On Osgood Pond, a paddle through history

My paddling partner and daughter, Emma, has been away for the last year, but returned to the North County in late October to begin a school librarian career. I was eager to squeeze in a late-season paddle with her and knew the access at Church Pond, near Paul Smith’s College, sported a dock–an opportunity to board without getting feet wet given the chill of the day. Jay Czajkowski joined us with his kayak.

Church Pond earned its name because of two churches near its shores (St. Gabriel’s and St. John’s in the Wilderness). The New York Times reported in 1907 that Archibald White financed the hand-dug canals at about the same time he built White Pine Camp, the summer White House. Paul F. Jamieson wrote in “Adirondack Canoe Waters,” the canals allowed “cottagers” to “float to services at St. Johns or to dinner at Paul Smith’s hotel.”

People who have paddled the area are likely familiar with the two canals, but there is a “third.” Church Pond was previously two ponds—Church Pond West and East, according to historic maps. A map compiled by Michael Kudish indicates “Old Military Road” as cutting between the two ponds. Lidar confirms an old road threading between the ponds and maybe passing through the current location of St. Johns.

A 2025 paper by Paul Smith’s graduates Brian Steele and Tristan Miller highlights the bathymetry of Church Pond and suggests the water level in the pond could be as much as six feet higher since the building of the canals.

The New York Times article also says “an enterprising St. Regis lumberman dug a canal across this bar, diverting the waters of the Osgood to those of the St. Regis River, and enjoyed an unnatural waterfall thereby until the Osgood River lumbermen and mill operatives discovered the reason for the rapidly diminishing supply of water” in the early 19th century.

History on the shore Three nameless peaks that tower above Mountain Pond near Route 30 command the horizon as we entered Osgood Pond. Photo by Tom French. We pushed off the dock and crossed the still waters through the narrows where the military road once crossed. The evergreens, sandy shoreline browns and burnt reds reflected perfectly on the glassy water. We zigzagged around a log and beaver house into the canal to Little Osgood—a needlelike, 150-foot-long passage under a mantle of pines and a bridge (part of the Red Dot and Jackrabbit Trails).

After entering Little Osgood, a cut through sand-colored reeds is to the right. Steering into this longer channel with its thick canopy and high sidewalls felt like a Tunnel of Love. It too flows under a bridge along the Red Dot Trail as it curls around outcrops and blowdowns.

The breadth of the 500-acre Osgood Pond doesn’t become apparent until after paddling out from behind a small point of land. A DEC hand launch is on the right. Northbrook Lodge is across the bay on a large peninsula that juts into the pond. Three nameless peaks that tower above Mountain Pond near Route 30 command the horizon. Camps and cottages, many boarded up, also lined the northern shore and only island in the pond.

We saw our first loon as we paddled toward the peninsula.

Northbrook Lodge was built by Benjamin Muncil around 1920. Muncil has connections to Camp Topridge, White Pine Camp, and the Brighton Town Hall. Some speculate that he designed Northbrook himself. We noticed two historic markers on the property through the trees, though I suspect their history may be fuzzy. A lean-to bedecked with two beds and bright-red plaid quilts beckoned from near the shore.

An osprey landed on the top of a pine on the opposite shore, so we crossed to investigate. When it took off, we followed it toward White Camp where Calvin Coolidge stayed a century ago.

The pond narrows into its outlet past White Pine Camp. Debar Mountain peaked from behind dips in a horizon of trees. We spotted a bald eagle perched at the top of a dead pine right where the river begins. It launched toward two loons in the outlet. The loons yodeled and dove, and the eagle circled for a half minute before landing in a nearby tree.

I didn’t expect to meet any other paddlers on a Thursday in late October, but we ran into Allison Bell and Leslie Harris. They were spending the week at White Pine Camp, which is open year-round. Bell is an outdoor writer herself and recently co-wrote a “Field Guide to the Northeast Alpine Summits.”

Bell and Harris are frequent visitors to Osgood Pond.

The river has been compared to Canadian muskeg, a peat-forming bog associated with boreal zones and permafrost. Cotton grass (really a sedge) lined the banks, and pitcher plants have been reported. Several Canada Jays flitted between branches on both sides, and then we encountered a blue heron standing in a patch of reeds. We stopped paddling and drifted closer, totally expecting it to take off. Instead, it speared a fish and ate, maybe eyeing us, but without concern as we drifted past only a few feet away.

For over a mile, the Osgood flows straight with only a few bends. The first (and only) serpentine section began with a small beaver dam with a low crest. My heart sank because I dreaded the idea of replacing my warm boots and socks with sandals on the upstream. For a heartbeat, I considered turning around, but I was determined to reach the river’s end.

Jay sailed through a chute, but Emma and I got hung up on the debris.

A great blue heron along the Osgood River ignored us and even speared a fish as we drifted past. Photo by Tom French. Farther up Osgood The course of the channel winds moderately for the next quarter mile until the confluence with Blind Brook. We were able to manage the 18-foot canoe without much backpaddling.

Turning left, the Osgood snakes through several wide turns for almost a mile through meadows of dying pickerelweed. We passed what looked like a campsite along the northern shore. Two are indicated on the DEC map, but we saw no yellow disks. We heard the babble of water before we saw the pile of boulders and accumulating debris of logs, sticks, tamarack needles and foam that marked the end of our quest.

Phil Brown reported seeing timbers when he cruised through in 2023. Jamieson calls it a “low log dam.” Perhaps it is remnants from those “lumbermen and mill operatives” mentioned in the NY Times article. Jamieson says only a “fanatic” would go beyond this point for the three miles to more navigable waters near the Hays Brook Trailhead, and then he cites an adventure by Bill Frenette who carried a kayak down the series of rock gardens, beaver dams and alder thickets.

Jay Czajkowski thrashes his kayak up over a small beaver dam along the Osgood River. Photo by Tom French. Frenette confirmed difficulties at the “Thousand Islands.” Jamieson identifies it as an “especially troublesome area known among trappers” where “the river pours through a hole in the ground and vanishes.”

Frenette said, “it goes down a hole like the last water from the tub. A miniature whirlpool.”

I tried to find it in satellite imagery, but was able to follow the river all the way. Brown also “bushwhacked” the middle Osgood without finding it.

Jamieson’s 32-year-old book says the APA released its recommendations to classify the Osgood as recreational at the top, wild in the middle and scenic from the Hays Brook area to Meacham Lake. No action has ever been taken and it is still considered a “study river.”

The 4.75-mile downriver trip had taken 90 minutes. We must have been more relaxed on the return, which took two hours. Please note, wearing a “securely fastened life jacket” is required for everyone in any boat less than 21 feet between Nov. 1 and May 1.

On Osgood Pond, a paddle through history

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