Though Vermont is the only New England state without a seacoast, we have our fair share of vast waters and attractive islands here. The Champlain Islands – an archipelago stretching from the Canadian Border, encompassing roughly 200 miles of shoreline around a trio of islands and a peninsula, is practically a different world. Accessible only by 3 bridges or a ferry from Cumberland Head, New York, the islands are isolated from the rest of the state, and as a result, are relaxed (though, 21st century stress doesn’t entirely escape) and carry a different attitude.
With the Adirondacks rising dramatically to the west across the lake, and the Green Mountains to the east and the south, the islands are a beautiful place. There’s not much to do, and that’s exactly what I love about this region. Route 2, the main artery, passes through 4 out of 5 towns that make up Grand Isle County, with the only stoplight being on the drawbridge that separates North Hero from Grand Isle. The economy is largely dependent on agriculture and tourism, most often combining the two in agritourism pursuits of farm stands, restaurants, and a few vineyards now days.
Things can coexist up here in the world around it peacefully, and sometimes, even manage to go largely undetected. And those sort of conditions are just ripe for mysteries. The numerous smaller and inaccessible islands that dot the lake are mysteries unto themselves – which are also most commonly private property. It’s easy and fun to speculate what sort of things happen on those remote chunks of rock, and what can be found there.
Carleton’s Prize
One of the most interesting stories I heard comes from off the south west coast of South Hero – a small chunk of rock rising 30 feet from the choppy waters of Lake Champlain, in a large passage between Providence and Stave Islands. One day, I was searching on Google maps, and noticed that this almost insignificantly tiny scrap of land had a rather peculiar name; Carleton’s Prize. Why would a small rock have such a strange name? What exactly is the prize here?
As it turns out, the name can be dated back to the Revolutionary War. Local lore has it that Benedict Arnold escaped around Valcour Island with what remained of his fleet during the battle of Valcour Island– and a dense fog had draped over the lake. The trailing British fleet, lead by Sir Guy Carleton, were searching for escaping American fleets, but unknown to them, the Americans had slipped by them in the cover of night.
But up ahead, through the fog, they spotted something. A silhouette of what appeared to be a ship. This was their chance. The British bombarded it with cannon fire. However, the smoke from all the black powder obscured their vision even more, and eventually, they couldn’t see a thing. But determined to take down those no good Americans, they kept on firing. An hour later, the cannon fire finally stopped, and they realized that they had wasted several rounds of ammunition on a small rocky outcropping in the lake they had mistaken as a ship.
Since then, somehow and somewhere down the line, the small landmass has been referred to as Carleton’s Prize. Some say that you can still see the scars from cannon fire, and maybe even a cannonball or two on the island’s rocky shore to this day.
This is where the story gets a bit hard to trace. This story apparently isn’t well documented, and not much information exists to actually back this up – apart from a Wikipedia article and a blog entry – but even the blogger was questioning the truth of this interesting legend. So, did this blunder actually happen? I suppose we can only speculate. As far as I know, no one has came back with a cannonball yet.
Though the story of Carleton’s Prize is intriguing, the island’s original name is far more mystical. In the book, In Search of New England’s Native Past, author Gordon Day tells us the Abenaki knew this small rock as odzihózoiskwá, or “Odzihozo’s wife”. But who or what is Odzihozo?
Odzihozo, “the transformer”, was the supernatural being who created Lake Champlain, the mountains and all the lands that made up their homeland.
According to the legend, Odzihozo was an impatient deity, and before he was even completely formed with a head, legs and arms, he set out to change the earth. His last creation was Lake Champlain, which he considered his masterpiece – and he was incredibly happy with it. So happy in fact, that he climbed onto a rock in Burlington Bay and turned himself to stone so he could watch and be near the lake for the rest of eternity. The rock still resides in Burlington Bay, and is known to boaters as Rock Dunder – several miles away from his wife. It was said that the local Abenaki would bring offerings of tobacco to the rock as late as the 1940s.
travel tip: near White’s Beach, make sure to check out the alluring bird house forest and keep an eye out for the miniature Barber castles scattered around the island.
