Date / Moment: October 3, 2026
Location: Twin Ponds / fen
Type: OBSERVATION

Chris and I went out for a canoe paddle late Saturday morning, around 11:30, under a bluebird October sky. Temperatures were in the upper fifties and climbing toward sixty, with a light breeze out of the northeast.

We headed toward the narrows between Upper and Lower Twin and followed the western shore north, a direction we seldom take together. I had paddled portions of that shoreline southbound before and always enjoyed it. This time the shore gave us some shelter from the northeast breeze and a different view of a familiar part of the Ponds.

Despite the heavy maple defoliation earlier this year, the fall color along the shore was remarkably vibrant, particularly close to the water.

Near the northern corner of the fen we met the only other canoe we saw anywhere on Twin Ponds that day. The paddlers were residents of the western shore, and we floated together talking for a while before continuing on.

Rather than follow my usual route around the edge of the fen, I turned into the broad channel through its middle.

I had not paddled that way at all this year and probably not for well over a year, perhaps two. I have generally preferred following the margins of the fen rather than cutting through the center.

In places the opening was close to thirty yards wide, with fen on either side. I found myself wondering how much of that width represents the original cutting and how much developed afterward as the floating mat moved and changed.

When I am on these Ponds, I spend a lot of time looking down—at drowned timber, old stumps, the edge of the fen, changes in the bottom, and anything that stands apart from its surroundings.

While doing that, I noticed a large black log ahead of us.

It stood out enough that I turned the canoe toward it.

As we came closer, my first thought was:

Is that charred?

Yes. It was.

I estimated that at least three quarters of the exposed surface was charred, in places deeply. The remaining exposed areas were tan to gray and weathered.

From close by I could also get a better sense of its size. The timber was roughly the length of my thirteen-foot canoe and perhaps twenty to twenty-four inches in diameter. It lay horizontally, with perhaps three quarters submerged, and much of the wood below the surface carried a heavy coating of algae.

The ends caught my attention as well. Rather than ending square across the timber, the visible end surfaces ran diagonally. I could not tell from the canoe what had produced that form.

There were also worn depressions in the exposed wood. One in particular was smooth and shallow, rising gradually toward its edges. It reminded me of depressions worn into bedrock by stones moving in water, and also of the kind of hollow produced when one surface is repeatedly worked against another.

With the two dugouts already part of the history of this fen, it was impossible not to wonder about it.

I took several photographs from the canoe.

On the paddle back, Chris was interested too and asked what I was going to do. I told her I might come back and try to get better photographs, depending on the weather.

I also thought I would contact a professor at Paul Smith’s College. I had been meaning to contact him anyway about several other questions concerning the Ponds, and now I had one more.

For now, the log remains where I found it.

It is, at least for the moment, what I first thought it was when I paddled closer:

a large charred log.

ADDENDUM — OCTOBER 10, 2026

On October 4, the morning after finding the charred timber, I contacted Curt Stager, one of the researchers involved in the study of the two dugout canoes recovered from Twin Ponds in 1984.

I described the timber and asked whether he thought it warranted examination. I also asked whether he would be willing to discuss the dugouts and details of their recovery that had not appeared in the published paper.

Curt replied that morning. He was happy to discuss the dugouts and interested in visiting the site, including looking for possible additional signs of occupation. As for the timber, he cautioned that nine times out of ten such finds turn out to be fallen trees.

I then sent him a link to The Charred Log, the Field Scrawl page containing my photographs and observations.

Curt responded shortly afterward. The timber was definitely charred. Its appearance had also raised a question for him about the irregular shapes of the two recovered dugouts, which had puzzled him. He wondered whether trees burned in an earlier forest fire might have provided material that could be finished into simple watercraft with stone tools.

He also expressed interest in examining the fen and outlet.

Since he was interested in looking beyond the timber, I sent him a link to The System Asked for Boats, my reconstruction of the former waterways and the possibility that Atlantic salmon had entered the Twin Ponds system.

In his reply, Curt raised a possibility I had not considered: a sediment core might reveal marine nitrogen-15 isotopes associated with migratory fish.

