One of only several remaining interior ranger stations in the Adirondack Park is located at Racquette Falls. The station located there is a handsome log and stone structure with polished wooden floors and handcrafted furniture. A striking stone fireplace helps lend a Great Camp arts and crafts look to the main room, which is kept faultlessly neat by its bachelor seasonal ranger. A small office and efficient kitchen share the rear of the building with a small bedroom and a larger bunkroom designed to house personnel in the event of a fire or other emergency.
I would add to this description of the cabin a point of historical interest and recognition. This is done because certain occurrences need to be recorded, and deserved recognition is often overlooked. For example, that fireplace was built by my former classmate and longtime friend, Howard Reandeau, who at the time of construction was the D.E.C. caretaker at the “Falls.”
Howard (Wigs) was a skilled stone mason and his masterful work graces many of the pretentious homes and residences in this area, not to mention his exceptional work (along with other local artisans such as Washington Street resident Tony Rovito) that is so highly admired throughout the grounds and buildings of the Adirondack Museum at Blue Mountain Lake. It should be noted that the stone used for the fireplace and chimney at the ranger station was not, as might be expected, of native origin. Rather, it originated in Tennessee, arrived here on a freight train, offloaded at a siding off Mill Street and trucked to Blue Mountain Lake. It was originally acquired because of its outstanding color and form and was a specific requirement in the architectural plans for various exhibits and buildings at the present monumental and world-famous museum, which was then undergoing construction.
When there was no longer any need for the stone at the museum, the surplus was made available to the D.E.C. through the generosity of the museum and Chet Johnson of this village, whose firm, W.C. Johnson and Sons, began the original museum construction in 1955. The stone for the station was then transported to Coreys by truck and then, over the winter, sledged into the clearing on what is today’s foot trail.
Chet Johnson had a special affection for the clearing and river. He was a friend to several of the previous owners and for many years had a platform tent camp a short distance downstream where Palmer Brook enters the river. Chet will also be remembered for the countless hours he toiled for others over the years, removing hundreds of partially submerged river drive logs to improve navigation on the river’s twisting course. Can you imagine his indignation today over the proposal to ban motors on his beloved river? (Even as he would severely condemn the yahoos whose reckless and inconsiderate behavior with their motorboats threaten that traditional privilege.)
Some sort of dwelling has existed in the clearing since about 1800. It was once much larger than it is today and at one early time around 1860 was the headquarters and supply depot for goods brought up from this village and destined for use there and in the many remote lumber camps in the Calkins Brook and Cold River areas. After the lumber operations ended, successive owners maintained a lodge and cabins, offering boarding and transport services. More on those owners in a later column, but let me tell you about meeting the last private owner before it was acquired by New York State.
A number of years ago, Dave LaVoy and I, not having any luck fishing, decided to try the upper falls of the river. Here, we experienced incredible luck catching our limit of large speckled trout. There wasn’t supposed to be trout in the river, but we didn’t know that! The pool below the falls was thick with white foam, not unlike the head on a fine glass of Guinness Stout. Almost each cast or our lures into that foam produced a fat trout, strong and wild. Landing those fighting beauties, our reels screaming in protest as the trout made long runs and sought the fast current below the pool, was an experience Dave and I will always remember as one of the best days in a lifetime of fishing.
Having finished fishing, we headed back to the clearing and on the trail we met an older gentleman. As wood travelers often do, we fell into conversation. I remember that he was skeptical about our fabulous catch. Only when we opened our creels did he acknowledge ours was no fish tale. He told us that he had known the river for almost 40 years and, to the best of his knowledge, an invasion of pike had long ago cleaned out any trout. He wondered out loud if the recent high water had flushed trout into the river from its Cold River tributary, a known trout fishery.
Earlier that day, while returning from Dawson on the old supply haul road, I had found a large, handsome leather portfolio, or wallet, laced with protected multiple sleeves of beautiful trout flies. I took the case from my pack and asked the older gent if it could belong to him. If I had returned a gold Rolex watch, he could not have been more overjoyed, nor, I suspect, more surprised. We were, after all, a couple of smelly, rough-looking customers. That gentleman turned out to be Charles Byran, Jr., of Chicago, former president of the Pullman Standard Car Manufacturing Company and a distinguished engineer. At the time of our meeting, he was the owner of the Racquette Falls clearing, the lodge and cabins there and, along with Mrs. Byran, had been a summer visitor to the area since the early 1920s. Mr. Byran died in 1966 in Chicago. In 1970, Mrs. Byran sold the 89.2-acre parcel to New York State. Two years later, the Racquette Falls Lodge, built by Ross Freeman of Coreys, was destroyed in a spectacular night fire that broke out in the generator room of the two-story log structure. The D.E.C. interior ranger residence is near the footprint of that former lodge.
Racquette Falls is a unique, charming and magnetic place. From the early Tupper Lake lumbermen 145 years ago, it has commanded a special niche in our local history. We are so lucky to have this cherished legacy in our back yard! As Peter, Paul and Mary have chorused, “This land is my land – this land is your land!”