In a recent column, this writer described his encounter with an individual who was identified to readers only as “The Fisherman.” At that time he was a daily visitor to a section of the Racquette River known as “Stetson Slough,” where Racquette River Drive makes a sharp bend in the road and parallels the river before rejoining Route 3 on Moody Flow.
His daily fishing visits were because he needed to catch enough bullhead for the annual bullhead feed at the VFW Club. We described his unusual technique and the resulting success he was enjoying in procuring enough fish (over 100 bullhead needed for the feed) and the fact that he had been fishing the river for almost forty-six years.
I soon recognized him as one of the river’s most fervent boatsmen. Indeed, only hours after the last ice floe had floated downstream and gave the river again life and movement to a waiting springtime, I observed him heading upriver in his boat. I was to learn that the preceding fall during the last days of the deer hunting season he had been caught by a sudden cold front on a night with no wind, which had ice-locked the bay or slough on the river where his hunting camp was located. This meant laboriously chopping his way through the ice to the river and of necessity leaving much of his gear behind. The next day the river itself was locked in icy bondage and the early spring trip was to retrieve that gear and check the status of his camp.
On that spring trip upriver, he told me he had spotted five deer and three bald eagles. He noted that given the white head and tail, two of the eagles were mature birds and that the third one had displayed only small amounts of white feathering, which led him to believe it was a younger bird, not yet five years old — at which time his head and tail would display more white. That comment indicated to me that he was a knowledgeable observer and, indeed, I was to learn that he is considered one of the most enthusiastic outdoorsmen in the community.
We talked at that time about the proposal by some groups to ban motorboats on the river. He told me that he failed to understand the logic that would allow one group of legitimate users to have preference over another group of legitimate users. He admitted some motorboaters go too fast around the tight corners of the river and often don’t slow down in passing people’s docks, which results in damage to boats tied there, but that awareness of the problem and perhaps increased enforcement could correct those objections.
On the other hand, the fisherman continued, he has seen flotillas of canoes, twenty at a time coming down the river, often eight or more side-by-side taking up the complete river’s width so they could talk.
This writer is a canoeist (who also loves his outboard) and I found truth in the fisherman’s observations. You will have to admit, the sheer number of canoeists have become overwhelming. Our area now rivals Minnesota’s Boundary Waters as a prime waterway destination. This has created problems such as loss of remoteness and quiet, among others. Problems that can not be laid solely on the doorstep of motorboating. I decided to ask the fisherman one more question: Would you agree that certain waters like the St. Regis Chain of Lakes should be motor free?
He began to reel in another fish as he answered: “Absolutely there is no question that certain ponds and lakes are best left motor free. Heck, that’s a slam dunk, but not the Racquette River, for cripes sake!” I personally enjoyed listening to the fisherman’s experienced outlook on things, and lately I’ve noticed an increased polarization existing between recreation groups that is disturbing. Such factions are arbitrary distinctions at best and ignore the links that exist between different outdoor enthusiasts. After all, many motorboat owners are also fervent canoeists and the same can be said for cross-country skiers who may also be passionate snowmobilers. Or the maligned hunter to whom the quest for game might well be secondary to just being in the woods and enjoying nature’s wonders.
Noted author Alex Shoumatoff, in his essay entitled The Real Adirondacks, puts it this way: “No one lived full time in the Adirondacks until the white man came. It was a zone of peace, and even after the white man came, people were basically supportive of each other because they never knew when they might need each other’s help. My theory is that the harsh environment, when the temperature can swing eighty degrees in twenty-hour hours, has had an equalizing and harmonizing effect on the people and this is where the live-and-let-live attitude that is the essence of local culture comes from.”
In conclusion then, there are traditional ways of life here (such as hunting camps and being able to run up the river in a motorboat) that are not really understood by some. An outspoken friend of mine told me recently with a trace of a smile: “Bill, these critics are good people — no doubt about that. The thing is, they just don’t have a clue.”