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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.

Copyright William C. Frenette Collection