The Fortress on the Lake

Adventure Report — One man shares the fulfillment of a decades-long dream to explore a forbidden lakeside fortress, deep in the Catskill Mountains

Editor’s Introduction

Today’s traveler is sharing the culmination of a lifetime of wonder in New York’s Catskill Mountain range, surrounding a mysterious lakeside castle.

This region holds a special place in my heart; growing up on Long Island, most of our camping and skiing trips took place here. My family maintained a decades-old traditional pilgrimage to a particular campground each Columbus Day to take in the fall foliage.

To me, this account of events is a beautiful portrait of a local gem, and a reminder to seize the opportunity to adventure whenever possible.

—Cole Noble

The world is out there to test you. You have to be in it to take the test. Our online lives can prevent us from thinking that the risk is worth it.

The above photo is of Kingfisher Tower on the shores of Otsego Lake, near where I grew up in New York’s Catskill Mountains. I wanted to explore it for decades, but being on private property, there have been, well, constraints.

Despite all of that, In June of last year, I set off on my quest.

Growing up in New York’s Catskill Mountains gives you a sense of the old ways. The region where I grew up is soaked in history, home to numerous battlefields of the American Revolution. Nearby Cooperstown always seemed mysterious and wonderful to me, being the setting of great adventure books like “The Deerslayer,” and “The Last of the Mohicans.” Herkimer, where my father was from, had been ravaged by the French and their Algonquin allies in the French and Indian War.

Some houses in the region have been standing since before Cooperstown’s founding in 1805. Many of these stone buildings have a brooding, somber character that ignites the imagination after dusk.

Then, there’s Otsego Lake. In the gloom of fall and winter, I can’t help but think there are things lurking beneath the dark mirror of that water. On one especially gloomy day, my son sarcastically asked me whether this was where they sacrificed the virgins for the spring harvest.

Locals call this small, stunningly beautiful glacial lake “Glimmerglass.”

The mountains surrounding it will easily trap fog and mist, adding to the eerie nature of the place. If you’re from the region, you no doubt have heard of Champ, the Loch Ness Monster’s long-lost cousin who lives in Lake Champlain. A 10 year old’s mind could easily place a similar creature in the deep, crystal waters of Glimmerglass.

Route 80 runs along Otsego Lake’s shores, and on foggy day drives, you could catch a glimpse of Kingfisher Tower. The tower looked somewhat reminiscent of the Urquhart Castle on the shores of Loch Ness Scotland, or at least to my 10 year old mind it did.

Much later, I researched the origins of the structure. Built by Edward Clark in 1876, it rises up out of the water like a medieval needle, tall enough to see from the far shore. Originally, there was a drawbridge.

Legend has it that Clark was ridiculed for building something so archaic.

The photos I saw online as an adult still left me wondering what it was like up close. But because Kingfisher Tower was on private property owned by the Clark Family — they are still benefactors of Cooperstown, owning much of the lake shore — it’s closed to the public.

You’re not supposed to find a way to get to it, it’s just off limits.

Of course as a red blooded kid, I wanted to do it anyway, and that desire would stay with me for decades.

Summer of 2008

During the summer of 2008 my sister and her husband took my wife and me out on the boat for a late dinner at a lakeside spot called The Blue Mingo, a great place to spend the summer evening, drinking in Lake Otsego from the veranda.

Being young parents and having an evening without our kids, we stayed out late, and hadn't noticed that fog was rolling in. That's pretty common in those hills that trap moisture at night. The trip back took twice as long because we couldn't see more than 10 feet in front of us. There’s a sand bank on that side of the lake near Blue Mingo, and while marked and easily sighted during the day, the dark, foggy conditions would be another story.

While my brother-in-law steered the boat, I scanned for buoys off the bow. Part of me pictured us trying to land at Kingfisher Tower under the cover of night. It would be foolish in weather like this, we could barely see a thing; the light from our lanterns bounced back at us as the fog drew its tendrils over our faces.

How would we navigate to it? Come to think of it, I had never seen Kingfisher Tower lit from the road. If we approached slowly, would the fog peel away as we saw the looming black shadows of the tower?

The sound of another boat in the distance brought my attention back to our current task. No, it would be foolish to try. Someone would surely see our lights if we did.

That same week we all went out on the boat again, this time with an inner tube tethered to the rear. I did my best to hang on, like some goofy family version of James Bond. To my kids' delight, my brother-in-law managed to throw me off into the wake several times. We passed by Kingfisher Tower more than once, and I asked my sister if we could land.

"No trespassing, it's private," was her answer.

"So? You can't tell me that the locals just don't pull up with beer at night and just hang out."

"No, they chase you off fairly quickly. People just don't do it."

June 2023

While I am 58, I have managed to stay active, healthy and adventurous. But a recent ski accident where I broke my ankle was a wake up call for me; not to slow down, but to take advantage of the time I have left while I still can. Time is the infinite jest. And while working on our documentary, “Severed Conscience,” we realized that what made us feel healthier was our sense of adventure. Time in nature was an answer to the time consumed by online life. Your own mortality can frighten you, or spur you on.

But it can’t happen while you’re sitting in a chair.

