The sun was just beginning to appear above Round Top Mountain east of my bedroom window. It was the time of day early lumbermen referred to as “daylight in the swamp,” and in most camps work would have already started in the “cutting” despite the early hour – a work ethic. It should be noted the ethic continues today in most well-run logging operations, even if they don’t arrive to the work site by means of a torch with wicking in the neck of a catsup bottle.
I wasn’t too surprised, then, to suddenly hear the high-pitched, ear-splitting sound of a powerful chain saw coming from across the street. Now, here’s the thing from a frequent chain saw user, who is, admittedly, a rank amateur (I once almost killed a retriever when I misjudged the lean of a tree and it fell the wrong way): I try to observe an expert at every opportunity.
Before you could say “Paul Bunyan,” I was across the street to a neighbor’s property on Byram Road. Here, I found Glen Gignac and Scott Martin, both first-class loggers, busily engaged in work. Quick as light, Gignac, moving as sure-footed as a mountain goat along the trunk of a fallen pine, was skillfully lopping the tree’s branches. As I watched, my thoughts wandered to an earlier age when most certainly he would have been a river driver, pike pole in hand, adroitly riding the sawed logs along the sweep and rush of a raging current as the logs headed for the screeching saws of the mill downstream.
Scott was operating a Caterpillar 207 front-end loader. As quickly as Gignac would finish the lopping, he would move in and cradle the log with the front tongs and hurry it to join a neat pile of other logs. They would become boards milled by a portable mill owned by Christmas & Associates.
On one occasion, as I stood well out of the way watching, a problem arose. A large Tamarack, aged and twisted, had a complicated lean, and when cut, it threatened to fall on a young maple the owner wished to save.
After studying the tree for a time to determine its lie, Gignac made a felling hinge-cut and quickly stepped aside as Scott somehow maneuvered his machine into position at just the right angle, and with a push of the extended bucket and a groan from the tree, it fell precisely alongside the valuable maple just where they wanted it.
As Gignac was refueling his saw, Scott explained that the owner had carefully marked the trees that were to be removed, trees that were diseased or weakened or, in some cases, crowding out valuable species.
In addition to being a prudent preventative measure, the “thinning” would allow more open space and sunlight. The result would be an improved and healthier piece of property.
As Scott hoisted himself up to the machine’s cab to return to work, he turned to me and said, “Hey Bill, I’ve got a question for you – who was this guy, Byram?”
Fortunately, having earlier talked to neighbors like the Johnsons, Gen Sutter and Dick and Shirley Meisenberg, long-time residents on Racquette River Drive, I could offer an answer. Perhaps you will find it of interest:
Byram Road, which is today a privately owned no-exit road, was named after David Byram, who came to the community in its earlier pioneer days from Vermont. If you proceed along Racquette River Drive from the village, the road will make a sharp turn at what, for many years, has been called “bend of the road.” The road now parallels the Racquette River before it joins Route 30.
Notice that the land rises sharply from the river’s shoreline, allowing just enough room for the road and homes located there. Indeed, the landform is one with a fair size hill of exposed bedrock from glacial sediment that has allowed some forest growth. Mr. Byram owned most of that extended hill (200 acres).
There was no bridge across the river at Moody at that time, and the town in 1896 built a log bridge where the present-day Moody Bridge is located. Two years later, they agreed to pay Byram $100 for a right of way and $125 for the timber that would have to moved to open a road across his property to Moody – the present-day Racquette River Drive.
Mr. Byram would then build a summer tourist home on the crest of the before-mentioned hill where Byram Road ends today. He called it the “Crow’s Nest,” and it commanded an extraordinary view that overlooked Lake Simond, Big Tupper and Racquette Pond (it remains today an outstanding view of lake marsh and mountain but only to the south and east. Forest growth now obscures the north and west views so prominent in earlier times).
As the years progressed, Mr. Byram sold off parcels for summer homes or permanent residences.
Byram Road cuts along a contour below the top of the hill and bisects what is known as a bench land or flat. Here Byram cleared the land, and on sandy soil, he established a sizable truck or market garden that became well known for its excellent produce, berries and apples.
After Mr. Byram’s death, the property reverted to his sister, Mrs. Margaret Slasson, who came here from Vermont to take possession of the estate and carry on the work of market gardening established so many years before by her brother. She added poultry raising and became an acknowledged expert in that activity.
The Byram property extended to the Moody Marsh, and she sold portions of it to New York State when they constructed today’s Route 30.
Mr. Byram certainly had a vision when he acquired that property so long ago, and it is today, 100 years later, still a special place with attractive, well-built homes. And the river below still rolls along on its way to the sea.