The Oswegatchie Swap

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For comprehension though, there's nothing like a demonstration. As we camped that evening, a dry northwest breeze promised that the following day would provide us with the opportunity that we needed in order to complete our swap. Kit and I were now both able to maneuver the canoe well enough in river currents. Peter had his equip ment and he understood basic dynamics. But he still had not put a line to water, much less brought a trout into the boat.

Day Four.

High Falls and Home Feeling far more confident than we had two days previous, Kit, Ditte, and I crewed together again. As we set off downstream, the sun punched through the thinning cloud cover and warmed us all. With every paddle stroke the sky steadily cleared. After less than a mile, we shed our now superfluous rain gear.

The river now seemed to widen by the yard. Gone were the challenges of snaking hairpin turns and countless beaver dams. Now a swifter, stronger river uncoiled alternately through stands of virgin timber 80-100 feet high and lush open meadows wearing the bright colors of an Adirondack spring. Proud of our newly acquired skills, we played with our canoe in the currents, smoothly gliding to our final portage around High Falls.

It was during lunch on these rocks that the casting lesson finally came. I brought Peter and Patrick to a large flat boulder overlooking a deep pool at the head of the falls. I went over once more all that we had talked about during the rain the day before. Wanting them to have time to make and appreciate their own mistakes, I gave only one or two brief demonstrations of the basic casting strokes separately, forward and back. Then I handed Peter his rod, stepped aside, and encouraged him to play. Within an hour both Peter and Patrick were throwing a solid 30-40 feet of line properly, on both the forward and the back stroke. The tip of the rod moved in level planes and the loops of the line were small. Watching them on the rock, mesmerized by the long rod and line, I knew they had begun what would almost certainly be a lifelong journey.

We deftly completed our final portage around the falls. We scooted down the sun-drenched river to our take out near Wanakena, deftly skirting hidden rocks and gliding with the true rush of success through the small rapids in this stretch. The smiles all around predicted the fun of years to come. Banging the tailgate of our truck closed as we finished loading up for the long haul back to Jersey City, we were now content to consider our deal complete. The scales of exchange were, for a brief moment, well-balanced.

Two weeks after Charlie's trip, thunderstorms with hurricane force winds leveled thousands of acres of forest in the Adirondack Park, including much if not all of what he had been so privileged to see. In a natural upheaval not seen since the Big Blow of 1950, the East Branch of the Oswegatchie has been rendered impassable and is likely to remain so for some time. It may be one hundred years or more before the forest can fully recover, so be sure to update your guidebooks if you plan on going this year.—

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