Isle La Motte’s Prehistoric Treasure
Isle La Motte has such a different vibe from its other island neighbors, or from the rest of Vermont for that matter. It’s the smallest, most rural, and the most mysterious (in my humble opinion) of Vermont’s Champlain Islands.
It’s the first spot in Vermont that Europeans set actual foot on, when French explorer Samuel De Champlain docked and camped here in 1609. The island is also home to Saint Anne’s Shrine, built atop the original and short lived French settlement. A friend of mine said that a relative of his was allegedly a renown miracle worker at the shrine back in the early 1900s, but to my disappointment, the miracles he might have performed were never penned down in the family history.
Isle La Motte is also the only Grand Isle County town to not be accessible via Route 2, which imparts the island a noticeably quieter, downlevel atmosphere that makes this remarkable oddity find pretty compatible.
The entire southern third of the tiny island is made up of what experts consider the oldest fossilized coral reef in the world – at some 480 million years old!
This spectacular natural resource pokes through cedar woods and fields thick with wildflowers in contoured rocky outcroppings. It’s both baffling and awe-inspiring – you’d never think you’d find something like this up in the far, occasionally frozen northwestern corner of the state.
But why would a fossil reef be up in Isle La Motte?
This is a state mystery that is actually easy to solve. In the farther reaches of Vermont’s past, some 480 million years ago, the land that is now the green mountain state was under the waters of a tropical sea near where Zimbabwe is. Officially dubbed the Chazy Reef, it once stretched from an area covering Quebec to Tennessee.
But over the millennia, volcanoes, earthquakes, the pull of the tides and other natural phenomena did some terraforming and shifted the earth’s crust. Limestone eventually began to form and preserved a petrified snapshot of pre-Paleozoic life.
With this incredible natural wonder being in my home state, I figured I couldn’t say I was a bonafide Vermont enthusiast unless I drove up to see it for myself, and on a soft summer day, I found myself tracking down the Goodsell Ridge Preserve, where the best-preserved chunk of the reef is.
I was immediately taken by the tranquility of the place. It was a timeless vantage point, which can be said about the entire town of Isle La Motte. And yet, if there weren’t signs to hint at what you were looking at – you might not even know you were walking around such a magnificent treasure.
Scientists from all over venture to Vermont to study its coral reef – trying to connect the dots of this primitive instruction manual left by mother nature.
It’s even more intriguing to think about how many sites in the region possibly contain some of these fragile fossils in their stonework. It’s said that their organic shapes can be spotted in the ruins of Fort Blunder, and someone else wrote to me declaring they think they spotted some in a railroad stone block retaining wall on the Burlington waterfront.
Perhaps the real mystery is why the best-preserved piece of the reef is in Isle La Motte. That still remains to be explained.
A Pink Lighthouse
To some, the idea of a traditional lighthouse seems out of place in tiny landlocked Vermont. But Lake Champlain’s 587 miles of shoreline is home to 12 lighthouses, 6 of them belonging to The Green Mountain State.
At a total of 120 miles long and 12 miles across at its widest point, Lake Champlain is the 6th largest freshwater lake in the United States – and even had a short distinction as being the 6th great lake, before complaints from the other 5 revoked the title, but we think it’s still pretty great.
Often dubbed as “New England’s West Coast”, the lake was a vital part of the settlement of the region and has been inseparable from local history. In 1819, the Champlain Canal was completed, connecting the lake to the Hudson River and eventually New York City. This would change the culture of the lake as it was propelled into a transportation route for trade and tourism. Burlington became the largest port on Lake Champlain, and the third largest lumber port in North America. With this much travel on the lake, lighthouses were needed to make sure travel could be made safely from one end to the other. And with a series of dangerous reefs and no less than 70 islands scattered throughout the lake, these lighthouses played important parts to keeping the lake running efficiently.
