At 3,320 feet, Loon Lake Mountain overlooks some of the most isolated backcountry in the northeastern Adirondacks. In the distance is Whiteface. Barred with a single band of white, you are just able to discern the Veterans Memorial Highway snaking its way up from Wilmington. Ponds and creeks dot the rugged landscape, and Lake Kushaqua remained dusted with fresh snow-reminding us that winter isn’t over yet.

The mountain’s derelict LS-40 fire tower, built by the Aermotor Company in 1917, has braved the harsh North Country elements for just under a century.  The serenity of this early March afternoon was pervaded only by a hollow metallic clanging; with every gust of wind, the roof panels of the tower’s cab would lift up and set back down, producing a sound not unlike hammering the side of a 55-gallon oil drum. The sad state of one of the Adirondacks’ most iconic fixtures imbued in me a sense of nostalgia and wistfulness—and also prompted me to climb the derelict structure.

As I am not the lithest of individuals, I was guided up the area where stairs once stood with the aid of my roommates. We began the 35-foot ascent up the tower on the deteriorating stairs. You can identify the height of a fire tower by the flights of stairs. Three flights and you’ve climbed 22 feet, five flights, 35. And 12 flights, you’re looking at 80 feet.

The soft boards that remained bowed under my boots, and it was advised to walk on the edges of the steps, where the solid bolts and rivets securing them to the frame provided some extra support.

At each landing, more sprawling Adirondack scenery unfurled beyond us. Buck Pond, visible just south of Lake Kushaqua, was now in view through the wire mesh installed in the tower. The wind picked up, and the gusts were strong enough to push you backwards. It only served to enhance the experience.

The cab provided little protection from the wind. Windows had been broken out long ago and the neglected roof continued to clatter spasmodically overhead. Late afternoon sunlight shone through slats and gaps in the metal. Yet the tower itself- bolted firmly to the Adirondack granite – never budged. The folks at Aermotor 99 years ago had done their job well. The cab floor was barren save for bits of broken glass, and the tower was devoid of its panoramic map and fire-finding alidade.

It was in this tower, Loon Lake Mountain observer Bernard “Bryn” Payne whittled away the time keeping watch from 1920 to 1924. Two decades later, Joseph Keith, a former bombsite mechanic on B-17s and B-24s, took a job as an observer. During that time, there were very few tourists to the mountain, and Keith would drive his Model T Ford two miles up the four-mile trail to the asphalt-shingled observer’s cabin. Keith later recounted a tale one summer night, when he was posted up in the tower during a thunderstorm, and a bolt of lightning struck the tower. He watched from his wooden chair as a fireball momentarily enveloped the cab.

Another tale of Loon Lake describes an observer, whose name is lost to the sand of time, who was so worried about the presence of bears in the area that he requested that he be allowed to carry a shotgun. He was given permission if he obtained the proper permit. Later, he showed up with a goose gun that “had a barrel two-to-four sizes larger than a regular shotgun.”

This is the history that we will lose if we let these towers sink further into disrepair. Loon Lake Mountain isn’t the only decrepit tower in the state. There are a total of 127 towers on New York State’s roster, and only 32 are restored. These important pieces of Adirondack heritage stand as mountaintop sentinels, slowly deteriorating atop summits that offer pristine beauty in almost incongruous harmony. Although efforts are underway to restore several more, they are for the most part volunteer and grassroots organizations.

There are two towers close to my hometown in Binghamton, NY. The framework of an 80-foot LS-40 Aermotor is currently in use by television and radio stations to broadcast signals from atop Ingraham Hill, just two miles from the city. The other is Page Pond Hill, 45 minutes east from Binghamton on Route 17. A 1933 Model International Derrick tower, this was erected by the C.C.C. in order to observe reforestation projects. Page Pond Hill is on private property, and is not accessible to the public. Living in Binghamton all my life, I only discovered these two after doing some reading on the State’s website. While the fire tower is most closely associated with the Adirondacks here in New York, they were placed throughout the state, and each tower has a history all its own.

Climbing Loon Lake Mountain’s fire tower and seeing its steel skeleton silhouetted in the waning daylight against the blue sky compelled me to further research these pieces of New York State Forest Protection past. They are fascinating, they are unique, and nothing on a hike is more exhilarating than being able to climb into one of the cabs, and connect history to living in the moment.

 


IMG_20160401_104513When not playing guitar in a style similar to that of his heroes Carl Perkins and Grady Martin, Stacey spends his time researching historical points of interest. Growing up in the shadow of the Valley of Opportunity, an area rich in history and architecture, his hometown of Binghamton, New York inspired him to begin advocating for the preservation of historic structures. He strives to connect the past and present by helping preserve the little-know legacies of small towns.