Paddling Dead Creek to Raquette River

A new canoe and winding rapids make for an enjoyable Adirondack paddle

By Tom French

Finally, after 30 years of navigating an 18-foot Sundowner through the tight oxbow rivers of the Adirondacks, I sprang for a shorter boat more suited to the floodplains of the North Country.  For a maiden voyage, my daughter Emma and I decided on a winding creek that we’d crossed hundreds of times on Route 3 without note.

I first became aware of Dead Creek, eight miles west of Tupper Lake, while biking the Grasse River Rail Trail. It marks the end of the line of accessible rail bed just 150 yards from Conifer. From the bridge before the barrier, I observed fast water and thought it would make an interesting paddle. Later, I happened upon it while biking the old stage coach route from Massawepie to the stop along the New York Central. It flows toward Mount Matumbla, the highest point of St. Lawrence County, which also makes it appealing. I imagined the photograph of a majestic mountain floating above the alluvial plain and bow of my canoe.

The put-in is directly beside Route 3, two miles west of Piercefield at a parking area with a kiosk that provides information about the Raquette River Blueway Trail, part of an effort by New York State and various organizations to promote tourism and use of the river. The sign includes a map of the area and suggests exploring the “meandering waters of Dead Creek” as well.

Our plan was to first paddle the short distance to a one-mile flatwater between rapids on the Raquette in the middle of what has been described as “one of the premier whitewater paddling routes in New York state,” then travel upriver on Deer Creek to at least the carriage road.   

After examining potential launching sites on both sides of the highway, we decided on a spot above the bridge despite potential low clearance through the cement culvert. Emma was excited to recreate an experience from along the Oswegatchie.   

The creek veers sharply after the bridge, our first opportunity to test the turning radius of our new canoe, and we promptly oversteered. The canoe twirled on a dime instead of a baseball diamond. It was almost too much, but we found a new rhythm in short order.

The .4-mile distance (as the crow flies) to the Raquette is twice that as the creek meanders from one side of the floodplain to the other. We encountered a stick dam after four turns with a height of more than a foot and a second mud dam with less of a drop 100 yards later. Both required exiting the boat and both are visible from space via Google Earth.

Shortly thereafter, though, we were sliding through reeds into a wide expanse of the Raquette. What we thought was going to be a quick exploration morphed into a relaxing two-hour tour through a maze of channels.  

We swung downriver into the main channel, passing a secondary course almost directly opposite the confluence. Within minutes, I spotted where it reentered the river, and the tenor of the landscape changed with marshland transforming into towering trees. We reached the top of Sols Rapids where we admired the whitewater and the roar of the river. 

Returning upriver, we explored the secondary channel. The lefthand bank is actually Sols Island, named after the elder of Peter Sabattis’s two sons. Sabattis was an Abenaki veteran of the War of 1812, and his son Sol was reportedly born on the island. At almost a mile wide, it splits the river into two channels, both designated as scenic, and both with significant rapids (Class II to IV). Jamison and Morris (1994) suggest the eastern route could be “choked by a massive logjam and boulder jungle.”

When we approached the top of the channel, we spied the confluence of Dead Creek through a passage to the right, but were lured into a more secluded strait sprinkled with boulders beneath tall, overhanging branches. The water was swift and a tree had fallen almost completely across, but a narrow opening on the right allowed us to slip by.  

Choices appeared. The main channel was to the right – a view straight up toward Piercefield through a number of Class II rapids. Another small channel flowed to the left, and I knew from the map that we could swing around an island, return to the main channel and circle back to Dead Creek.  

What I failed to realize was it was actually the inlet to the other side of Sols Island. The paddling eased noticeably as we crested between upriver and down.  We rounded a bend and the rapids appeared. With an easy flat rock on the left, we landed to explore and scout as if we were actually going to navigate the torrent.

When we left, seconds after putting our cameras away, a blizzard of maple helicopters rained down onto the tongue above the rapids.

We weaved over to the main channel and upriver as far as we could, lingering in an eddy on the western side to scout a potential carry, but it clearly would have been rough and was beyond our objective for the day. Instead, we returned to the top of the eastern rapids for lunch with the hopes of catching another helicopter flurry. Alas, it was not to be. Emma paraphrased Sean Penn from “The Secret Life of Walter Mitty:” “Sometimes I don’t take the picture.  I just let the moment pass.”

We returned to the car knowing we had loitered too long to explore the upper reaches of Dead Creek, which was fine. That adventure still awaits us.

Photo at top: Mount Matumbla can be seen at the confluence of Dead Creek into the Raquette River on a paddle with the author’s daughter Emma (pictured). Photo by Tom French