The gitaskog’s mischievous baby sea serpents nibble toes in Chateaugay Lake Narrows.
Letter to the Producer of the Winds of W Mountain Podcast
December 29, 2024
I’ve got a bone to pick with you—and I mean this in the most begrudgingly respectful way possible—about the latest episode of Winds of W Mountain. Now don’t get me wrong; your podcast is a fine way to pass a chilly evening by the fire, especially for us who find ourselves needing a bit of company from tales as tangled as the roots of a spruce. But let’s talk about “The Gitaskog’s Little Nippers,” and, more importantly, how you let that old codger Roy Cootey tell it.
First of all, Roy’s version of the story was so peculiar, so wildly inventive, that I almost mistook it for genuine brilliance—until I remembered this is Roy Cootey we’re talking about. I’d wager he must’ve dusted off a few cobwebbed yarns he overheard back at the Banner House, sitting in the corner with a sarsaparilla while the old timers spun their tales louder and loopier than the call of a loon.
Back in my boyhood days, we didn’t just listen to these stories—we lived with them, much as we lived with the creak of the floorboards or the smell of Grandmother’s molasses cookies. Old man Delroy would start, telling us about the Gitaskog, all fire and brimstone, as if the serpent was lurking right behind the woodpile. Then Aunt Ida would cut in, fussing about how Delroy was getting it wrong. Even Pa, who claimed he didn’t believe in a lick of superstition, would eventually join in, his skeptical brow twitching just enough to betray his delight.
What I’m saying, dear producer, is that your podcast missed a golden opportunity to showcase the true spirit of Chateaugay Lake storytelling—the cacophony of voices, each trying to outdo the last, each adding another impossibly wild detail until the story toppled over under its own weight.
Now, as much as it pains me to admit, Roy’s account had a certain charm. His bit about the little sea serpents nibbling toes in the Narrows almost made me laugh out loud. Almost. But here’s the thing: his telling didn’t even scratch the surface of what the old folks used to say. Why, I remember one night at the Banner House when Uncle Chester swore up and down that the Gitaskog’s brood once sabotaged a steamboat—yes, an entire steamboat!—by nibbling the wooden hull until it leaked like a sieve.
And the way Roy downplayed the sheer audacity of the Gitaskog itself! He made it sound like a cheeky mischief-maker rather than the awe-inspiring force of nature it truly is—or at least was, depending on who you believe.
That said, I suppose I should tip my hat to Roy for keeping the legend alive in his own peculiar way. There’s something admirable about his ability to turn a half-remembered tale into a full-blown spectacle. Still, if you’re going to give him airtime, it’s only fair to invite someone like myself to set the record straight.
So, here’s my proposition: dedicate an episode to the Banner House gatherings of old. Let’s revive the way the stories really unfolded, with all the interruptions, arguments, and embellishments intact. I’ll even bring along my notes (scribbled on napkins and the backs of envelopes) to ensure no detail is lost.
In the meantime, tell Roy that while his storytelling has its merits, he ought to remember that the truth—or at least our version of it—is far stranger than fiction. And as for you, dear producer, keep the podcasts coming. Just remember: you ain’t heard nothin’ yet.
With begrudging approval and stiff compliments,
Alonzo Bellows
Rt. 2,
Chateaugay, NY
P.S. If you ever need a guest storyteller who can outspin Roy Cootey any day of the week, you know where to find me.
