Western portion of stygian beaver swales

The following is a chronicle of an eight-day bushwhacking adventure into some of the most remote areas within the Five Ponds Wilderness Area in the northwestern Adirondacks. The trip includes traversing some areas of intense blow down along the oddly-shaped Oven Lake, exploring a cluster of wilderness ponds and following along the wild Robinson River. The second part of the third day is a bushwhack along a series of beaver swales, a bog and a steep ridge before finally arriving at Oven Lake.

Date: June 30, 2011
Length: 0.8 miles (3.4 miles for the day)
Difficulty: Moderate

My long bushwhack from Streeter Fishpond to Robinson River is behind me. With a full belly after a late lunch, I can now proceed to Oven Lake. The aerial photographs (obtained from Bing Maps) appear to indicate a plethora of regenerating blowdown surrounding the lake. So the last leg of the day may turn out to be an arduous task.

According to my topographical map, a stream to the east/southeast of my present location has a wetland as its source. The wetland happens to be adjacent to the southern end of Oven Lake. This stream and its surrounding wetlands may provide an easier corridor to gain access to Oven Lake than attempting to fight my way through the surrounding blowdown. I set a general compass bearing to the southeast and head off through the dense coniferous vegetation toward the stream.

I stumble through a small, shrubby wetland for a short time before reaching the stream corridor. In my haste to reach the stream corridor, I fail to notice a small depression filled with water. The small depression swallows my boot with a splash and my foot becomes suddenly chilled. Luckily, my gaiters prevent me from getting a complete foot-soaking or the rest of the trip to Oven Lake would be quite uncomfortable.

The forest began to open up, indicating the feeder stream is close at hand. I change my bearing to a more eastward direction to intersect with an unnamed water body further upstream and closer to my eventual destination. Since this water body is unnamed and surrounded by wetland on the USGS topographical map, I expect to find something more in the line of a beaver swale than a rock-lined glacial pond or lake.

After bushwhacking through the forest a short distance, I arrive at the wetland and I am not surprised when it turns out to be exactly what I expect. This wetland contains a significant amount of open water densely populated with coniferous snags. Many small, scattered islands lay surrounded by the dark, stagnant water. These small islands might be either clumps of floating vegetation or solid ground but it was impossible to tell from my vantage point along the edge of the wetland.

The lack of bird activity gives the wetland an eerie feeling. Other than a couple of sightings and an occasional vocalization the area appears to be without birds. Could something living within the dark waters be causing the absence? I am delighted to finally observe a small flock of common grackles flying back and forth through the snags even if they continuously screech warnings of my presence. A northern waterthrush loudly sings to the northeast and reduces my anxiety over the strange quiet further.

Although I observe no beaver upon my arrival, evidence of their presence abounds. Many old stumps with chewed tops stand as testament to the impact of these large rodents along the sloped northern shore. The absence of woody vegetation along the shore makes the walking easier at first but becomes increasingly more difficult with some thick conifer regeneration.

As I move along shore, nature calls suddenly and I retreat off into the forest to do my business. In my attempt to find an ideal location to answer nature’s call I observe a plentiful amount of moose droppings. Apparently, I am not the only one to hear natures call in the vicinity of this wetland.

Stygian water of beaver swale

When I stoop down to wash my hands in the stagnant water (I know, not the smartest idea), a blur of brown flashes right in front of me. It turns out to be a northern waterthrush. Although I heard the bird stridently singing for a while upon my arrival, I never expected to actually see him fly right in front of my face. He almost immediately starts singing again at his new location, apparently never noticing or simply not caring about our near collision.

Shortly after continuing my hike along the shore to the northeast, I observe a beaver climb up onto one of the little vegetated islands scattered about the wetland. The true size of these rodents never ceases to amaze me; it is impossible to appreciate their full size when they are swimming in the water. As quickly as the beaver appeared, it slinks back into the dark water and seemingly disappears.

Eastern portion of stygian beaver swales

After walking to the northeast along the wetland’s northern shore for a while, a loud splash startles me out of my woolgathering. Apparently, the clever beaver stalked me until it felt the time was right to shock me with its tail splashing. With the beaver’s unhappiness duly noted, I continue with a slightly faster pace.

At the stygian wetland’s eastern terminus, I set my compass for a bearing of 60 degrees and head for the boggy, open wetland that apparently is the source of the beaver swale I had been following. This northern wetland stretches almost the entire way to my final destination for the day so I hoped for an easy bushwhack for the remaining portion of the day’s trek.

Instead of trying to locate the connecting stream between the beaver swales behind me and their source wetland, I head directly through the forest toward Oven Lake. Since the source wetland intersects this straight-line bearing there is no chance of missing this bog before reaching my final destination.

Source bog

Getting through the small stretch of forest between the two wetlands is a struggle. The young hardwood saplings grow so close together I am continuously squeezing my way between them. The progress is extremely slow with the vegetation constantly slapping me in the face and pulling on my backpack. Weaving around the large root masses and downed logs hidden within the thick vegetation makes the going even more painfully difficult. A sense of relief floods over me when I finally see the open wetland through the dense vegetation.

The source wetland is an open bog; fairly open with herbaceous vegetation dominating the center and snags, shrubbery and small trees scattered around its perimeter. Carnivorous plants, such as pitcher plants and sundews, are abundant throughout the open portion of this wetland.

The wetness and instability of the wetland forces me to abandon the idea of cutting through to make better time. Instead I climb up a steep ridge along the wetland’s northern border. Although there are many mature trees still present along the ridge, the understory is dense and above my head making navigation difficult.

Mylar balloon remains

From the top of the ridge I am able to see open water down in the bog I just recently departed. From my current vantage point it is not possible to determine whether the high herbaceous vegetation or the scattered shrubs and trees blocked my view of the open water while I was at the boggy wetland’s border just a short time ago.

My view to the north is obscured by extremely dense hardwood saplings. Apparently, this area was hard hit by the 1995 Microburst. From the denseness of the regeneration it appears the area was 100% blowdown after this historic 16-year old storm. Thank goodness I did not have to wade through that mess today!

While navigating the ridge top an unnatural blue color on the ground caught my eye. It is the remains of another stinking Mylar balloon. It is mostly buried in leaves and the original bright blue color is badly faded. Apparently the balloon dropped out of the sky a long time ago. I hate helium-filled balloons and think they should be made illegal. I pick up the balloon (actually it turns out to be a mere fragment) and stuff it into my pocket, shaking my head the entire time.

Southern Oven Lake

When I spot a break in the dense understory vegetation ahead a feeling of elation overcomes me since I finally arrived at my destination for the day without having to wade through any intense blowdowns. I rush through the remaining forest separating me from the lake despite my exhaustion from the day’s long journey. Upon reaching the shoreline it is nearly 4:30 PM and I am relieved that one of the longest days of the entire 8-day trip is behind me.

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