The fisherman had been there for the past several days, always at the same time in late afternoon and always at the same location. He was fishing in a place called Stetson Slough, where Racquette River Drive turns to follow the bend of that river until the river itself turns toward Moody Bridge to continue its 1,3888-ft. tumble to the St. Lawrence, 96 miles to the north. He was wearing heavy wool pants, seemingly overkill. Later, standing in the evening chill, I realized how practical they were.
Older readers will recognize that his woolens were known as “Malone” or “Ballard” pants, once made at the Ballard Mill in Malone. That fabric design is now the property of the Woolrich Co.
In true Adirondack tradition, he had “stagged,” or shortened, the cuff line. This, together with the use of suspenders, allowed for a loose fitting waist, thus creating a “chimney effect” that in turn allowed a layer of insulating air to circulate, reducing moisture to help control heat loss. Early river drivers also stagged their woolen trousers to avoid catching the calks or spikes in their shoes and tripping. Incidentally, the best of these calked shoes was made in Croghan, N.Y., and river drivers referred to them as “Croghans.” They were handmade and would hold the steel calks under conditions much better than other competitive footwear.
It was near this very spot, now called Stetson Slough, that the Charbonneau family from Vermont erected a humble shelter in 1840 and became the first settlers in this community. The name Stetson Slough derived from the fact that many years later a small shingle mill was erected on lands originally owned by R.R. Stetson, for whom Stetson Road was also named.
In order to float logs to the mill site, the mill owners dug an opening in the river bank where the river made a wide curve upstream and diverted some of the river’s flow, the pirated water then finding its way across the slough and past the mill until it returned to the river just beyond the mill site near the Kirk and Julia Gagnier property. This allowed logs to floated to the mill for shingle production and is today a wonderful haven for all manner of wildlife, particularly waterfowl.
If that isn’t enough history, there is more. This was the location of a movie colony call the YUESS Movie Company. It was a stock company, and many prominent businessmen in town invested more or less heavily in the concern. A number of movies were produced at the “bend ‘o the road,” as it was called. But the venture folded within a year. Unlike the KANT RIP Garter Co. established in Tupper a few years before, which cleaned out local financiers to the tune of about $50,000, the YUESS Moving Picture Corporation, aka U.S. Moving Picture Corporation, paid back practically all sums prescribed by the stockholders through its treasurer, Nathan Propp (then owner of Propp’s Clothing Store, located where the Stewart convenience store now stands). These obligations were liquidated largely through the sale of the 145-acre tract and all cabins, cottages and studios that had been erected to Isaac Badeau of New York City in 1918 and who later sold it in 1924 to Otto Moody of the Bronx, the son of Alric Moody (noted guide boat builder here). The property then became part of the Moody Estate. No trace, not even a foundation, remains today of the ill-starred movie company’s presence.
So it was that last week, despite a cold front that had produced temps of 40 degrees, the fisherman was at his usual spot. I determined to get acquainted. I quickly learned that he had been fishing this river for 46 years. His grandfather, Wilfred LaBrie, had run a farm adjacent to the river and, indeed, his log cabin still remains as the summer cottage of the Mauer family from Rochester, N.Y. (opposite the Bruce Smith residence on Racquette River Drive). He was fishing so diligently, he said, because he had been delegated to provide enough bullhead for a bullhead feed at the V.F.W. Club. He had also volunteered to do the cooking at the event. To date he had over 60 fish, cleaned and prepared for cooking.
Hey, this operation required a closer look. Observation: the fisherman had cleared off some of the small bushes and created a landing pad, so to speak. Just above the pad, he had placed a comfortable beach chair, to the left of which and within and arm’s length was a small beverage cooler and his worms (he had picked 200 night crawlers the night before). To the right was a large bucket to hold his catch. A forked stick, which held his fishing pole, was stuck in the ground in front of his chair. His line was rigged with a sinker at the end, and foot above the sinker a loop line held his baited hook. Okay, you are saying, a pretty straight-forward technique used by most good bullhead fishermen, but wait – the hook he was using was huge – three times the size of a normal bullhead hook. He had filed off the barb, which meant that in landing a fish he had to keep a high pole level and constant tension to prevent the fish from spitting out the hook. Here is the “catch” (pun intended): he simply landed the fish, held it over the pail, and with a slight jerking motion of his pole, the fish came free of the barbless hook and landed in the pail. No injured fish and no swallowed hook requiring cutting the line or using pliers, all the while risking impalement from the “horns” that are characteristic of the horned pout – or bullhead or catfish, as they are called.
Note: Logophiles and other history buffs may be interested that the word “stagged” probably came from the French word “stagga,” meaning to castrate a young animal after maturity. River drivers would place their woolen trousers on a splitting block and use an ax to shorten the leg length.
Next column: We learn more about the fisherman and his views on the motorboat ban on our river.