Chapter 11- The River
The Source: Three Strikes and
You're Out
Part of the fun of discovery trips is not knowing what to expect.
For the most part, my preparation consists of consulting topographical
and road maps to get a general idea where I'm going and how far I have
to travel, but I seldom ask anyone what to expect. Generally, I've been
happy with that approach, but sometimes it leads to frustration and a waste
of time and energy. Such is the case with the source of the Mohawk River.
Discovery: Strike One!
April
25, 2000 - 50 degrees, Sunny
It was 10:45 a.m. when I parked the Jeep at a pull-off on Route 26 next
to the Mohawk Springs State Forest sign. The sign was a few yards from
a stream that ran under the road. The exact location of the "river" and
source-springs were not clear on the topo map, but considering the name
and location of the sign, I assumed this was the beginning of the
Mohawk River.
I assumed Mohawk Springs were the source of the Mohawk River.
We had to walk around partially flooded beaver meadows
to locate the main stream.
I asked Denny Gillen to join me on discovery trips
on the headwaters of the Mohawk because he grew up just north of West Leyden
where he worked on area farms and collected maple "sugar." Although he
had never been to the spring(s) that is purported to be the source of the
river, he was familiar with the area.
From Route 26 we walked upstream through a white
pine forest that changed to a mixed forest of birch, maple and hemlock.
Deer trails crisscrossed the area and stone fence-rows marked old farmfields.
The stream split into smaller streams, fed by springs of varying size;
some mere trickles, others pools or bogs. Convinced we had explored the
source of the river, we walked back to the car. It was 11:45.
Rather than head down Route 26, I drove to the top
of Mohawk Hill where an old school house, St. Michael's Cemetery, a couple
of barns and a few homes mark the divide of three watersheds: Black River,
Fish Creek and the Mohawk River.
On the way back, we made a startling discovery;
we had walked up the wrong stream. Just north of the State Forest, at the
intersection of Esche Road, was a much larger stream. We had explored one
of its tributaries.
For about an hour we walked up this stream---the
real Mohawk---discovering a mixed forest of maple, beech and hemlock. We
passed washed-out beaver dams and beaver meadows, flushing wood ducks and
mallards, and seeing one big deer. Again, the bigger stream was fed by
smaller streams, so we had to walk around beaver meadows to determine which
was the main stream. Around 1 p.m. we got tired of that game, and became
more and more concerned we'd miss lunch at Mom's Restaurant in West Leyden,
We hiked back to the car . . . tired, hungry and disappointed. Strike One!
Discovery: Strike Two!
April 27, 2001, Cloudy, 45 degrees
I parked off Route 26 near the junction of Esche Road. A New York State
Police car stopped and the Trooper asked how the fishing was in the area.
When we told him we were looking for the source of the Mohawk River, he
wished us good luck and drove away.
At 10 a.m. we started to hike up "river" to the beaver meadows we had visited
the year before. This time we noted a number of colored ribbons tied to
trees that deer hunters had used to mark trails and watches. We saw fresh
deer sign, but nowhere near as much as we had seen the year before. Considering
this area had just experienced record snowfalls and the longest winter
in recent history, we expected to find the remains of dead deer. Such was
not the case.
When we returned on April 27, 2001 we had to contend with two feet of snow and beaver ponds.
As we approached one of the abandoned beaver dams,
Denny saw a deer run along a ridge and disappear into a stand of hemlocks.
A pair of mallards lifted off the stillwater and circled overhead. Despite
more than a week of warm weather and frequent rainfall, there was more
than two feet of snow in some areas. On sunny hillsides, where the snow
had melted, patches of skunk cabbage poked through the soil.
Further upstream we discovered three active beaver
dams that ranged in height from two to five feet. Wood ducks and mallards
jumped off the beaver ponds and disappeared over treetops.
We had to walk around beaver ponds to relocate the
main stream. We were close to the source spring(s), but the snow around
the edges of the upper pond was too deep to negotiate without snowshoes.
We returned to the car . . . tired, hungry and disappointed. Strike Two!
Over lunch, Denny noted that the guys who hunt that
area do not walk in from Route 26. He recalled a road that runs northeast
at West Leyden. He was sure it ran fairly close to the area where we had
discovered the beaver dams.
