A secret lake — and a walk in the woods

On the eastern outskirts of the town that used to be known as Chatham, NB, if you take a right turn and slog through thick woods, you will come to the lake. When I was a child, it was called the lake. I see by Google Maps it's now called Chatham Lake.

I remember going there in the dead of winter with my older sister and her friends to skate. It was cold and I didn't like skating and I was little. I suspect my mother had told my sister to take me along. I can't imagine what I was doing there otherwise.

Even though the snow on the trail that led to the lake was tracked down, I remember it being a hard old hike. Once we reached the lake, if it hadn't been so cold and if I'd enjoyed skating, it probably would have been a nice outing. I do remember that there were lots of kids and families skating. At least once, someone lit a bonfire and people were clustered around it, probably roasting marshmallows.

I have no idea how many times I was taken to the lake to skate.

It was many years later that I first heard about the legends. The lake was inland from the Miramichi by about a mile. As it happens, there's an island in the river — Middle Island — which is almost the exact size and shape of the lake.

This is, of course, the satellite image and you can plainly see both island and lake. The straight road nearest the lake is the one we walked from our house before we took the rough trail into the woods.

When I was growing up, there was no causeway to Middle Island. I was over there a few times but we rowed over if someone had a small boat. I think at low tide, it wasn't a difficult swim.

The similarities between the lake and Middle Island were spoken of as early as 1832.

In a History of the Northern Part of New Brunswick, Robert Cooney wrote:

“On the south side of a river is a lake so exactly corresponding with it, in length, breadth and general configuration, that an enthusiast in geology would be disposed to ascribe its present locality to some of nature’s freaks.”

One legend with an Irish connection, told how leprechauns moved the soil around to create Middle Island and The Lake. Another told of the devil, in a fit of anger, taking a piece of ground and throwing it into the river. This piece of ground formed Middle Island and The Lake at the same time. A similar tale told of a giant who stepped on soft ground causing it to reappear in the river to form Middle Island, while The Lake was formed from his footprint.

I don't know which of these legends is true although I'm pretty sure leprechauns had nothing to do with it. I'd vote for the devil although I don't know what would make him so angry that he'd scoop up an island-sized piece of ground and throw it into the river.

This photo by Edward O'Reilly was taken from the air and shows another angle of the lake and the island.

Middle Island was a quarantine station for many Irish refugees who were fleeing the famine. Many hundreds of people died there and the island is now a memorial park.

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When I was in Grade Six at the Chatham Grammar School, my best friend was Judy Walters. Her father was manager of the Bank of Montreal and her grandfather, in Lunenburg, NS, was Captain Angus Walters, the legendary Captain of the Bluenose.

It was kind of exciting that my best friend's Grampy was captain of the ship that was on our dime.

In Chatham, the Bank of Montreal managers lived — until the Bank built them a new place — in the house called Blink Bonnie.

A beautiful example of Gothic architecture, it was built by Alexander Cormack for George H. Russell, a Chatham merchant. Although it was altered considerably in later years, it ranks as one of Chatham's most striking houses.

It was the closest thing to a mansion I've ever hung out in, with its stained glass windows, sweeping staircase, butler's pantry — and on the top floor, a ball-room. A real ball-room with a small stage at one end where, I suppose the musicians would be discreetly situated during the ball. Judy and I used to go up there a lot and made many plans about shows we were going to put on — shows we would write and act in, enlisting friends, planning publicity and poster-making. We never did do a show but not for lack of planning.

One summer day as we sat wondering what to do with ourselves, we began to talk about the lake in the woods. I told Judy about my skating trips there when I was little and how, even though it was awful, there was something a little magical about this secret lake in the woods. (I'm saying "secret" because I never heard of anyone going there in the summer.)

We decided right there and then that we'd make an excursion. We went to the kitchen in the mansion and made some sandwiches and I hope we took something to drink although water bottles weren't a dime a dozen around people's houses as they are now.

Our sense of direction and geography must have been pretty good. In this picture, the street that starts just near the bottom of that "A" is King St. Blink Bonnie is on King St. and we figured if we just walked straight out through the woods, we'd end up at the lake!

It's more built up today than it was then. I honestly have little memory of much of our walk but I'll tell you this: it was not a pleasant walk in the woods. I do remember that we reached a point — I think it always happens on a hard journey — where we knew there was no turning back. Those woods were dense. We were little girls dressed in shorts and blouses, maybe sandals although I can't remember the footwear. A machete might have been helpful but we had no tools. We got all scratched up.

When I look back on it, I'm quite aware that it could have ended badly. As far as I know, we didn't tell anyone where we were going.

I'm doing that thing where I'm trying to dredge memories that have long been buried. I think there's a possibility that we might have found our way out to the road and gone into the lake by way of the track. I can't be sure. I do remember being at the lake though and I remember that it wasn't very nice. It was boggy and surrounded by scrubby vegetation. The undergrowth was thick and barely passable.

I never thought I'd hear myself say this but I think the lake was nicer in the winter, mounded with pristine white snow, shovelled into usefullness by enthusiastic skaters, people enjoying themselves as if they were on a Currier and Ives Christmas card.

I expect Judy and I learned some kind of lesson. As far as I know, we never told anyone about our lake adventure. I'm pretty sure we knew we'd catch hell, even though we came out of it in one piece.

If the Walters had stayed in Blink Bonnie, maybe we'd have written a play about our ordeal in the woods and performed it in the beautiful ball-room. Didn't happen. Their family moved to a brand new house which wasn't nearly as conducive to creativity. I believe it was much easier to heat though.