It was late November of 1950 in the White Lake area of northern Oneida County. A hurricane had come ashore from the Atlantic and its remnants were moving up through New York State toward the Adirondacks. Severe winds and thunderstorms were in the forecast.
As if this wasn’t enough, word has spread into the North Country that an imprisoned maniac had escaped from a downstate institution and was reported to be headed in this direction.
When word of this latest development reached the restaurant near the White Lake shore, patrons were instructed to go out and lock their vehicles, even though a mild rain had turned steady.
A couple of institution guards stopped at the Inn and showed the assembled people a man’s photograph to identify.
“Why, he was just here,” exclaimed a woman, “and when he left, he was headed toward the beach across the road!”
The officers donned rain gear, crossed the road and shone their spotlights around the beach and into the lake. Quite a ways from shore, an old beaten-up rowboat was visible with a man in it frantically pulling on the oars.
Spotting another small craft nearby, the guards clambered in and, despite the sound of thunder and the flash of lightning in the distance, shoved off the direction of the old boat.
After moving about halfway across the lake, the men encountered an island and, shining their light on its shore, saw the decrepit old boat pulled up on a small beach and quite empty.
As they landed their craft and disembarked, the thunderstorm struck with a fury. The men inched their way up a narrow path leading to a flat area that would look out over the lake toward Camp Russell in better weather.
Between cracks of thunder, a loud wail, decidedly human, was audible off their left. They shone their lights at a large pine tree moved the beams upward and could just make out their figure of a man frantically struggling and inching his way up the tree.
As they approached, a massive lightning bolt struck the tree, which snapped off at the spot where they had seen the maniac. Missing them by inches, the tree from this point upward crashed to the ground.
A quick search of the immediate area found no trace of their quarry. Assuming that he had been killed, the institution guards, returned to their craft just in time to observe the decrepit old rowboat, filled with water, disappear under the surface a short distance from shore.
After emptying their boat, the guards shoved off into the storm, which was now starting to abate. As they headed back toward their starting point, a wild shriek sounded back on the island, only now it had a strand ghostly quality to it.
Brave though they were, these gentlemen had had enough and returned to the restaurant to tell their story.
No trace was ever found of the maniac and, even today, people in the White Lake area during a thunderstorm sometime are certain that they can hear his ghostly scream. A search of the shallow water near this small beach can sometimes show the remains of the small rowboat.
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Alan Woodruff, of White Lake, said this story is sometimes told to Camp Russell Boy Scout campers who are going to spend a night on the Island.
He added that the storm described in the story covered the entire Adirondacks, blew down many thousands of trees and is still remembered today as one of the worst phenomenons of nature to ever strike the North Country.