Denny was right. A check of the topographical
map indicated we could walk less than a quarter mile to the source of the
Mohawk. We'll try it this week. No snow. Blackflies!
Strike Three? Stay tuned.
Discovery - Safe and Sound
May 8, 2001, 60 degrees, Sunny
Our plan was to walk into the source of the river
and confirm that it flowed to the area we had previously explored. Denny
parked his car near where the river crosses under the highway. I drove
up Route 26, turned east onto Neff Road and followed this seasonal gravel
road to the area the topo map indicated was close to the source of the
Mohawk.
Fifty years ago this was farm country, but today it's deer and turkey
hunter cabin country. Much of the area is posted. Fortunately, Rex
Williamson was leaving his cabin when we were looking for a place to park.
When we told him what our mission was, he told us to go ahead and look
around.
We found a spring, or more accurately a small marsh---replete
with emerging skunk cabbage and marsh marigolds, and stands of dried cattails---less
than a hundred yards from the road. Could this be the source spring---the
highest elevation spring---that feeds the headwaters of the Mohawk River?
We took several photos, and then walked west until the marsh revealed a
small stream.
The tiny stream ran through another marsh before
flowing into a large meadow where it disappeared in a rock-filled ditch,
reappearing as an alder-lined stream that fed the remnants of a huge
beaver pond. This partially-filled pond was once the home of a considerable
population of beaver as evidenced by two large houses and the complete
absence of trees in the area. As we approached the pond, killdeers
complained of our presence and four mallards jumped off the water and circled
overhead, silhouetted in a deep blue sky. A hunter's cabin sat on a hill
overlooking it all.
This was not one of the beaver dams we had seen
on our previous visits, so we continued downstream through almost impenetrable
alders. After 15 minutes of trying to walk along the stream in this muck,
mire and tangled environment, with hordes of black flies swarming around
our heads, we retreated to the bordering hemlock and birch forest, with
occasional returns to the stream to be sure we were on track.
One of these returns revealed we had made too wide
a turn in the woods. As we approached a flooded area, Denny noted,
"This stream is flowing in the wrong direction." Pointing to a tree
line, he added, "We should be over there."
While Denny headed in that direction, I stopped
to check my compass to confirm his intuitive observation. With a horde
of black flies following, I hurried after him. Although we were still
in the valley, we had come upon a beaver pond on one of the tributaries.
Denny's observation prevented us from walking around the flooded woods
before discovering our mistake.
Fifteen minutes later we passed the beaver dams
and meadows we had seen on our previous trip. At 11 a.m. we stepped out
on the highway across from Denny's car.
It had taken us two hours to discover and confirm
the location of the source of the Mohawk River. This time we didn't strike
out. Indeed, despite the tangled alders and black flies we were safe and
sound.
Chapter 11- The River
Discovery: Final Leg of a 22-Mile Adventure
May 15, 2001, 50 degrees, Cloudless Sky
I needed a good day.
Originally, I didn't plan to walk or canoe every
foot of the Mohawk River. After all it's 147 miles long: 35 miles from
its source on Mohawk Hill to Rome and then another 112 miles to the Hudson
River. No one in his right mind would try to explore it all, especially
the trickles of water running off Mohawk Hill. What could possibly be interesting
about that area?
Guess what? Last Tuesday Denny Gillen and I completed
the exploration of the Mohawk River from its source to the upper end of
Delta Lake, a distance of 22 miles.Until this past week the only section
we hadn't discovered was from the upper end of West Leyden Pond, upstream
to Route 26. I didn't expect much from that outing.
It was 8:45 a.m. when Denny parked his car near
the culvert where the river passes under the highway. I drove down to a
farm road that crosses meadows to the Mohawk. From there we walked downstream
to a beaver dam we had paddled up to last fall. There was no mistaking
this beaver dam, for it was like no other we had seen. The beaver house
was attached to the dam, rather than sitting in the pond upstream from
the dam.
After looking over this curious creation, we started
upstream, noting an abundance of deer tracks and an occasional turkey track
in the mud. In this flooded stretch of water we flushed a drake mallard
and disturbed some red-winged blackbirds.
