At an early period of our history, Upper Saranac Lake
originally drained into the Racquette River. Its waters at that time would
have ended up in the St. Lawrence River rather than Lake Champlain.
Today, a low divide of glacial drift created during the Ice Age provides
a land barrier that prevents that from happening and separates the two
systems. You now cross that barrier on your way to Saranac Lake one-quarter
mile after descending Panther Mountain hill.
This means that canoeists traveling from the Saranacs to the Racquette
— or vice versa — have to “carry” their boats between the two watersheds.
The earliest travelers to do this were the Native Americans, and this very
old traditional route came to be known as Indian Carry.
There is strong evidence that the Indians had a summer encampment or, perhaps,
even a hunting headquarters on the lake side of the carry. These were the
Saranac Indians, and they called the trail they used the Eaglenest Trail.
They claimed as their exclusive hunting grounds not only the Eaglenest
Forests, but also those of the Wampum Waters (Stony Creek Ponds), the Stream
of the Snake (Stony Creek), the the Sounding River (Racquette River), from
the Lake of the Blue Mountain to Wild Mountain (Matumbla) at the Leap of
the Foaming Panther (Piercefield Falls).
There was a row of tall pines that stood on or near the carry many years
ago. These trees showed strange knotty protuberances in their trunks seven
or eight feet from the ground. Many people noticed them but no one could
explain them until some passing Indians, who claimed to be descendants
of earlier dwellers on the spot, gave a solution to the mystery. They said
that when these tall pines were saplings, the young warriors of the tribe
would show their strength by twisting and tying the slim trees into knots
that were never untied.
I’d known of this story, so imagine my astonishment when, at a place where
a stream called Bear Brook empties into the Racquette River, I discovered
several Tamarack trees that had been tied into knots similar to those from
the tall pines. I don’t think those knots were Nature’s doing — such as
trees twisting themselves to seek sunlight beyond the canopy of surrounding
mature trees.
My guess is that they were tied in this fashion by a stalwart lumberjack,
probably from this community, who was testing or exhibiting his strength.
Was he aware that young Native Americans did the same? Or is there some
other explanation that, in my naivete, I have overlooked?
Perhaps the following legend that involves members of the Saranac tribe,
Tupper Lake, and Indian Carry may be of interest:
It was during the years when the Saranacs were divided that Howling Wind,
one of the young men of Indian Carry, saw and fell in love with a girl
from a family on Tupper Lake. He quickly found a way to tell his liking,
and the couple met often in the woods and on the shore. He made bold to
row her around the quieter bays, and one moonlit evening, he took her to
Devil’s Rock, or Devil’s Pulpit (located on the east shore of Tupper Lake
opposite the southwest tip of County Line Island), where he told her the
story of the place. This was to the effect that the fiend had paddled on
timbers, by means of his tail, to that rock and had assembled fish and
game about him in large numbers by telling them that he was going to preach
to them. Instead, he pounced upon them and ate all within his grasp.
As so often happens in Indian history, the return of these lovers was seen
by a disappointed rival who had hurried back to camp and secured the aid
of half a dozen men to arrest the favored one as soon as he should land.
The capture was made after a struggle, and Howling Wind was dragged to
the chief’s tent for sentencing. That sentence was death, and with a refinement
of cruelty that was rare even among the Indians, the girl was ordered to
execute him. She begged and wept to no avail. An axe was put into her hands
and she was ordered to dispatch the prisoner. She took the weapon, her
face grew stern, and tears dried on her cheeks. Her lover, bound to a tree,
gazed at her in amazement. His rival watched, almost in glee. Slowly, the
girl crossed the open space to her lover. She raised the tomahawk, and
with one blow severed the thongs that held him. Then, like a flash, she
leapt upon his rival, who had sprung forward to interfere. She clove his
skull with a single stroke. The lovers fled as only those can fly who run
for life. Happily for them, they met a party from the “Carry” coming to
rescue Howling Wind from the danger that his courtship had exposed him,
and it was even said that this party entered the village, and by presenting
knives and arrows at the breast of the chief, obtained superfluous consent
to the union of the fugitives. The pair reached the “Carry” in safety and
lived long and happy lives together.
It most certainly was my imagination, but one night last summer during
a full moon, I was sitting along the river near my house when a birch bark
canoe glided noiselessly past me.
A young Indian brave with a single feather in his hair that ran to his
shoulders was paddling with a strong, steady stroke. He never removed his
paddle from the water in what modern canoeists now call the “Indian Return”
stroke.
In the bow was a lovely Indian girl with a delightful smile on her face.
In the center of the canoe, tied to the thwarts, was a sling filled with
sweet grass in which lay a child singing in a soft voice.
| Transitions No. 19 March 18, 1998 |
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