Upstate oasis
Late-summer colors are a feast for the eyes on the Oswegatchie River
![]() | Serene streamside camp on the Oswegatchie River. |
Alan Belford / Canoe & Kayak |
Perhaps Oswegatchie means “black river,” as Onondaga tradition claims. Or perhaps it means “coming or going around a hill.” Or maybe, as my friend suggested, it’s the trash talk you dish out to mosquitoes as you slap them: “Oss, I gotch ye!” But regardless of the correct derivation, the Oswegatchie River of New York’s Adirondacks offers many more mysterious bends than it does cryptic meanings.
Our August trip on the Oswegatchie began at the Inlet put-in, and we easily slipped upstream around a series of meandering curves. The way was initially lined with spruce and balsam, but soon opened into a sunny expanse dominated by alder thickets that choked the banks and tightly crowded out all visibility 10 to 12 feet above the river. The gray skeletons of dead snags accented this undergrowth, and higher bluffs were topped with spruces, firs, and pines, providing perches where alder flycatchers and cedar waxwings gleaned insects and hairy woodpeckers hammered.
The Oswegatchie bisects the northern region of the Five Ponds Wilderness Area in upstate New York.
The Oswegatchie bisects the northern region of the Five Ponds Wilderness Area, and after winding upstream for a few miles, the river began to narrow and the bluffs were closer to the waterway, presenting us with places to camp. Camping is permitted either 150 feet from waterways or trails or in designated sites along the Oswegatchie corridor; some of these contain privies, others lean-tos.
Our campsite offered both. Setup was hasty because of numerous mosquitoes in the on-shore greeting party, but we had places to swim (the many curves offer excellent pools), and my east-facing tent was bathed by a golden sunrise, accompanied by a chorus of songbirds that included northern waterthrush and black-billed cuckoo.
Seren streamside camp
While the curves often separated us visually, our small string of canoes grouped at the beaver dams and strainers that became prevalent as the stream narrowed. Beaver drag paths through the alder were obvious, too, well-worn tunnels through the brush strewn with dead leaves and twigs. Our shoes and shorts were soon wet from the series of liftovers that the dams afforded us, but the sun was warm. Although most of us had to settle for seeing such evidence of beavers, the lead canoe spooked two of what they called “enormous beavers,” and the disturbed workers offered them an annoyed tail slap and disappearing dive. Maybe these builders should have contacted their union representative about being harassed on the job.
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The forest eventually dominated the passage, and a phalanx of spruce and fir guarded either shore as the trip continued south. When we reached the small footbridge that marked a trail crossing 11 miles upstream from Inlet, we traded our paddles for hiking boots, taking the few-mile round-trip into the five ponds for which the wilderness area is named. It is an easy hike, hugging the contours of a glacial esker and ending in the clear reflections of the small ponds such as Big Shallow and Little Five, where we dodged a passing thunderstorm, sharing our lean-to shelter with some Russian tourists.
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