I’d heard in the past about an unusual early 19th century maple sugar operation not far from Tupper Lake. Several years ago, I hiked to what turns out to have been part of the site. But only upon reading “A Sugarbush Like None Other,” by Matthew Thomas, did I really gain an appreciation of the magnitude and historic nature of this enterprise.

A man named A. A. Low (1844-1912) grew up as a child of privilege, courtesy of wealth in foreign trade amassed by his father and grandfather. By age 17, Low had become accustomed to traveling in Europe and spending summers at Newport. His brother served as mayor of Brooklyn, then, after that district merged with the other boroughs, as mayor of New York City.

But his own interests diverged into scientific forestry and industrial development. By 1896 he had begun accumulating huge tracts of land in the northern Adirondacks. On his property, which he called The Horse Shoe Forestry Co., he constructed mills and dams, all in service to a remarkable scheme to begin maple syrup production on a scale never seen before.

When I say a scale never seen before, I mean tapping an estimated 50,000 trees, building four processing facilities for the sap, and servicing the operation with three narrow gauge railroad lines (later improved to standard gauge). Sap was gathered via innovative gravity feed systems. Horse Shoe Forestry had electricity before Tupper Lake did. By 1900 Low was running 19 evaporators in four separate sugar camps.

His own mills provided staves for the barrels he needed in transport; syrup went to the retail market in now-coveted embossed glass bottles; specially commissioned molds were used to shape Horse Shoe Forestry’s maple candies. Low’s employees also ran a honey operation, prepared jams and jellies for sale, and made use of a natural spring to bottle and distribute water.

The author has made a career from doing research into the maple syrup world. Initially he felt this story might make a good journal article. Before long he realized it would require at least a book to adequately report what he learned. Besides combing historic newspapers and regional museums, he devoted months to investigating the land on which Horse Shoe Forestry ran its business. In doing so he added surface archaeological studies to his mass of information.

Low’s Horse Shoe Forestry Co. lasted only about a dozen years. The usual reasons for business failure in the Adirondacks didn’t apply in this instance. Capitalization was fully adequate; he somehow accommodated the transportation demands of the remote location; sufficient numbers of employees remained available. The death knell was forest fire. Two years of widespread burning, probably a consequence of railroads, wiped out the maple groves.

Low likely had the money to rebuild the production facilities, but it takes centuries to repopulate a maple forest.

An impressive trove of vintage photographs, some from old-fashioned magic lantern slides, helps one follow the tale. And the author’s carefully rendered site maps convey a sense of the enormity of the enterprise. The writing in the book doesn’t always flow smoothly. There’s more detail than many might want in some sections. And I wish the book had an index, as I occasionally lost track of people and places.

The bottom line, though, is that the Horse Shoe Forestry story is a remarkable one. That’s easily enough to make the book well worth reading.