A Lie: An Unremarkable Pond

Risking charges of blasphemy, I’ll share a lighthearted comment I make regarding the most important source text for Old Growth in the Adirondacks, “the gospel according to Barbara.” The text I am referring to is, “The Great Forests of the Adirondacks,” written by the late Barbara McMartin—her work beautifully weaves together historic land ownership data, land use over time (primarily timber), public policy, and first-hand accounts and observations at the individual parcel level.

Using her text as my launching pad, I continually attempt to acquaint myself with Old Growth near me (St. Lawrence County) and in the Adirondacks, broadly. A map McMartin’s features in her work has been especially helpful, “Map of the Great Forest of Northern New York,” which is also the 1891 “The Proposed Adirondack Park.” The utility—and beauty—of this map is it’s demarkation of parcels thought to be “Virgin” (a problematic term which I will address in the future), parcels on which only (at the time) softwood had been harvested, denuded areas (think wildfires, and blowdown), areas cleared and occupied by farms, or secondary forests, and parcels owned by the state.

A radically condensed version of McMartin’s thesis might look something like: ‘there are hundreds of thousands of acres of forests either never commercially harvested, or only harvested lightly—primarily for softwoods, during the earliest wave of commercial forestry in the Adirondacks.” The most convincing case for determining which parcels may be “Virgin,”are those parcels that have never left state ownership (post seizure by Euro-American settlers).

One such parcel, located in the Town of Colton (most easily reached by way of the Town of Clare), is the north-western most parcel of state owned “Virgin” land within the “Proposed Adirondack Park.” I’ve explored the Church Pond parcel to the east (more on that another day), but had come up short with a way to access the parcel in question—let’s call it the Deerskin Pond Forest, or DPF for short. The issue I had with accessing the DPF was not a road access problem—I was able to follow Dean Road to its terminus, then proceed past the mud gates onto easement land. In fact, I was able to see the parcel, but I was on the opposite side of the Middle Branch of the Grasse River. I thought I would need to return with a kayak to cross the river, which would not have been so bad, but seemed inefficient, given the river itself is maybe 30’ wide.

The parcel I visited is represented here as the green square in the center of the map

As he is wont to do, my Little Brother saved the day—he and my father share a camp on Dean Road, and he has a great deal of familiarity with the previously referenced easement land. LB told me there is an old suspension bridge over the Grasse, which will bring me directly to DPF. The day he showed me the bridge in 2023 was not sufficiently ‘free,’ thus we turned back, but I felt excited about the prospect of returning alone someday.

At long last, a few days ago, I drove to a DEC designated parking area near DPF. There are, technically, state campsites near the river, but they need significant attention. With no formally marked trail to the bridge, I followed vehicle tracks in the general direction I needed to go. Finding the bridge, which is somewhat precarious, I crossed over the Grasse and gratefully met the DPF.

Hobblebush, Viburnum Lantanoides

The weather was overcast with moments of light rain, and temperatures in the high 50s. I expect this will sound less than ideal to most, but I enjoy hiking in the rain (moss and lichens glow, the soundscape is lovely, a light fog in the forest is magical, and there are generally fewer people).

Tree Lungwort, Lobaria Pulmonaria & Pincushion Moss, Leucobryum Glaucum

My first observation of the forest, which upon crossing the bridge is mostly deciduous (Sugar Maple, and Yellow Birch), was one of underwhelming blasé. I bushwhacked a few hundred yards, aimlessly, and stumbled upon what was once—emphasis on WAS—a trail. I did not see a cut stump in the entire forest, but on this trail there were plenty of blowdown cuts, none fresh. At points the trail became quite hard to follow, and took some trial and error, but I was able to follow it to an unmarked stream. Upon reaching the stream, with no sign of another trail, I opted to head toward a small pond, which is marked on only a few maps, “Deerskin Pond.”

The '“trail,” which was occasionally demarcated by downfall sawn in two

Perhaps I am an Old Growth snob, but nothing I saw en route to the pond was especially awe inspiring, and I would have ranked DPF quite low on my list. My perception changed as I came upon the pond, which was unlike any I’d seen thus far. I’d need someone with expertise to verify, but I would guess Deerskin Pond is a kettle pond. Descending the Eastern Hemlock lined ridge surrounding the pond I came upon a mossy plain mostly populated by spruce (with one notable, beautiful exception—see the photo of a Red Maple caked in Tree Lungwort). Approaching the pond the ground felt less stable, progressively, as I approached the shoreline. When I stepped out onto a nice vantage point, I watched waves of foggy mist roll over the surface of the pond—it dawned on me that even if McMartin were wrong about this parcel being Old Growth, even if the source map was wrong, it is highly unlikely the Black Spruce, and Tamarack enveloping the pond would have been either compelling, or accessible to lumberjacks. In all likelihood—with no visible invasive species, and not a single man-made noise within earshot—I stood in a place of untouched serenity. I had the good company of vocal Ruby-Crowned Kinglets, Carolina Wrens, Black-and-White Warblers, Nashville Warblers, Great Crested Flycatchers, White Throated Sparrows, Ovenbirds, and a favorite of mine: the Hermit Thrush. The pond kept giving, and I was glad to accept the auditory and visual performance.

Suspension bridge over the Middle Branch of the Grasse River

Floating Sphagnum island

I have to profess ignorance, because there is a lot I have left to learn, but here are some observations and theories I came up with:

1. Perhaps the pond—at least the open water portion—was once larger. Standing on the shore, it was clear I was not on ‘solid’ ground, but rather a somewhat gelatinous sphagnum moss platform. I wonder if as time rolls on, the pond is filling in with sediment, and the sphagum is moving slowly inward, pushing out the open water.

2. I only saw Lobaria Pulmonaria (Lungwort lichen—my favorite) down in the kettle. Perhaps, since this lichen prefers to be out of direct sunlight, in moist conditions, and out of direct/strong winds, maybe the section of forest I traversed to reach the pond was just not favorable for it. I almost always see this lichen in Old Growth, but in this case the kettle seemed to be the only host—and even then, on only one tree I saw. Could this be just related to growing conditions, or perhaps the hardwoods I treked thru were ‘relatively’ recently disturbed. This would not surprise me, becasue I saw only a handful of truly large trees—less so than I have ever seen in Old Growth thus far.

Having now seen the pond—before the Tamarack is fully ‘leafed’ out—I left this experience with a much more favorable opinion. At a minimum, I would like to come back in the fall, because I am sure when the Tamarack are in their full golden glory this will be an even more stunning sight. Additionally, I saw another trail as I approached the bridge on my return to the car—it appeared to head up Deerskin Creek, which is on the opposite side of the parcel I explored. Another hike, another day.