Wild Rivers

By Paul Schaefer

In Defending the Wilderness: The Adirondack Writings of Paul Schaefer, by Paul Schaefer (Syracuse University Press, 1989; © Paul Schaefer). Reproduced with permission from the publisher.

Adirondack rivers always intrigue me, but full appreciation of their splendor and variety came only after years of fighting for their preservation with scores of associates.

I vividly recall a first trip into the Higley Mountain country in May 1945. Here, a dozen miles back in the woods, an unnecessary impoundment threatened to inundate the famous Moose River Plains, the Beaver Lake region and the Indian River.

Although I had backpacked a lot of Adirondack country, the quality of this wilderness surpassed any that I had yet seen. The plains had solitude and Beaver Lake was surrounded with virgin white pines of great beauty. Wildlife was abundant. On the first day, I stood at the shore of Beaver Lake, several deer were feeding on the opposite shore, a bald eagle soared over it, and just about dusk a raccoon made its way along a sandbar. That night we listened to the call of a loon, and later as we were catching bullheads of prodigious size near the east shore, a fearless beaver splashed the waters nearby.

Next morning I followed the outlet of Beaver Lake to Indian River and took a well-worn game trail upstream under ancient pines, which guard it. The crystal-clear water was singing as it sparkled over boulders on its way to join the South Branch of the Moose River, just below the cliffs of Higley Mountain. Above a small rapids, I came upon a long, quiet and still water, its banks bedecked with wildflowers, ferns, and grasses. Immense spruces formed an evergreen canyon upstream, with an occasional pine towering high above their spired tops.

I stood there in awe at the perfection of nature around me. Then came the sudden realization that all of this might soon be lost forever: the great forest reduced to a cemetery of stumps, the rich, lush forest floor alternately drowned and dry; a deer emerged from the shadows of the forest to drink in a sunlit pool. Just upstream, a trout leapt for a fly,

Here was wilderness — solitude, serenity, and peace!

Who, having known such moments, could abandon such country to the fate we foresaw?

Years of intense activity followed, during which virtually all outdoor organizations gradually mobilized their forces for the first time in the effort to preserve these irreplaceable lowlands. It took eleven years to assure the preservation of the valley of the South Branch of the Moose River.

A special investigating commission named by Governor Thomas E. Dewey killed the proposed Higley dam in 1947. Shortly thereafter, an even larger reservoir, the Panther Mountain, was proposed for a site about five miles below the proposed Higley Dam on the same river. 

This issue was the subject of litigation in state and federal courts for several years. An act of the legislature in 1950 banned any dam on the Moose River, and constitutional amendments in 1953 and in 1955 made the issue final.

The record will show that all during this long and exhaustive effort, conservationists offered alternatives to the destruction of this valley. They favored the proposed downstream flood control reservoirs at Forestport and Hawkinsville. They strongly supported the Saint Lawrence River and Niagara Falls power development.

Subsequently other major reservoir proposals surfaced: the Salmon River, the Hudson at Luzerne, and most incredible of all, the Hudson at Kettle Mountain or at a site near the Gooley cabin during the mid-1960s. The latter would have destroyed sixteen thousand acres of prime forest, lake, and river country, the town of Newcomb, the Huntington Wildlife Research Forest, and more. Because the people of our state demonstrated that they cared enough, the legislature and the governor heard their voices clearly; and the projects were shelved. In the case of the proposed Gooley dam, the legislature unanimoussy adopted legislation to prohibit it, and Governor Rockefeller signed it.

It was only natural, therefore, that when Governor Rockefeller's Temporary Study Commission on the Future of the Adirondacks proposed a Wild, Scenic, and Recreational Rivers System to prevent such destruction, it won overwhelming support. Related to this proposal was the decision of the Association for the Protection of the Adirondacks to create a documentary film on the subject. We felt the public needed answers to these basic questions: Where were these rivers? What portions of them would be preserved? And why?

By happy coincidence, a young man from Glens Falls, needing a documentary to get his master's degree in filmmaking from Boston University appeared at our office. Fred Sullivan began his work in April 1971 and completed the film in October 1972.

Guided at times by members of the Adirondack Hudson River Association, but largely on his own, Sullivan and his crew from the university ranged the park, exploring its remote rivers and climbing cataracts to find their sources in high sphagnum swamps and mountaintop lakes. He quickly found the relationship between clouds, trees, and soil; brought wildlife into his viewfinder; and caught the elusive spirit of wilderness campfires on his film. Thunderstorms, black flies, and snowstorms were part of the story. He related the erosion of fragile resources to people in such a way that the need for better planning and controls became obvious.

Starting out with no preconceptions as to Adirondack problems, his thesis crystallized the philosophy expressed by the Adirondack Study Commission. It clearly pointed the way for comprehensive action by all facets of our society. The film spurred action on a problem that will require years to solve completely.

The first major step in this direction was made in 1972 by Assemblyman Glenn H. Harris and State Senator Bernard C. Smith. Their bill, which was passed and signed by the governor, set up a Wild, Scenic, and Recreational Rivers System as was proposed. One hundred and eighty miles of the most critical rivers were included in it, and they now have this special protection.

The Harris-Smith Bill also provided that the Adironack Park Agency, after consultation and cooperation with the environmental conservation commissioner with respect to rivers elsewhere, consider and make proposals to the legislature within three years for the addition of sections of other rivers.

Of the two thousand miles of rivers within the park, a total of about one thousand were to be studied for inclusion in the system. Of this mileage, 180 miles are now in the system. [By 1986, another 1,238 miles of Adironack rivers were brought under the system.] A large percentage of the rivers to be studied are in private ownership where it will be necessary either to purchase or obtain covenants from the owners. Undoubtedly the covenant will be the most viable method of getting protection.

Here is a unique opportunity to give proper considerin northwestern portion of the park where there are tremendous natural resources that have been almost completely overlooked by conservationists.

The principle of a system to protect our rivers has now been fully established— an accomplishment that only a few years ago seemed impossible. It is now up to us to see that this program moves ahead.

We need to develop a rivers ethic that will go beyond legislative or state agency mandates. This ethic should be based on a comprehensive knowledge of the total river resource. Few have this knowledge. It also involves appreciation and understanding of the vast network of tributary streams, scores of which are neither named nor designated on any map. The ethic would be the belief that each of us is custodian of the rivers to their ultimate sources and that we exercise concern for their preservation.

If we will, we could bequeath to posterity a rich heritage of clean, free-flowing rivers and streams, with countless waterfalls and cataracts, and white-water rapids to challenge one's skill. If we do, decades hence many youths will walk down winding mountain trails and will hear, as we have heard, the roar of a distant Adirondack river. Their steps will quicken and they will know strange, new emotions. And that night, before their campfire they will experience, as we have, the unsurpassed exhilaration that only a wild, untamed river can provide.