Chapter 11- The River
Lower Landing to Crossover Dam
Discovery - The Lost River
May 25, 2000 Cloudy
I was so excited and apprehensive I could hardly sleep. The forecast
promised the first day of no rain in eight days. I could finally explore
the Lost River in my 10-foot canoe. I had no idea what to expect. No one
canoes this section of the Mohawk and hardly anyone even walks near it.
The original path of the Mohawk River is broken at Rome where it passes
into the Erie (Barge) Canal and runs east for three-quarters of a mile
to a narrow channel that leads to a marina and the original streambed.
This area was once one of the most famous landmarks in America---the Lower
Landing of the Great Carry that connected Eastern and Middle America.
paddling my canoe through this culvert
During high water periods, water from the canal flows
into the original streambed, but the rest of the year this cut-off section
receives most of its water from Wheeler Creek. The much-diminished
river flows through a steel culvert and languishes some three miles before
picking up additional water from a canal crossover dam.
A week earlier I had talked to Sam Campanaro at
Riverside Marine. He pointed out where Wheeler Creek passes through
a steel culvert and into the original path of the river. My plan was to
paddle the canoe through the culvert, follow the river to the crossover
dam, carry the canoe over the dam and paddle it across the canal to the
access road at the Canal Gate.
I arrived at the Riverside Marina early, launched
the canoe and cleared away the logs blocking the culvert. When our son,
Mark arrived, he followed me to the Canal Gate access road. The road was
blocked, but it was only a short carry from the canal to Route 49 where
I parked the Jeep. Mark took me back to the launch site and went on to
work.
I came prepared: hip boots, rainsuit (didn't trust the forecast), bug
repellent, two cameras, fishing rod and lunch. After loading a packbasket
full of gear into the canoe, I was on the water at 8:45 a.m. Before entering
the culvert, I paddled up the channel out into the canal and back, making
a few casts to the rocks and cement slabs piled along the waterway. It
was hard to imagine this was once the Lower Landing of the Great Carry.
The "skunk cabbage" along this area of the Lost River were huge.
It was a strange sensation passing through the culvert;
like entering a lost world. Reality reared its ugly head almost immediately
in the form of a couple hundred yards of blowdowns. I dragged the canoe
around and over fallen trees and by some huge plants that looked like skunk
cabbage on steroids, before reaching canoeable water at 9:15.
Just across from a sharp right bend in the river
was a stand of cattails. The topo map indicated the river turned to the
right, so I paddled in that direction, spooking a muskrat and a wood duck
. . . and coming to a dead end. The river was blocked by a high bank with
a highway on top.
I beached the canoe, towed it up the steep bank,
and headed in the direction of the railroad tracks and the canal. I reasoned
that if I couldn't find the river---I wasn't going to carry the canoe
across the highway---I could paddle down the canal to where the Jeep was
parked. After towing the canoe about a quarter mile through deep grass,
I discovered the river channel. It had been diverted and channelized to
run under a highway overpass that spanned the railroad tracks and the river.
I paddled up the channelized stretch of river back toward the area where
I took the wrong turn, and found a water path through the cattails back
to the old river channel. Returning through the cattails, I noted that
this stretch of water looked ideal for pickerel and ducks, but caught or
saw neither. A train passed as I paddled toward the overpass.
There was a logjam under the highway overpass that
I thought I could get through without getting out of the canoe. I got hung
up on a log and it took 5 minutes of "hunching" to get the canoe over the
submerged log. All the commotion spooked a green heron.
At 10:05 I was back in the original channel; huge willows hung over
the river. Two hundred years ago this lost section of river was frequently
filled with bateau traveling to and from the Great Carry.
A muskrat swam ahead of the canoe and disappeared.
In a weedy stretch of water something big swirled ahead of the canoe. Beaver?
Turtle? Fish?
While hunching the canoe over another logjam, I
watched a small bird chasing an owl. Just downstream a big carp passed
under the canoe. Willows and soft maple were overhanging the water, creating
a wide tunnel through a forest of basswood, poplar, boxelder, sumac, honeysuckle
and grapevines. This was more like it; wild country, wildlife and
canoeable water. My reverie didn't last long. Another logjam This one would
be . . . unforgettable.
It is hard to believe that this abandoned stretch of the Mohawk was
once filled with boats traveling to and from The Great Carry. Today it's
filled with logs and silt, and harbors an amazing variety of plant
and wildlife.
The river was too deep for me to get out of the canoe
and I was too lazy to paddle to shore and climb the bank, so I approached
the logjam with care, looking for the best place to cross. As I moved the
canoe into position, a snapping turtle with a head twice the size of my
fist surfaced next to the canoe. To appreciate the situation you have to
keep in mind that while sitting in the bottom of this tiny canoe,
I'm actually sitting under the waterline, so anything beside the canoe
is up close and very personal. Without thinking, I bopped the turtle on
the head with the canoe paddle. It took the message and sunk into the river.
Whew!
After passing under a footbridge made from railroad
rails, I had to tow the canoe around a big logjam, passing through a park-like
area of huge ferns growing under monarch maples. Two owls flew down the
river.
At 11:05, I passed under a railroad bridge. Fifteen
minutes later, I paddled up to the bottom of the crossover dam and made
a few casts without success. I had to back off from the bottom of the dam
when the wakes from a couple of yachts moving up the canal broke over the
top of the dam.
I carried the canoe and gear over the end of the
crossover dam, launched it in the canal and paddled to the takeout on the
other side of the canal. It was 11:45.
Paul Lallier of Clarks Mills was fishing off the
wall of the gate. While I ate lunch, he caught two walleyes. As we chatted,
he said, "You dropped your sandwich bag and I know you don't want to leave
it here." I was impressed. If everyone was like Paul, so many of the canal
access sites wouldn't be blocked off.
