He told me that if I mentioned his name, he would break my arm in three
places. Having seen this individual open a beer bottle with his teeth,
it didn’t take me long to readily agree. It seems that H.T. (as I’ll
refer to him) had just recently been on a drive to Sabattis and had gotten
out of his car to sit on the bridge that spans the outlet of Little Tupper
Lake. As he sat there looking across to the new building being erected
at Camp on the Point, an otter popped its head out of a hole in the ice,
carrying a fish in its mouth. As H.T. watched, the otter slithered onto
the ice and ate the fish as we would eat an ear of corn.
“I could hear him chewing, ‘crunch, munch, munch,’” he told me excitedly.
“I must have sat there for half an hour or more, and each time that otter
would dive down into that hole I’d time him. The longest period he disappeared
was just over two minutes and each time he reappeared he had a fish and
would sit there crunching and munching. Anyway, all of a sudden I see
this shadow on the snow and I looked up to see a beautiful bald eagle
doing a 180-degree turn, probably attracted by the otter or the remains
of the fish on the ice.
“Bill, when that eagle lowered that big white fan tail to put the brakes
on, so help me, it looked like a beacon light at LaGuardia. It was quite
a sight, I’m here to tell you! “Now the reason I stopped you is because
I got to wondering what’s going to happen to that great place when it
gets sold? You’re a tree hugger,” he said with a smile. “Do you know
what’s going on?
“Hey, my mother was a cook at Brickey’s Lumber Camp on Bear Brook and
my old man was guiding C.V. when he got that monstrous buck on Pilgram
Mountain. A lot of people in town are worried it’s going to go to hell.
“Shucks, they’ll fish out those spring holes in Charley Pond outlet in
a month’s time. Why don’t you write something in that column of yours
and help us locals keep posted?”
This wasn’t coffee shop rhetoric I was hearing. No, there was genuine
concern being expressed here, and he had a good point.
The problem is that until the Whitney interests sign the contract selling
this portion of their Adirondack land to New York State, few people really
know what is going on. I did observe on a recent ski tour near the proposed
acquisition that new survey work is being done (Brandeth/Whitney common
boundary), but all other work is apparently stalled until a closing takes
place.
That conversation with H.T., however, caused me to consider that people
new to this community and perhaps even a generation of young people may
not realize that there has been a close association between the folks
at Whitney Park and this village almost since the turn of the century.
The connections are varied but run the gamut from having been an employee,
guest, or, perhaps, a member of a lease arrangement that allowed access
and other privileges, or one of the many lumbermen who harvested timber
on that large landholding (up until as late as the 1980s, as high as
eleven logging crews at one time).
Some historical background may be of interest. Whitney Park was originally
formed when, between 1896 and 1898, William C. Whitney and a lumberman
named Patrick Moynehan put together many small purchases for a total
of 68,000 acres.
Little is known about Moynehan. He did have a reputation, however, for
persistently trespassing and cutting timber rights (on state land) to
the I.P. Co.
The purchases were made under an agreement in which Whitney furnished
most of the financial backing. The two shared the expenses and profits
of the first lumbering, and Whitney was to succeed as sole owner in 1914
after the lumbering was completed. At that time, there was a saying around
this village that at the onset, Moynehan had the experience, Whitney
had the money. At the end, Whitney had the experience and Moynehan had
the money. That story may have been anecdotal, but if it were true, today
William Whitney’s fourth-generation heirs have had the last laugh.
Consider: $13.9 million for 14,700 acres, plus $3.2 million for headquarters
(80 acres) and a $3.2-million deal with Adirondack land trust for 36,000
acres not be developed. I’ll do the math for you — $20.1 million and
counting. Sorry, Mr. Moynehan.
In summary then, a large number of local people have an extra special
interest. Yes, even a proprietary interest as planners begin a management
plan. We can hope that they follow a sensible direction.
The Mot du Jour for this will be vision. It will require combining the
present realities (a land ravaged by tornado damage, etc., etc.) with
the realization that nature has marvelous healing powers and that there
are many generations to follow that will exult in this heritage that
was protected by us for them to marvel at and to enjoy as a recreational
source. However, that doesn’t mean inappropriate restrictions or allowing
unbalanced input from the environmental lobby. For example, the classification
of the neighboring Lake Lila tract as primitive is, in my opinion, flawed
and overdue for revision under the mandatory five-year rule. By the way,
don’t hold your breath waiting for interim plans. This will no doubt
be a lengthy bureaucratic and troublesome process with many crochets
and quirks certain to surface. Consider, if you will, some of the following
that only scratches the surface or the many decisions that will have
to be deliberated: Will there be a permit system? Catch-and-release fishing?
How about disabled access? Mandatory porta-potties? Snowmobile travel?
Fresh-faced assistant rangers with new shoulder patches invading your
campsite to give a lecture on wilderness ethics? Removal of bridges like
the one over Salmon Lake Outlet: Off limits to mountain bikes?
You get the picture! Stay tuned, stay informed.
Note: In 1898-1906 and again in 1934, softwood cut on Whitney park went to Tupper Lake’s Santa Clara mill via waterways. Little Tupper outlet was dammed to create a round pond. When the water was released, the logs were flushed downstream into Big Tupper Lake by Tupper Lake river drivers. “The best crisly river drivers in the north woods, they could run those long logs down the whitewater like driving cows to pasture.”