In 1819, the Champlain Canal was completed, connecting the lake to the Hudson River and eventually New York City. This would change the culture of the lake as it was propelled into a transportation route for trade and tourism. Burlington became the largest port on Lake Champlain, and the third largest lumber port in North America. The waterfront was transformed into a bustling and chaotic shoreline of mills, factories and no shortage of cargo ships and passenger steam liners. With this much travel on the lake, lighthouses were needed to make sure travel could be made safely from one end to the other. And with a series of dangerous reefs and no less than 70 islands scattered throughout the lake, these lighthouses played important parts to keeping the lake running efficiently.
Today, the lake is a different place then it was 200 years ago. Heavy ship travel have been replaced by personal recreation boats and a few ferries carrying people across the lake. Interstates 87 and 89 run along both sides of the lake, and have became the main routes of travel between Canada and the United States, leaving the lighthouses unnecessary. Now, these vestiges of the past have slowly been forgotten as the lake tides carry their memories into the mists. However, they are still surviving, finding new lives as private estates or cultural showpieces. Some are landmarks, and others have made large efforts to camouflage them from public knowledge, an irony to their original purpose.
The lighthouses of the lake have always been a curious subject for me. I’ve spent summers traveling around the shorelines and seeing countless summer camps, McMansions and beaches, but a lighthouse is a rare, almost unseemly. But as it just so happens, one of the 6 lights in Vermont rests on Isle La Motte, and unlike most, you can sort of catch a glimpse of it.
The realization of the need for a light on Isle La Motte started humbly in 1829 with some good old-fashioned Yankee ingenuity; by hanging a lantern light on a tree branch on the Northwestern tip of the island, to help mariners navigate their way around the island and through the channel.
In 1856, the U.S. government purchased the land around the point for $50. The first attempt at a real structure was made in the form of a pyramid-shaped limestone tower that would hold the lantern. However, the lantern would always blow out on stormy nights, and eventually, the need of an actual lighthouse became evident, and in 1881, the first permanent lighthouse was finally constructed on Isle La Motte.
A twenty-five-foot tower made of curved cast-iron plates was constructed. Originally painted bright red, the tower features many attentions to detail, such as an Italianate cast railing, arched windows, and molded cornices. Over time, it has faded to a light pink.
During the 1930s, in a cost-saving measure, lighthouses began to be replaced with automated steel skeletal towers. The Isle La Motte light was replaced in 1933. But in 2001, the Coast Guard determined it would be cheaper to bring back the original lighthouse rather than replace the deteriorating steel tower and on October 5, 2002, the lighthouse was once again functional.
Cloak Island
Off of Isle La Motte’s south-east coast is a small island with a weird name; Cloak Island. Why would you name an island, Cloak Island? In Tara Liloia’s book Champlain Islands, the name behind the interesting moniker is revealed.
According to a re-printed 1857 era map of Lake Champlain and the islands, the tiny island was originally known as Hill’s Island, or Hill Island, most likely named after the owners, as most Lake Champlain islands are. So what’s with the name change?
As the story goes, a domestic quarrel in the 1770s boiled over, when Eleanor Fisk got sick of her husband’s angry tempers. She hitched up her team of horses and set out across the frozen lake towards Alburgh, but never made it. Later, her red cloak was found along the bushes and rocks of the island, which would forever be known as Cloak.
But there is another variation of the story. After Eleanor Fisk went missing, concerned townsfolk suspected she had drowned but needed proof. So, they gathered down near the lake and dropped her red cloak into the water. An old Yankee superstition dictated that to find the body of a drowned victim, all you had to do was drop a cloak belonging to the missing woman in the water and it will come to rest above the body. The cloak eventually found its way over to the island and got tangled on the beach, thus giving Isle La Motte’s tiny neighbor its name.
Noisy Beach
But perhaps my favorite abnormality is a tale of a beach, ‘somewhere’ on Lake Champlain, that is said to be made of sand with a remarkable idiosyncrasy. It’s said that if you fill up 2 bags with sand and clap them together, it makes ‘dog noises’. Not surprisingly, I haven’t been able to track down this marvelous beach or find anything further about this strange anecdote.
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