Until then, I had thought primarily about historical accounts and the remote possibility of finding preserved salmon remains. Sediment chemistry offered another way to investigate the question.

We arranged a visit for Saturday, October 10, at 10:00 a.m.

Curt had studied the dugouts but had never actually visited Twin Ponds.

Chris joined us in another canoe.

The preceding several days had been windy, with gusts around 25 miles per hour and sometimes higher, and whitecaps on the pond. Saturday morning was nearly calm.

As we walked down from the car to the lean-to and canoe put-in, I offered Curt a laminated map kept there for visitors and family, with a modern aerial photograph on one side and a topographic map of the pond system on the other.

He declined, saying he already had it in his head.

I remarked that someone had apparently done his homework.

We left the map behind.

I took the stern and directed our canoe.

Curt had asked whether we could drive to the dam, but that would have required returning to the vehicles and approaching from another direction. We could reach it by water and examine the pond system along the way.

I made a short pass over the narrows first.

The morning sun was behind us as we headed northwest. I wanted Curt to see the submerged peninsula and how far it extends beneath the present water level. Given the calm conditions and angle of the sunlight, I expected a particularly good view.

Instead, the water appeared cloudy, unusual for this normally clear, spring-fed pond. The submerged peninsula was less distinct than on previous visits.

I was disappointed, although I didn’t mention it to Curt.

We could still examine the configuration of the passage, which would have been considerably more restricted before the 1980 impoundment.

From there we continued toward Little Duck Pond.

I suggested we could get out and cross the short portage to look at the pond, although we didn’t have to. Curt agreed, so we landed and walked the five yards or so to the shore.

The water had its characteristic greenish appearance.

Curt asked what I thought was causing it.

I suspected excessive nutrients, although the source was unknown. I mentioned what I had heard about the pond possibly having been used for holding baitfish or rearing brook trout during the Hungry Trout years.

I also recalled a conversation with Todd in 2023, when he told me that a New Brandon Fisheries biologist had similarly suspected excessive nutrients.

Curt considered whether a nearby household or another point source might be responsible. I explained why I had been wondering about the pond’s earlier use.

As we returned to the canoes, Chris began getting into hers while Curt and I looked back toward the narrows.

I pointed out how constricted that passage would have been before the impoundment. A relatively simple barrier or gate might have allowed people to retain fish in Upper Twin Pond, with its deep, cold water.

I mentioned an Irish study of Atlantic salmon remaining in freshwater for an extended period. The Lough Feeagh study reported that returning wild adult Atlantic salmon averaged 228 days in freshwater, approximately 90 percent of that time spent in the lake. Upper Twin Pond could conceivably have provided similar holding water. I compared it, somewhat jokingly, to a refrigerator.

Curt appeared interested.

I acknowledged that I had found no documentation establishing that Atlantic salmon actually occupied Twin Ponds.

We also returned briefly to the possibility of examining the sediment record, which Curt had raised in his earlier email.

Curt and I got back into our canoe and continued toward the outlet. We talked when something caught our attention, and at other times simply paddled.

Along the shoreline, we passed an uprooted tree, possibly white pine or hemlock, with stones and sediment caught in its exposed root mass.

We slowed to look.

Curt noted that such exposures can sometimes reveal archaeological material, including pottery fragments.

We continued through the fen toward the dam.

At one point, while paddling, I asked Curt about the X-Y coordinates associated with the 1984 recovery. Their precision had been one of the questions I wanted to raise with him.

He was doubtful that the coordinates identified the exact recovery locations. They appeared to be general reference points.

That was pretty much what I had suspected.

Chris had remained farther back along our route. She radioed that she was going to look for the charred log while Curt and I continued toward the outlet.

We reached the dam, landed, and walked downstream.

Below the dam, the widened overflow eventually narrowed into a more recognizable stream channel. Curt photographed the area looking upstream. He asked me to stand in one photograph for scale, then step out so he could take another without me.

We talked briefly about salmon migration through the system and touched again on the possibility of examining its sediment record.

On the walk back toward the dam and our canoe, I asked Curt how sediment coring was actually done.