My dad had an operation that June, and I needed to be back home to help while he recovered. Once again I was driving Route 80 on a daily basis, and the thought of getting out to the tower kept nagging me. My sister no longer had the boat, and I wasn't about to just pull over on the side of the road, and wander in across the property.

But I could kayak out to the area. I asked my sister if she knew if there were signs posted that you could see while approaching the shore from the lake, and there were none.

So began my plans for a long-overdue amphibious landing.

You can see a map of Otsego Lake below, the orange dot is where Kingfisher Tower is located. If you look close enough you can see the change in depth of water, and to the left of the orange dot you'll see a light green line which is the sandbar we worried about. Depending on the time of year and water levels you can stand on the sandbar and the water will be just below your chest. There is a current to the lake, as it is the source of the Susquehanna river and that's indicated by the blue line that crosses the lake perimeter and the bottom. In June it is an active lake with the wake from motor boats causing extra turbulence too, but nothing too bad.

The morning was perfect. I paddled along the shoreline past tiny coves and fallen trees, brilliant orange fungus clinging to logs like candy barnacles; all the while, the castle grew larger. I thought back to my years of childhood wonder, and regretted not taking the journey earlier. Passing by massive downed trees with their limbs hanging over the water, I could imagine many of the scenes from James Fenimore Cooper’s “Deerslayer” where Hawkeye was attacked from the trees.

I didn't anticipate how choppy the waters would become. As I got closer, I could hear a clanging noise, as though metal was striking a rock surface. Could that noise be timed with the waves?

As I drew near I spotted the dock bobbing in the waters just below the huge wooden door. It looked like it wasn’t attached to columns. After reconnoitering from the kayak, I decided I'd pull up on shore and swim out to the dock. I documented my approach at intervals on video, if you were to listen to it you would hear the racket it made. The water was cool and crystal clear, and after paddling for a half hour I was ready to cool off.

And this is what it looks like when raiding a tower from a watery approach. That sun couldn't be in a better position for the photo. I swam along the walls to the float with my wet bag and hauled my butt onto the float.

For half a century, I have wanted to explore Kingfisher Tower. I don't have a bucket list, because I'm just too impulsive and do things on a whim, but I also have opportunities that I have missed, ones I still feel the urge to take advantage of should they arise. I tend to do these things by myself as well, again in part because I do things on impulse and also because I am a loner by nature and not a good planner. It's called running the ball - you just go for it.

The structure itself is impressive, with huge oak doors, and iron hinges that would keep any marauder at bay. It made me think that the original builder was reliving his boyhood fantasies of castles from faerie tales. The windows are covered with large oak shingles, and up in the tower itself they are mere slits, just wide enough for an archer to sight a target and let loose an arrow. I could help but think that I was an invader, the door would not budge. Not that I would enter, but I needed to test its resilience. This stone structure was solid. Spend some time looking at the photo again, and tell me it doesn't look like it was built to keep something inside.

As I stood on the float, bobbing up and down, I could see across the waters to the Blue Mingo on the far shore. From this distance it looks like a tiny cabin and in my mind's eye, I think I can place the sandbar that we were so worried about that night, years ago. That was before my sister had her child, and I realize that I have quite a few memories stored away from my return visits to Otsego Lake.

You're probably wondering if I set off any alarms. While I didn't see any cameras, and there definitely weren’t any "no trespassing" signs on the shore, I figured someone would come along sooner or later.

Sure enough, a gentleman rode out in a motor boat, and I knew that I would have to leave. He was pleasant, and my time as a rogue kid who ignored the rules, delusional as it was, ended. That was unsurprising to me as well, because I'm usually the one who stands out and gets caught.

So I paddled away from Kingfisher having fulfilled a silly boyhood dream. It's funny how those ideas are cropping up more often as I get older. Like I say. time is running out, and while I am not afraid of dying, I am afraid of not having lived to the fullest. You can detect that theme in many of the articles and podcasts that I have done, and will continue to do. And it's why I pushed my kids to do the same.

There’s a song by Rush titled Lakeside Park about a pier that the band members frequented in their youth that comes to mind as I’m writing this for you.

Lakeside Park, willows in the breeze
Lakeside Park, so many memories
Laughing rides, midway lights
Shining stars on summer nights
Days of barefoot freedom, racing with the waves
Nights of starlit secrets, crackling driftwood flames
Drinking by the lighthouse, smoking on the pier
Still we saw the magic was fading every year

Some of that magic can still reside in your heart, even though you may be unaware of its presence. The trick is to return to regions where you missed an opportunity and recall those memories. In this day and age there is so much that distracts us, and social media is a big culprit. In a sense, you can become burdened by what is fed to you on those platforms. But what better thing to feed your soul than by getting out into the beauty that surrounds us? What is implanted from that experience is far healthier for you than pundits, emotional triggers and endless scrolling.

Some call it bounty, some call it the Glory of God in Nature. It is a gift. Take the plunge, it restores more than what you can imagine.

Thank You for Reading

The Mighty Humanzee, proud husband, father and lover of freedom, is co-author of Cultural Courage on Substack. He is also co-author of Severed Conscience, a book about the lingering effects of social media addiction and its impact on society.

Exploring out in nature is the cure. If you enjoyed his adventure, be sure to

On your favorite social media platform, and check out more of his writing here.

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