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Scott Chartier's Logbook
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Scott Chartier has a routine.
Even before breakfast each morning he sits before a telescope that is
focused on what is known as “Moody Flow.”
Scott’s home, which he and his wife, Mary, have tastefully and skillfully
renovated with subtle Adirondack Great Camp influences, is located on a rise
close to one of the earliest settlements here known as the Hathaway Farm.
Here the Raquette River flows by Scott’s front door just before it enters
Tupper Lake. The river doesn’t linger long here, but makes an abrupt turn as
though repelled by the lake’s more static waters.
Early writers called this section a delta after the fourth letter of the
Greek alphabet which it resembled in shape. In the next mile or so it will
flow through what is known as the Sorting Gap, where once huge booms secured
by stone cribs (several still visible today) contained the river-driven
logs.
Local lumbermen working all day and through the night by the aid of torches
sorted the logs according to the various lumber companies’ brand previously
placed on each log by a branding hammer. International Paper, for example,
had the brand P, while the Sherman Company was a simple S. This short
section of the river usually remains open in all but the most severe
temperatures and is a magnet for all manner of wildlife.
That area and the marsh it flows through is the main focus of Scott’s
observations. The log book that sits alongside his telescope, in which he
faithfully records his daily observations, reveals that he is seldom
disappointed in locating some interesting aspect of nature’s happenings. The
“flow” is a dynamic place of interaction between plant and wildlife.
Indeed, his log book is replete with entries that include everthing from a
group of seven bald eagles feeding on muskrat carcasses to the fascinating
encounter and standoff between a white tail deer and two coyotes. Otter, red
fox, osprey, numerous types of hawks (including the rare hawk owl) hunting
for muskrat and field mice have found the rich plant life in the flow a
Garden of Eden. Some “accidentals” that have been noted include pelicans,
western grebe, cattle egrets, Virginia rails and, of course, all manner of
waterfowl, including various sea ducks blown off course by heavy winds.
Mrs. jack Delehanty Sr., who is a well-known birding authority and, like
Scott, daily observes the activities in the flow, has recorded 83 different
species of birds over the years which she dutifully reports to the N.Y.
State Bird Foundation, noting that it is a “critical habitat in a world
where such protection and sustenance is rapidly disappearing.”
Such observations are important. For one thing, they play a vital role as a
beacon to changes. They can early detect flaws happening to our ecosystem.
Why, for instance, were there no cranberries found in the marsh this fall?
Climactic changes? Is the quality of the water being degraded?
Why is Mrs. Delehanty suddenly observing so many ravens? Does this increase
in her sightings mean an increase in our coyote population? Does it document
interactions between species? Consider this interpretation: Ravens can’t
penetrate the carcass of dead deer for food. Coyote kills, which break the
skin, make the meat available, thus more coyotes equal more ravens.
Finally, it proves what an important and valuable asset we have so close to
our town. It is much more than a swamp. It is, in fact, a rich and diverse
ecosystem niche defined there by animals and the plants they use for a
marvelous complex web of life, each strand being dependent on many others.
This system lesson, where the whole is seen as more than just a sum of its
parts, is just now beginning to sink in. Scientists have just barely begun
to trace the intricate crossing and anchor points of such a place. Most
biologists will quickly tell you how important the “flow” is in terms of the
plant life, many with valuable medical applications (some yet undiscovered),
and that destruction of such wet lands by draining or filling may severely
deplete ground water supplies, for the Moody Flow acts as a giant living
biological sponge that collects water and slowly releases it into this
area’s network of ponds and streams. Beyond all that, and I don’t wish to
diminish those facts, isn’t it also just kind of nice to know that the flow
and its wonderful grass-filled, unique, lush appearance is part of this
town’s everyday scene? In a world of diminishing resources it does make you
feel a little proud of where you live.
From a historical point of view, it may be of interest to note that the flow
was once covered by a stand of fine timber. An early visitor (1849) named
Hammond, who was the editor of the Albany State Register, described it this
way: “Where the river enters, the land is high and bluff, here the eye falls
upon a wide, green natural meadow upon which are thick foliated trees and,
as you look upon it, you cannot persuade yourself that you do not see a
broad and beautiful farm with extensive orchard and brave old elms left
standing as shade trees when the woods were cleared away . . . but it is all
wilderness, just as it has been for thousands of years.”
Hammond camped on the shore that night. He also killed a panther the next
morning, which he shot from a limb 30 feet above the shore of Raquette Pond.
That scene was to last until 1870, at which time the trees were cut for
lumber and Potsdam lumber interests built a reservoir dam where the present
Setting Pole Dam is now located. The dam was huge, over 10 feet above still
water, 300 feet in length with 10 gates and 38,000 feet of cubic stone went
into its construction. The result was the flooding of lands for nearly 30
miles. All of the fine timber lining the shores were killed, transforming a
beautiful section into a dead forest indescribably desolate in appearance.
(Next Transition” Vigilantes blow up the dam. Also, the monolith in the flow
known as Green Island.) |
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