Submerged

When the water gets low, the spire of the church pokes out. A few hundred yards to the south, the smokestacks of the old forge begin to show. The crumbling roads that once led into the old valley wander off into the abyss. The foundations of the small town crumble under the weight of the water, and deep in the murky darkness of the reservoir, a secret's heart still beats.

Every map you see today lists the area as the Saugatuck Reservoir, created by a dam that held back the water's namesake river in 1938. It provides water to some of the most affluent towns in Connecticut, but below its surface rests a story washed away through time.

The villages of Hull and Valley Forge were poor, even by 1930s American standards. But the people who lived in this peaceful valley in southern Connecticut were proud—especially when it came to the forge that helped produce steel used by the North during the Civil War. But the valley had something much more important than ore deposits. The valley had space—specifically, space that resided in a river valley. And that's when the Bridgeport Hydraulic Company came knocking.

Through eminent domain, the BHC attempted to purchase the land rights to these villages just as they had for the land of the seven other reservoirs in the region. But Valley Forge and Hull were different. Because they were not as affluent, they could offer them pennies on the dollar for their land.

It's not like the residents had a choice. 

During this time, the Merritt Parkway was being built by the State of Connecticut, and the state was offering much more money per acre than the BHC was giving to the residents of the Saugatuck River Valley. Environmentalists didn't have the strength they have now, and despite protests from local towns and several groups of citizens, the BHC had the law on its side.

With the dam built and the waters about to rise, the BHC went about removing bodies from the local cemetery. They moved some houses to higher ground. The others were set on fire and destroyed. And in a few short months, the towns of Valley Forge and Hull ceased to exist as the waters rose.

The towns faded from memory and passed into legend. And as the ultra-rich sipped from the pure waters of the reservoir, they never considered what might still live beneath the waters. 

While Gerald Roberts lay dying in a hospital bed only a few miles from where his family's small farm once stood, he handed his only grandson a note. On it, in finely written penmanship - indicative of the importance of the note - were the following numbers:

41°16'54.1"N 73°22'40.9"W
3271025

If you'd been on Rte. 53, just west of where the old church steeple of Valley Forge poked out of the water during droughts, you would have seen a man in SCUBA gear walking back to his truck with a smile on his face beneath the moonless night sky. After putting his tanks, a shovel, and an underwater flashlight into the bed of his truck, he placed the object he'd just spent the past two hours diving for onto the passenger's seat.

The box, made from the same solid iron ore that was once mined from this valley, had lasted almost 80 years beneath the ground and with the waters of the Saugatuck Reservoir on top of it with minor wear and tear. If you'd been on Rte. 53 that night, you would have seen Gerald Roberts' only grandson thumb the combination to the lock on the box and open it up. And inside, you would have seen something that was about to change this young man's life and the life of most of the citizens of lower Fairfield Country forever.