The Scaroon Country—Scaroon Lake—Pike Fishing by Torch-light—Trout
Fishing—Lyndsey’s Tavern—Paradox Lake.
Lyndsey’s Tavern. June.
Emptying into the Hudson River, about fifteen miles north of Glen’s
Falls, is quite a large stream, sometimes called the East Branch of the
Hudson, but generally known as Scaroon River.[1] Its extreme length is
not far from fifty miles. It is a clear, cold, and rapid stream, winds
through a mountainous country, and has rather a deep channel. The valley
through which it runs is somewhat cultivated, but the mountains, which
frown upon it on either side, are covered with dense forests. The valley
of the Scaroon abounds in beautiful lakes and brooks; and as I have
explored them pretty thoroughly during the past week, I will now record
the result of my observations.
The most prominent pictorial features of this region is Scaroon Lake,
through which the river of that name forms a channel. It is ten miles in
length, and averages about one in width. Excepting a little hamlet at
its head, and two or three farms at the southern extremity, it is yet
surrounded with a wilderness of mountains. The waters thereof are deep
and clear, and well supplied with fish, of which the salmon-trout and
pike are the most valuable. The trout are more abundant here than in
Lake George, but owing to the prevailing custom of spearing them in the
autumn, they are rapidly becoming extinct. I made a desperate effort to
capture one as a specimen, but without success, though I was told that
they varied in weight from ten to fifteen pounds. My efforts, however,
in taking pike were more encouraging. But, before giving my experience,
I must mention an interesting fact in natural history. Previous to the
year 1840, Scaroon Lake was not known to contain a single pike, but
during that year, some half dozen males and females were brought from
Lake Champlain and deposited therein, since which time they have
multiplied so rapidly, as to be quite abundant, not only in Scaroon
Lake, but in all the neighbouring waters. And as they are frequently
taken, weighing some twenty pounds, the fact seems to be established
that this fish grows rapidly, and is not of slow growth, as many
naturalists have supposed.
But to my pike story. A number of lumbermen were going out for the
purpose of taking pike by torch-light, and I was fortunate enough to
secure a seat in one of the three flat boats which contained the
fishermen. It was a superb night, and the lake was without a ripple. Our
torches were made of “fat pine,” as it is here called; and my polite
friends taking it for granted that I was a novice in the spearing
business, they cunningly awarded to me the dullest spear in their
possession, and gave me the poorest position in the boat. I said nothing
to all this, but inwardly resolved that I would give them a salutary
lesson, if possible. I fished from nine until twelve o’clock, and then
left my friends to continue the sport. The entire number of pike taken,
as I found out in the morning, was thirteen; and, as fortune would have
it, four of this number were captured by myself, in spite of my poor
spear. I did not take the largest fish, which weighed eighteen pounds,
but the greatest number, with which success I was fully satisfied. The
effect of my good luck upon my companions was unexpected, but gratifying
to me; for there was afterwards a strife between them, as to who should
show me the most attention in the way of piloting me about the country.
This little adventure taught me the importance of understanding even the
vagabond art of spearing.
The event of that night, however, which afforded me the purest
enjoyment, was the witnessing of a moonlight scene, immediately after
leaving the Lake shore, for the inn where I was staying. Before me, in
wild and solemn beauty, lay the southern portion of the Scaroon, on
whose bosom were gliding the spearmen, holding high above their heads
three huge torches, which threw a spectral glare, not only upon the
water, but upon the swarthy forms which were watching for their prey.
Just at this moment an immense cloud of fog broke away, and directly
above the summit of the opposite mountain, the clear full moon made its
appearance, and a thousand fantastic figures, born of the fog, were
pictured in the sky, and appeared extremely brilliant under the
effulgence of the ruling planet; while the zenith of sky was of a deep
blue, cloudless, but completely spangled with stars. And what greatly
added to the magic of the scene, was the dismal scream of a loon, which
came to my ear from a remote portion of the Lake which was yet covered
with a heavy fog.
Rising from the western margin of Scaroon Lake, is a lofty mountain,
which was once painted by Thomas Cole, and by him named Scaroon
Mountain. There is nothing particularly imposing about it, but it
commands an uncommonly fine prospect of the surrounding country. When I
first came in sight of this mountain, it struck me as an old
acquaintance, and I reined in my horse for the purpose of investigating
its features. Before I resumed my course, I concluded that I was
standing on the very spot whence the artist Cole had taken his original
sketch of the scene, by which circumstance I was convinced of the
fidelity of his pencil.
The largest island in Scaroon Lake lies near the northern extremity, and
studs the water like an emerald on a field of blue. It was purchased
some years ago by a gentleman of New York, named Ireland, who has built
a summer residence upon it, for the accommodation of himself and
friends.
Emptying into the Scaroon river, just below the Lake, is a superb
mountain stream, known as Trout Brook. It is thirty feet wide, twelve
miles long, and comes rushing down the mountains, forming a thousand
waterfalls and pools, and filling its narrow valley with a continual
roar of music. Not only is it distinguished for the quality and number
of its trout, but it possesses one attraction which will pay the tourist
for the weary tramp he must undergo to explore its remote recesses. I
allude to what the people about here call the “Stone Bridge.” At this
point, the wild and dashing stream has formed a channel directly through
the solid mountains; so that in fishing down, the angler suddenly finds
himself standing upon a pile of dry stones. The extent of this natural
bridge is not more than twenty, or perhaps thirty feet; but the wonder
is, that the unseen channel is sufficiently large to admit the passage
of the largest logs, which the lumbermen float down the stream.