He described lowering a coring device through the water column, adding sections of rod as needed to reach the bottom and operate the device in the sediment. Depending on the sediment accumulation, a core perhaps 12 to 18 inches long might be sufficient to reach deposits of interest.

He was interested in sampling at the deepest suitable location in the pond system. When we discussed where that would be, I told him Upper Twin Pond.

I mentioned the varying historical reports of its depth, including an October 4, 1933, account in The Malone Farmer describing water approaching 100 feet deep in places.

Farther along the return walk, I asked whether he would need to seek funding to undertake such work.

He said he already had funding.

The sediment-coring possibility was new to me. A marine-derived nitrogen isotope signal could provide evidence supporting the salmon hypothesis, although other possible sources would need to be considered. Failure to detect such a signal would not establish that salmon had never entered the system.

We were discussing a possible investigation, not arranging one.

After returning to the canoe, we paddled toward the peninsula near the outlet.

As we paddled, I again noticed how cloudy the water appeared. Under ordinary conditions, I can see well beneath the surface, including freshwater sponges at considerable depth.

I suspected that several days of strong winds had stirred bottom sediment. Curt suggested that the beginning of seasonal turnover might also explain the reduced clarity.

We continued to the peninsula I had privately designated Location 3.

Curt was interested in its position overlooking the waterways. From there, someone could observe the outlet in one direction and the fen in another, including the movement of fish through the system.

He thought it could have been a suitable location for a camp.

He also pointed out arrangements of rocks as examples of things worth examining more carefully. Why was one rock resting upon another? Had it arrived there naturally, or had someone placed it?

I had not told him about my designation. I had deliberately avoided directing him toward places I had marked on my maps.

Only after he had examined the peninsula did I tell him it was my Location 3.

Curt took additional photographs from a position partway up the slope, with the canoe in the foreground and the fen beyond it. He again asked me to step into the frame for scale, then step aside for another photograph.

As he photographed the fen, I pointed eastward toward a rock outcropping along the homeowners association trail. I had taken a photograph from that location that provided a good view of the area. I offered to send it to him, and he welcomed the offer.

I also mentioned Location 4, another area I had identified farther east and not far from where we stood. We did not go there.

As we paddled back toward Chris, I remembered Bill’s bathymetric maps.

Although Bill’s bathymetric maps were approximate, they could provide Curt with a general picture of the pond system’s depth profile. I offered to send them along with the photographs.

Chris was waiting at the charred log.

Curt examined the timber, paying particular attention to the oblique end that had first caught my eye.

He considered whether it might represent a saw cut and whether the log could be associated with a logging operation rather than the much earlier dugouts.

I suggested turning it over to examine the underside, and he agreed.

We maneuvered the canoe alongside the timber at the edge of the floating fen. I stepped out and used a smaller log behind it for support, but the footing wasn’t substantial enough. I gradually sank until water came over the tops of my muck boots.

We managed to roll the timber.

Its underside was considerably more deteriorated than the exposed surface and lacked the conspicuous charring that had drawn my attention.

We also considered the possibility of a tree burned in a forest fire and later deposited in the fen.

The examination provided no convincing evidence that the timber had been worked into a dugout or another archaeological object.

On our way back, as we approached the former Hungry Trout lean-to, I noticed that people were there. I hadn’t met the present owners, so I asked Curt whether he minded if we stopped briefly to introduce ourselves.

Curt agreed, and we stopped.

We then returned to the place.

Before leaving, Curt gave us a copy of one of his recent publications as a housewarming gift.

In our subsequent correspondence, I sent the promised photographs and bathymetric maps. Curt thanked us for the opportunity to explore Twin Ponds and left open the possibility of future projects.

I don’t intend to press Curt about another visit or sediment coring. He knows he is welcome to return.

Source note — Atlantic salmon freshwater residence

Cotter, D., Ling, E. N., Egan, F., Dillane, M., Ó Maoiléidigh, N., and Moore, A. (2025). Temporal and spatial use of a freshwater lake by upstream and downstream migrating adult Atlantic salmon Salmo salar. Journal of Fish Biology, 106(2), 492–513. https://doi.org/10.1111/jfb.15953