Canoeists have a strange expression called “gunk holing.” I have no idea where it originated, but it means canoeing on out-of-the-way set backs, flows, beaver impoundments and the like.
Places like this abound on the Racquette River below Axton. Set back from the normal canoe route are hidden coves and backwaters, some with names like Four Corners, Oxbow, Follensby Marsh, Trombley’s Slough, Long Draw and Short Draw, to name a few. These are often transitional zones, called eco-zones in biological language, where one habitat meets another and are rich in species.
“Gunk holing” also includes out-of-the-way streams and creeks, some of which appear at first glance to be unnavigable, only to discover to your surprise that after a few turns down the crooked course of the stream, the canopy of twisted alders opens up, the water deepens and beaver dams downstream have flooded a marsh that still allows passage.
Here is the perfect, tucked-away sanctuary that is a magnet for species ranging from herons to otter to osprey, all seeking vulnerable fish in the shallow waters.
Another bonus with “gunk holing” is that often these obscure places are close by, and it becomes easy to drop your canoe in the water and spend a pleasurable hour or so without the demand of extra time and travel. Add to that the fact that many of the creeks are fast-flowing and narrow, and they are the first to become ice-free. And while the lakes and ponds are still frozen, you can put your ski poles away, put your Skidoo on blocks, pick up your paddle and go canoeing – something your downstate friends have been doing for weeks.
One interesting paddle, which is nearby when early spring conditions prevail, is to go down the outlet of Little Wolf Lake to where it empties into Racquette Pond, which will most years still remain ice-locked until the middle of April. Put your boat in the water just below the dam that controls the water level in Little Wolf Lake at the intersection of Coney Beach Road and South Little Wolf Road. The water level below the bridge at that location should be even or no more than slightly below the abutments under the bridge for best boating conditions (or it may be too shallow). Paddle under that bridge just below the dam, duck under a few alders, pick up the added flow from the entry of Lead Pond’s outlet and you are soon spirited along on a nice current. Don’t let the stream’s many curves discourage you – they will improve your boat-handling skills.
On a recent trip, I noticed almost at once, many peeled sticks or cuttings left by beaver after they had peeled the bark to get at the more nutritious inner layer. Most of these were along the shore, where the beaver had dragged them from inland to the water’s edge for greater safety and escape. Here they would roll the sticks with “fingers,” chewing off the bark, just as we eat corn on the cob. Thus I wasn’t too surprised to exit a curve in the outlet’s flow and enter a large flooded area – a sign that the beaver had built a dam downstream. All things being equal, that dam could drastically change this stream into a pond, which eventually would become a meadow and create a whole new ecosystem.
As we sorted out the maze of water channels, seeking the main one in this flooded area, a great blue heron with its lumbering wing beat rose from a mound of marsh grass and landed in a tree. Three goldeneyes, our earliest spring visitors in the duck family, beat the water with a noisy take-off splash. If I mentioned that an osprey at this same moment soared over, you’d no doubt call me a liar, but that’s what happened.
The first of what turned out to be three beaver dams was soon encountered. That dam and the next were built to a height only slightly above water level, which allowed the canoe to slide easily over the mass of sticks and mud.
The third dam had been built up to a height some two feet above water level, the butt end of the branches facing downstream and the wide ends acting as a snag to catch debris, which the beaver had arranged across the stream. This dam required stepping out of the canoe, standing on the dam and pulling the canoe over.
Not far downstream from this dam, you will pass under the second bridge of the five bridges on this short canoe trip. Along with two others of the five, this bridge has historical significance, even though its original structure has been modified with steel girders and a county plate identification number.
The bridge is significant because the village of Tupper Lake was almost non-existent until a gospel-preaching, hardheaded, daring businessman named John Hurd reached that site with his railroad construction crews in late 1889 and set the stage for the settlement of this village with his Northern N.Y. Railroad (later, the N.Y. and Ottawa).
That rail line needed to cross Little Wolf outlet, and that bridge today serves auto traffic on what is called Wolf Avenue. An extension of that avenue, called (appropriately enough) Hurd Avenue, follows the original rail line that came via the Kildare Road from Moiria, 53 miles away, and ended 1.7 miles further at a handsome passenger station at the end of Cliff Avenue, near Flanders Park.
Stagecoach timetables from 1896 to 1909 show connections between Hotel Wawbeek (now the Stiles residence) on Upper Saranac. The steamer Altamont, run by the Tupper Lake Navigation Company, connected with the train to serve resorts on Big and Little Tupper lakes, including the Tupper Lake House, Moodys and Camp Welcome on the ledges above Bog River Falls.
One of the first houses to be built in the Junction at the time was Murray’s boarding house near Washington Street and close to where the tracks crossed that street. Here, most of the construction workers found board and room, and it was only a short walk to one of the other early buildings, a rough and ready saloon called “The Burning Stump.”
These were rough and tumble frontier town days, as real as any in the storied West.
Seaver, the historian, gave us a graphic description that bears reprinting: At once with the completion of the railroad, settlers began to arrive in considerable numbers and founded industries, established stores and opened hotels. The growth was marvelously rapid for a wilderness town, but raw and tough at first.
John Hurd was probably more responsible than any other individual for the founding of this village, and he rates a big “thank you” when you pass under or over his former railroad bridge on Wolf Avenue.