I might also add, that at the foot of this bridge is one of the finest
pools imaginable. It is, perhaps, one hundred feet long; and so very
deep, that the clear water appears quite black. This is the finest spot
in the whole brook for trout; and my luck there may be described as
follows: I had basketed no less than nine half-pounders, when my fly was
suddenly seized, and my snell snapped in twain by the fierceness of his
leaps. The consequence of that defeat was, that I resolved to capture
the trout, if I had to remain there all night. I then ransacked the
mountain-side for a living bait, and with the aid of my companion,
succeeded in capturing a small mouse, and just as the twilight was
coming on, I tied the little fellow to my hook, and threw him on the
water. He swam out in fine style; but when he reached the centre of the
pool, a large trout leaped completely out of his element, and in
descending, seized the mouse. The result was, that I broke my rod, but
caught the trout; and though the mouse was seriously injured, I had the
pleasure of again giving him his liberty.
The largest trout that I killed weighed nearly a pound; and though he
was the cause of my receiving a ducking, he afforded me some sport, and
gave me a new idea. When I first hooked him, I stood on the very margin
of the stream, knee deep in a bog; and just as I was about to basket
him, he gave a sudden leap, cleared himself, and fell into the water.
Quick as thought, I made an effort to rescue him; but in doing so, lost
my balance, and was playing the part of a turtle in a tub of water. I
then became poetical, and thought it “would never do to give it up so;”
and after waiting some fifteen minutes, I returned, and tried for the
lost trout again. I threw my fly some twenty feet above the place where
I had tumbled in, and recaptured the identical trout which I had lost. I
recognized him by his having a torn and bleeding mouth.
This circumstance convinced me that trout, like many of the sons of men,
have short memories, and also that the individual in question was a
perfect Richelieu or General Taylor in his way, for he seemed to know no
such word as fail. As to the trout that I did not capture, I verily
believe that he must have weighed two pounds; but as he was probably a
superstitious gentleman, he thought it the better part of valour,
somewhat like Santa Anna, to treat the steel of his enemy with contempt.
The brook of which I have been speaking, is only twenty-five miles from
Lake Horicon, and unquestionably one of the best streams for the angler
in the Scaroon Valley. The Trout Brook Pavilion, at the mouth of it,
kept by one Lockwood, is a comfortable inn; and his right-hand man,
named Kipp, is a very fine fellow, and a perfect angler.
Speaking of the above friends, reminds me of another, a fine man, named
Lyndsey, who keeps a tavern, about ten miles north of Scaroon Lake. His
dwelling is delightfully situated in the centre of a deep valley, and is
a nice and convenient place to stop at for those who are fond of
fishing, and admire romantic scenery. His family, including his wife,
two daughters and one son, not only know how to make their friends
comfortable, but they seem to have a passion for doing kind deeds.
During my stay at this place, I had the pleasure of witnessing a most
interesting game, which seems to be peculiar to this part of the
country. It was played with the common ball, and by one hundred sturdy
farmers. Previous to the time alluded to, fifty Scaroon players had
challenged an equal number of players from a neighbouring village, named
Moriah. The conditions were, that the defeated party should pay for a
dinner, to be given by my friend Lyndsey. They commenced playing at nine
o’clock, and the game was ended in about three hours, the Scaroon party
having won by about ten counts in five hundred. The majority of the
players varied from thirty to thirty-five years of age, though some of
the most expert of them were verging upon sixty years. They played with
the impetuosity of school-boys; and there were some admirable feats
performed in the way of knocking and catching the ball. Some of the men
could number their acres by thousands, and all of them were accustomed
to severe labour, and yet they thought it absolutely necessary to
participate occasionally in this manly and fatiguing sport. The dinner
passed off in fine style, and was spiced by many agricultural anecdotes;
and as the sun was setting, the parties separated in the best of
spirits, and returned to their several homes.
For fear that I should forget my duty, I would now introduce to my
reader, a sheet of water embosomed among these mountains, which glories
in the name of Lake Paradox. How it came by that queer title, I was not
able to learn; but this I know, that it is one of the most beautiful
lakes I have ever seen. It is five miles long, and surrounded with
uncultivated mountains, excepting at its foot, where opens a beautiful
plain, highly cultivated, and dotted with a variety of rude but
exceedingly comfortable farm-houses. The shores of Lake Paradox are
rocky, the water deep and clear, abounding in fish, and the lines of the
mountains are picturesque to an uncommon degree.
But it is time that I should turn from particulars to a general
description of the Scaroon Country. Though this is an agricultural
region, the two principal articles of export are lumber and iron. Of the
former, the principal varieties are pine, hemlock, and spruce; and the
two establishments for the manufacture of iron are abundantly supplied
with ore from the surrounding mountains. Potatoes of the finest quality
flourish here, also wheat and corn. The people are mostly Americans,
intelligent, virtuous and industrious, and are as comfortable and happy
as any in the State.