The year before we had paddled a canoe up to this beaver dam with
house attached. This unusual creation was the starting point for the final
leg of our exploration.
It
was 9:45 when we reached the wide-open meadows of an active farm. In this
area alders grew tight to the stream, so we walked along the edge of the
meadows, Denny on one side, me on the other. Skunk cabbage and bright yellow
marsh marigolds grew in muddy depressions. Standing tall above the brush
on the edge of one meadow was a magnificent elm, it's newly-leafed branches
fanned against the sky.
Marsh marigolds grew in muddy depressions along the upper reaches
of the Mohawk River . . .
A nearby hill was blanketed with dandelion blossoms, backdropped by a hardwood forest of countless shades of green, all under a cloudless sky that was so blue . . . so blue . . . I had to stop and take several photographs.
Fifteen minutes later, after carefully crossing some of the best-maintained barbwire fences we'd seen in a long time, we entered the forest. From a tiny shaded pool I caught the first fish of the day, a 4-inch brook trout.
Chunks and pieces of shale and limestone covered the stream bottom. I mentioned that to Denny and he said, "This is God's country for rocks."
As if to prove his point we came upon a number of stone fences and a couple of old bridge abutments. While it is not unusual to see flat stones used to make bridge abutments, I had never seen so many flat stones in fencerows. Most stone fencerows were made from fieldstones that were collected during spring plowing. Winter frost provided a new crop of stones every year. In most areas of the Mohawk Valley these fieldstones are round; shaped and deposited by a glacier over 12,000 years ago. Apparently the source of the flat rocks in this area was fairly close to where the glacier deposited them.
Most of this area was farmed from the early 1800s well into the mid 1900s. In the early days of settlement, stone fences kept livestock out of grain fields and marked property and field lines. When barbwire came into use, this ready supply of stone was used for road fill. Sometimes the only place to find intact stone fences today are in wooded areas that haven't been farmed for generations.
Denny took a 5-inch brookie from a pool under one of the old bridge abutments. Some areas of the stream were so thick with alders they were impossible to fish. Nevertheless, we managed to catch and release several small brook trout from the few pools we could cast to.
Just upstream from where Denny caught his first fish, the stream split three ways. Denny walked the stream on the right and I took the one on the left. When we determined which was the main stream, we continued upstream, and discovered a section where the river ran over outcrops of limestone and shale. No waterfalls, just flat rock.
Most of the trees in this area were second-growth maple. Fifty years ago when this was farmland, a stand of maples stood tall and stately, providing a productive sugar bush. As a youngster Denny worked at this sugar bush, spending nights keeping the fires burning under vats of sap until it became maple syrup. He had hoped to locate this source of syrup and childhood memories, but the woods were too thick to see the trees.
The Mohawk is a tiny stream in this area, so I was surprised to see what looked like a long stretch of riprap. It turned out this was actually a stone fencerow that covered the stream bank and was still a good two feet high on the opposite side. I tried to imagine the time, effort and commitment required to transport that much stone and then build such a structure by hand.
The hardwood forest graduated to white pine, hemlock and cherry, and as we got closer to Route 26, reforested red pine. In this area we encountered more tributaries. All those tribs running into the main stream reminded me of that big elm with all those fanned-out branches connected to the main trunk.
Just
upstream from an active beaver dam were two streams that seemed to be of
equal size. Denny chose the one on the right. I followed the one on the
left. It crossed under Esche Road within sight of Route 26. I had chosen
the tributary. Five minutes later I was waiting for Denny as he came out
of the woods . . . following the main stream.
I took off my pack, propped the fishing rod against a tree and told Denny, "I'm going back."
He chided, "What for, so you can say you walked the entire river?"
"Nope, so I know I've walked the entire river."
It took only 15 minutes to walk back to the fork in the stream and follow the river back to where Denny had parked his car. It was 12:30. We had completed the exploration of the Mohawk from its source to Delta Lake. The lake and the rest of the river could be explored from a canoe.
It was very good day. Good thing. The day before I had to bury one of my best friends.
We completed the final leg when we
reached this crumbling culvert under
Route 26 north of West Leyden.
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