While tramping up a steep, rocky trail toward the 739-foot summit of Mount Carmel at Sleeping Giant State Park in Hamden last week, our hiking group paused to watch a garter snake slither sluggishly through leaf litter.

A moment later, another snake arrived, followed by another, and another, and another …

“Look at them all!” exclaimed Phil Plouffe, bending down for a closer look. “Are they from the same family?”

“No, they’re not related,” Maggie Jones replied. She explained that masses of the common, non-poisonous reptiles huddle together under roots and rocks to preserve energy during winter; we were witnessing their spring emergence.

Phil, Maggie, Andy Lynn, Carl Astor and I observed and heard many other signs of the new season during a hike of nearly five miles. Spring peeper frogs chirped noisily from a shrubby wetland; hairy and pileated woodpeckers drummed rat-tat-tat mating calls; a winter wren’s beautiful, complex song echoed off the rock walls, salamander and northern wood frog egg masses floated in vernal pools; trout lily and pale corydalis plants poked through damp soil.

Sleeping Giant, one of the state’s most distinctive geologic formations, is named for its resemblance to a slumbering goliath. Native Americans of the Quinnipiac Tribe believed the 2½-mile ridge was formed when the giant stone spirit Hobbomock stamped his foot in anger. Then, according to lore, the good spirit Keitan cast a spell on Hobbomock and doomed him to sleep forever.

Geologists have a different explanation: Seismic activity during the Triassic and Jurassic periods, followed by erosion of softer material, created Sleeping Giant some 200 million years ago as part of the Metacomet Ridge that extends from Long Island Sound to the Vermont border.

Today, Sleeping Giant is a popular recreation destination with 30 miles of trails. In 2018, a 100-mph microburst destroyed the picnic area and flattened countless trees that blocked many trails. Crews took more than a year to repair the damage before the park reopened in 2019.

Following a route suggested by Carl, a former New London resident now living not far from the 1,465-acre park, we managed to avoid crowds by traipsing on challenging paths rather than a crushed stone road that most hikers stroll to the peak.

A stone observation tower built in 1936 by the Depression-Era Works Progress Administration, now listed on the National Register of Historic Places, provides a view that is worth the effort regardless of how you make it to the top. The New Haven skyline rises some 10 miles to the south; Long Island, extends another 20 miles away across the sound; swaths of forest and ridges spread out in other directions.

We are lucky that these elevated views still exist.

More than a century ago, resident Judge Willis Cook leased property to the Mount Carmel Traprock Company, which began blasting away at the Sleeping Giant “head” to mine traprock for use as building material.

Outraged neighbors formed the Sleeping Giant Park Association, which managed to acquire the property after a decade-long battle and donate it for a park in 1924. The state later expanded the park with additional land purchases.

We were pleasantly surprised how quickly the signs and sounds of civilization disappeared once we began hiking up a white-blazed trail from the parking lot. The terrain soon turned rugged, with footing made difficult by fractured basalt scree, jagged rocks and vertical ledges.

At one point, the trail crossed the gentle route of graded stone.

“Hey, Carl — how come we’re on this rocky trail when we could be walking up a nice road?” I asked, half-jokingly. Having kayaked and hiked with Carl for years, I knew he never takes the easy way.

Carl replied that actually, we were following a less-arduous route — an even gnarlier trail takes hikers on a hand-over-hand climb past sheer drop-offs.

After reaching the summit, we descended via a different series of paths, through a rift where a pair of ravens dipped and soared above the ridgeline.

Eventually, we found our way back to the main trail, where we had begun the hike.

“Hey, look!” Maggie said, pointing to a cluster of white flowers. “Those weren’t here when we started.”

She identified the plants as bloodroot, so named because broken stems “bleed” red fluid. In those couple of hours, the bloodroot flowers, which resemble large daisies, had blossomed.

Spring had indeed awakened the sleeping giant.

The park’s entrance and parking lot are located at 200 Mount Carmel Avenue in Hamden, across the street from Quinnipiac University.

More information is available at deep.stateparks@ct.gov.