



Produced by Linda M. Everhart, Blairstown, Missouri




LOST POND

By
HENRY ABBOTT

NEW YORK
1915

Copyright 1915
by
HENRY ABBOTT



LOST POND

"Lost Pond" was a tradition, a myth. It had never been seen by any
living person. Two dead men, it was alleged, had visited it on
several occasions while they were yet living.

Wonderful tales were told about that pond for which many persons had
hunted, but which no one of the present generation had ever been able
to find.

Every guide in Long Lake township talked about Lost Pond and repeated
the legends, which through the passing years had probably lost none
of their original enticements. Many of these guides had even got the
stories at first hand from Captain Parker and Mitchel Sabattis.

Captain Parker, a famous hunter and trapper, had died about ten years
ago at the good old age of ninety-four years. Mitchel Sabattis, an
Indian, who had married a white woman and had brought up a family of
husky half-breeds, was the first settler in the Long Lake country. He
was a highly respected citizen, and a mountain and a United States
post office had been named after him. Sabattis lived to be a very old
man. Many believed him to be past a hundred years when he died, but
the family Bible was not available to prove the date of his birth.

Now, all of the natives knew that Lost Pond was somewhere on Seward
Mountain, and they apparently believed that the best fishing place in
the State was right in that pond. "By Mighty! that pond was just
alive with speckled trout--big ones. You could catch all you wanted
there in a few minutes. The water fairly boiled with the jumping
fish. Now, if we could only find it," etc.

To the layman it would seem, possibly a difficult, but certainly not
an impossible task, to find that lost pond; and if it was such a
remarkable fishing and hunting place as tradition painted it, why had
not some one combed out that mountain and recovered the pond?

Seward Mountain, seen from a distance of ten or fifteen miles, looked
like a hogback ridge. A nearer view disclosed the fact that it
included several peaks and ridges, and really covered a lot of
ground. The highest peak was perhaps not more than twenty-five
hundred feet above the lake. But if one could draw a straight line
through its base eastward from Raquette River to the foot of Sawtooth
Mountain, the line would measure about twelve miles. If a similar
line could be stretched northward from Cold River to Ampersand Lake,
it would be about eight miles.

One cannot, however, always go through a mountain. It is usually
necessary to go over or around it; and following up and down the
ridges, through ravines and around swamps and other obstacles, the
travel distances above named might be doubled, and then some. The
mountain was covered with forest, and there was not a human
habitation on it or within many miles of it in any direction. Some
lumbering had been done along Cold River and several of its tributary
creeks, but the higher portions were untouched and the heavy spruce
and hemlock cover looked black from up the lake.

Giving proper consideration to these facts and knowing the Long Lake
guides as well as I did, I could readily understand that it might be
less strenuous to tell the marvelous stories about Lost Pond than it
would be to go up in the Seward country and search out the pond. Then
there was always the possibility that too much investigation might
spoil a good story.

Ever since childhood I have possessed that very human characteristic
of wanting that which is forbidden, longing for what is just out of
reach; and when a thing is said to be impossible, I at once have an
intense desire to undertake to do that thing.

Now, there was good trout fishing in many of the ponds and streams
tributary to Long Lake which were comparatively easy to reach; but
this lost pond which I had heard so much about was so "impossible to
find" that I was possessed with an irresistible longing to find it,
to see what it looked like, to fish in it. So I discussed the matter
with Bige, who, with some show of reluctance, agreed to assist.

Bige and I had made many camping excursions up in the Cold River
country; had followed its crooked course about fifteen miles
upstream; had explored and fished a number of its tributary creeks on
the Santanoni side.

Cold River carries the drainage from Santanoni Mountain and foothills
on its left bank and on its right receives the flow from the eastern
and southern <DW72>s of Mount Seward.

One day in July, when Bige and I were up on Santanoni, from an
opening through the trees above a ledge of rocks we looked cross the
valley to Seward, studied the contour of its basins, peaks and
ridges, and agreed upon the spot where Lost Pond ought to be found.
We also determined upon a route which we should take to reach it, and
appointed the following Tuesday as the time when we should make our
start.

Monday night we packed our duffel so that we might make an early
start in the morning. We took our small light-weight tent, blankets,
aluminum cooking utensils, fishing rods, and food for three days. If
we should get some fish the grub might be stretched across four days.

We expected some strenuous tramping, so determined to "go light" and
omitted many things we usually take on our trips; but when we
"weighed in," Bige's pack tipped the scales at fifty-two pounds and
mine weighed thirty-seven. I am not selfish in such matters, so gave
Bige all the heavy things.

With our two packs stowed amidships, Bige in the