Oven Lake outlet stream

The following is a description of an eight-day bushwhacking adventure into some of the most remote areas within the Five Ponds Wilderness in the northwestern Adirondacks. The trip includes traversing areas of intense blowdown along the oddly-shaped Oven Lake, exploring a cluster of wilderness ponds and following the wild Robinson River. The second part of day four ends with a difficult struggle through softwood blowdowns around Oven Lake’s outlet.

Section Stats:
Date: July 1, 2011
Length: 0.6 miles (1.4 miles for the day)
Difficulty: Very Difficult

The western tip of the swamp is situated in a depression surrounded on three sides by a steep slope mainly forested with hardwood saplings. I bushwhack down to the swamps edge and then ascend along the northern slope as I begin my journey east back toward Oven Lake.

Forest broad-winged hawk emirged from

As I climb upslope along the swamp’s northern edge, I hear a broad-winged hawk whistling off in the distance to the west. I imitate the hawk’s call without even thinking, as if it were a reflex. Then out of the corner of my eye I spot the hawk flying in from the west through the trees. It is obviously curious despite the poor quality of my imitation. When the naïve hawk gets a good look at me, it quickly flies off and vanishes back into the forest. I am left with the feeling that I just may have offended the poor thing.

I return as quickly as possible to the vicinity of the lake’s western shore so as to avoid the more difficult going father into the forest. As I work my way along the shoreline to the northeast again, I pass a large island just off shore in the lake. The island is different from the majority of small, shrub covered islands present in Oven Lake. This island is a thin, sliver of a ridge with many medium-sized trees growing along its spine. Most of them appear to be red spruce but a larger eastern white pine stands at its very northern tip.

Although the sky is still mostly overcast, an occasion break allows for some welcome sunshine. Unfortunately, when the sun starts shining, the temperature suddenly climbs. The heat is more profoundly felt near the shoreline where the shading of the thick regenerating forest is absent. Soon darker clouds move back in and the temperature returns to more tolerable levels. I can do without the hot weather compounding the agony of bushwhacking through dense forest with a full backpack.

As I continue through the thick forest near the shoreline, I encounter a trail running through an area of thick ground cover. For a split second I wonder about the trail’s origin (Fishermen? Hunters?), but then its purpose becomes perfectly clear. Although the trail looks man-made, it is just another beaver trail. The beaver obviously journeys along this trail as it ventures from the lake in search of its favorite food. It must be making many trips given the trail’s highly defined nature.

Island on Oven Lake

Leaving the beaver trail behind, I soon arrive at the mouth of Oven Lake’s primary outlet stream. The stream is a wide pool where it meets the lake. The outlet is too wide to cross here, so I proceed to the north along the outlet’s edge looking for a possible beaver dam to act as a bridge. A constricted area seems promising for a beaver dam but I fail to see one from my vantage point along the pool’s edge. I may just have to keep moving northward until I can cross farther downstream.

I bushwhack north, roughly following the perimeter of the pool made by Oven Lake’s outlet. It proves difficult to follow too close to the water’s edge because of the dense vegetation and some downed trees. I cross a peninsula and decide not to investigate what lies at its tip given my failure to spot a dam from my earlier vantage point. This proves to be a big mistake, as I will soon find out.

Finally I run out of dry land to the north so I turn south to attempt to go around a tendril of the wetland. Based on the weaving tendril and the number of standing snags within the water, I am positive there must be an active beaver dam nearby. But after first going north and now turning south it appears as if I am making no progress whatsoever. Once around another tendril of the wetland, I turn west and the water slowly starts to vanish enough that I can walk across it without sinking into the muck more than an inch or so.

Beaver trail

I head back toward the east but still newly flooded areas keep stymieing my progress. Frustrated by the difficultly making the slightest progress, I decide to head directly north to the outlet stream. This heading takes me well downstream and hopefully well beyond the current flooded area. At this point it should be easier to either cross or spot the beaver dam father upstream. This turns out to be another mistake as I would soon discover.

The forest quickly becomes thicker and more softwood dominated, with numerous blow downs. I force myself forward through the tangle, thinking the stream is just a little farther ahead. By the time I am waist deep in softwood blow down and being slapped in the head by thick regeneration, every direction looks equally arduous and impenetrable.

Do I go back and try to find an alternative route? Or do I continue forward in the vain hope the stream is only a short distance ahead?

My stubbornness combined with the lack of options as far as alternative routes are concerned, I continue forcing my way foreword through dense tangle. The crisscrossing of downed spruce and fir, many with sharp limbs still present, threatening and hidden by their regenerating progeny, starts to take a toll on my poor skinny legs.

At his point scrapes and bruises abound from my thighs all the way down to my ankles. Luckily my Golite pants hold up to the onslaught since stopping to change into my only other pants is not an option. There are no viable places to set down my pack, let alone sit down and change.

Mosquitoes start to become more noticeable and irritating. Either the close proximity to the stream, my open wounds or my increasing desperation attracted them. They are apparently quite ravenous and quickly get down to business. Blood, mixed with sweat, streams from my neck and face almost as much as it does from the open wounds on my legs.

A slight sense of panic starts to settle in as impossible thoughts start to pop into my head. What if these conditions never stop? What if there is thick blow down all the way to Cracker Pond? Or the Robinson River? Where will I camp for the night? How will I get out of here in four days at my current snail’s pace?

Oven Lake outlet stream

The sound of rushing water through scattered rocks ahead shatters my depressing and desperate musings. The stream is close at hand! Finally! I step up my pace from an agonizing crawl to a desperate stumble in a last ditch effort to reach the stream before complete exhaustion sets in. Or I lose too much blood.

The regenerating softwoods are so dense that the stream remains out of sight until I finally burst through the tangle and stumble onto a sliver of open rock near the stream’s edge. The stream runs through several large slabs of open rock with a plentiful amount of woody debris scattered within. Thankfully, the stream is open enough with a plentiful supply of rocks and logs to allow for walking back toward the lake.

Thankfully there will be no returning to the punishing forest surrounding the stream.

Return later this week to read about my journey upstream and the surprise I find there. Plus my search for a campsite and a beaver visit.

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