Trigger Warnin’: This story contains unsettlin’ descriptions of ancient Chateaugay Lake spirits, eerie encounters, and local folklore. Reader discretion is advised, as themes of supernatural guardianship, disturbin’ dreams, and mysterious forces that linger in the wilderness may provoke discomfort.
The Gitaskog’s Haunting Song
By The East Bellmont (Brainardsville) Correspondent
(Submitted to the Steamboat Dispatch Weekly)
Old-timers ‘round these parts often say that the Gitaskog, that mighty serpent of the depths, is no mere myth but a keeper of secrets—the kind that stretch farther back than the oldest cedar along Chateaugay Lake. Folks like the Kirby family, tied to the land through their pine trees and hayfields, carry whispers of it in their stories, passed down like a keepsake quilt.
The story goes that back in the days before steamers churned the waters, when the Abenaki still roamed freely across this region, the Gitaskog was as much a part of life as the rising sun. Unlike the Wendigo—a cruel, cannibal spirit that brings dread—the Gitaskog was seen as a warning, a gatekeeper of balance. If you saw its great coils ripple the lake’s surface, or heard its low, mournful hum on a misty evening, it meant that someone’s ambition had crossed a line, meddling where humans shouldn’t dare tread.
The Kirbys’ Tale
Not all Kirby stories made the papers. C. J. Kirby himself, Game Protector and jack-of-all-trades, claimed he once caught sight of the Gitaskog while surveying lands down near the lake, close to where his pine trees still grow tall. It was a Sunday afternoon—quiet but for the hum of bees—and Kirby had just tied off his rowboat near a secluded cove. As he reached to untangle a snagged line, the water grew still as glass.
What rose from that cove wasn’t a mere snake or otter. Kirby swore it had eyes like the old firestones the Abenaki chiefs once left behind—gleaming amber, full of knowing. Its back rippled with green-black scales the size of dinner plates, trailing along the surface as far as his eyes could see. And it didn’t thrash or writhe like an angry thing. No, the Gitaskog simply stared, humming a sound so low and deep it rattled in Kirby’s chest like a church organ.
Abenaki Legends and Family Bonds
What C. J. saw that day matched the stories his grandmother once told him as a boy, sitting by the hearth in Brainardsville. Her own father had heard those same stories from an Abenaki woman who helped tend his farm after a harsh winter. She spoke of the Gitaskog not as a beast to fear, but as a guardian tied to the land and water. It was said the serpent only showed itself when greed threatened the balance of nature—miners tearing too deep into the hills, loggers felling too many trees, or a hunter taking more than his share.
“It watches,” she said. “Not to punish, but to remind.”
The Kirby family seems forever bound to those reminders. From Cecil and Raymond planting thousands of pine saplings, to Dr. Guy Kirby stitching up wounds in his dental parlor above Hoy’s store, the family has a knack for mending what’s been harmed. And yet, some say it’s not just good intentions guiding them—it’s the Gitaskog itself, humming deep in the lake, its song a call to the conscience of anyone willing to listen.
Modern Sightings?
In the years since C.J.’s encounter, the Gitaskog hasn’t gone silent. As recently as the summer of ’22, when surveyor Carpenter was marking lots down by Chateaugay Lake, strange ripples began following his canoe. Carpenter, a practical man, claimed it was nothing more than a sturgeon, but those who know the lake’s secrets heard a different story. The locals whispered that Carpenter was cutting too close to sacred ground, a patch of shoreline where the Abenaki held ceremonies long before fences divided the land.
And then there’s the curious case of Jennie Nolan, born in February of that same year, who seemed to hum herself to sleep in the same low, rattling tone C. J. described. “She’ll grow into a singer someday,” the Kirbys joked. But the old-timers had another explanation: “She’s marked,” they said. “The Gitaskog doesn’t just watch. Sometimes, it leaves a piece of itself behind.”
Lessons for Us All
What the Gitaskog represents isn’t easy to pin down. Some say it’s a spirit of the lake, as ancient as the glaciers that carved its shores. Others see it as a warning about the price of unchecked ambition, a reminder that the land and water demand respect. Whatever the truth, its stories remain, winding through the Kirby family history like roots through the soil.
So next time you’re out near the water, listen close. The Gitaskog’s hum isn’t just a legend. It’s a reminder that some boundaries aren’t meant to be crossed—and that nature, in all its mystery, always has the final say.
What mysteries of Chateaugay Lake haunt you?