the rigors of adult life.