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Memories of a Bird’s-eye View of the Clyde River

by Carroll Huntington

The following article written by Carroll Huntington of New York, formerly of Newport, Vermont, is in response to this publication’s continued request for memories of the Clyde River fishery. – Scott Wheeler/publisher
The first memory that I recall occurred in the first half of the 1930s. We lived near the backside of the Fogg House in Newport. My brother and I saw a crowd on the bridge at the mouth of the Clyde. Like any kids, we went over to see what was going on.
We wormed our way to the railing and saw a guy on the west bank at the mouth of the Clyde. His rod was bent double. Word was that he’d been playing the fish for over an hour.
Someone suggested he get in a boat, get away from the current, bring the fish to the surface and net it. So, out he goes sitting in the bow, a guy with the net in the stern, and one on the oars.
Soon the fish broke water and a gasp went up from the crowd. I remember vividly the slack in the line but the fish stayed on. Shortly thereafter the fish made a second leap, greater than the first, and snapped the leader. The guy whipped his empty line back and then forward again in disbelief. I thought he was about to throw his pole into the water. The memory fades at this point. Others might be able to shed more light on the event. I’m sure it was covered by the local papers.

The author of this article, Carroll Huntington, grew up in the Fogg House that still overlooks the City of Newport and Lake Memphremagog. Perched between Mt. Vernon Street and Herrick Street, the building offers unparalleled views. Photos by Scott Wheeler

I was told by Archie Griggs, a sportsman who lived where the city garages are now, that a very large salmon was caught in the stripping weirs on the Clyde. It had signs of a dissolved hook in its mouth. He and others thought it was probably the same fish. He told me the length but I don’t recall the number. But I do recall my reaction: Gee, what a fish!
The second memory begins like the first. A crowd on the bridge at the mouth of the Clyde. Again, my brother and I went over to see what was going on. I remember being warned to stay away from the Clyde. It seemed to me that every winter some one drowned trying to take a short cut across the Clyde. The bridge to the park didn’t exist then.

The view from the Fogg House has changed dramatically in many ways since the time Mr. Huntington was a child. Gone is the bustling railroad yard, replaced by a shopping plaza. Yet, the railroad bridge and the automobile bridge that straddles the mouth of the Clyde River as it enters Lake Memphremagog, have changed very little over the years.

There on the ice stood my dad in his bathing suit. There was a rope about his waist. He was alongside a boat that he and others were pushing on the ice. Suddenly the ice broke and he plunged into the icy water. He grabbed the side of the boat and pulled himself into it. At that point he went back to shore. It turned out that two young boys had tried to cross the Clyde and broke through the ice and drowned. A day or so later a professional diver recovered the bodies of the two boys.
I realize now that my dad thought the two boys might be my brother and me. I wonder if he didn’t look up and see us on the bridge and that is why he stopped his rescue effort. He was an extraordinarily courageous man.