Chapter 12 - Tributaries
Crum Creek
Crum Creek starts in a swamp near Oppenheim. Back in the mid to late
1800s that swamp was a fair-size body of water called Le Boeuff Lake. The
lake’s dam conserved and controlled water for several mills in Oppenheim,
including a sawmill, gristmill, tannery and distillery. Today there
is still a small dam in that area but the lake and the mills are no more.
Just downstream from the dam, Crum Creek crosses
under Route 29 just east of the corners in Oppenheim, meanders southwest
for 1.2 miles before flowing under Route 331 where it drops into a gulf,
flowing past Twin Church Hill, and under Crum Creek Road at 2.3 miles.
At 3.5 miles it zips under Twin Church Road, just west of the “hamlet”
of Crum Creek. Soon after it drops into a half-mile long gorge before crossing
under Davis Road and Clay Hill Road at around 4.5 miles.
From the Clay Hill Road Bridge the creek doesn’t
see another road until it brushes against Hillabrandt Road at 6.7 miles
and passes under Route 5 at seven miles. Below Route 5 it makes a sweeping
bend around a high glacial terrace before flowing under a railroad bridge
and into the Mohawk at around 8 miles.
Discovery: There's Nothing Crummy About Crum Creek
May 25, 2001, 57 degree, Cloudy & Windy
It had rained
for almost a week. By Friday I couldn't stand it any longer. Rain or no
rain, I had to discover something new in the Mohawk Valley.
Two nights before I had enjoyed an excellent program
at the Herkimer County Historical Society on the "Beardslee Family of Manheim"
by St. Johnsville Central School Librarian, Jean Sekel. The
Beardslees, among other things, built Beardslee Manor (now called Castle)
near the mouth of East Canada Creek. This area is way up on my list of
places to study and explore, but the big creek was too high to wade, so
I decided to explore nearby Crum Creek.
without realizing I was walking through history's door.
It was 8:30 a.m. when I parked the Jeep behind
the guardrail near the Route 5 bridge and slipped on my hip boots. The
smell of phlox and honeysuckle was in the air. I could hear the calls of
a half-dozen songbirds and the rushing waters of the creek. If not for
the occasional car or truck passing on the highway, this could be a wilderness
setting.
I crossed the highway and walked downstream, following
the faded path of an old farm road. Buttercups and the downy heads of ripe
dandelions dotted the predominantly green field. I noted the smell of mint
and couldn't resist tearing off a leaf to enjoy the taste. The collapsed-remains
of a large shed, galvanized steel roof still intact, revealed this was
an active farm in the recent past.
Much to my surprise this meandering stretch of the
creek is replete with pools, runs, and log-filled holes. I was tempted
to cast a lure, but continued downstream toward the railroad bridge that
had come into view. Getting up and over that bridge was more difficult
than expected.
I didn't want to walk under the bridge, for fear
of disturbing the fishing hole I was sure would be there, so I walked through
waste-high brush (that will be head-high in a few weeks) and around marshland.
Along the way I passed blossomed thornapple trees, ragged robin, phlox,
fern and a variety of plants I couldn't identify.
I suspected there was a road grade leading up to
the railroad; the only way a farmer could get to his fields on the other
side. It's nice to be right once in awhile. Although overgrown with brush
and small trees, it was an easy path to the plowed fields on the
other side. It was good to see this rich farmland still in use. From there
on I walked the edges of fields to the mouth of the creek. At 9:15 I saw
the Mohawk River.
Crum Creek enters the Mohawk just east of East Canada
Creek. I was familiar with this area because I had canoed this stretch
of the Mohawk the year before. I could see the hills and fields south of
the river where the Mohawk Village of Canajoharie and English Fort Hendrick
stood from the mid to late 1700s. Early travelers were impressed with Mohawk
Chief, King Hendrick's apple orchard. Construction of the NYS Thruway all
but obliterated this historic site.
Heron and man tracks indicated there were fish hereabouts.
A gold spinner produced a fallfish. I was certain this was also walleye
and bass water, and considered trying different lures and techniques, but
I had promised to be home for lunch.
Fishing Crum Creek in this area is not easy. The
banks are steep, muddy and slippery. Willow, boxelder, scrub elm, cottonwood
and ferns grow tight to the banks, so the best I could do was an occasional
cast to a likely looking pool. My efforts produced a few snags. The only
bites I got were from mosquitoes.
It was 9:55 when I sat on rock under the railroad
bridge to eat a mid-morning snack and enjoy the breeze that discouraged
mosquitoes. I wondered if a train would shake rock or gravel into the creek.
At exactly 10:03 I had my answer. A freight train took almost two minutes
to cross the bridge. The sound was deafening, but nothing fell off the
bridge. And I caught nothing from the rock-bottom runs and pools under
the bridge.
After Route 5 came into view, I could see a large
brick house atop a knoll on the other side of the highway, no doubt the
home of farmers that once worked this land. In the 1800s, brick houses
outside villages were usually the homes of wealthy farmers. I wondered
if the owner of this farmstead visited nearby Beardslee Manor.
It was much easier to fish this part of the creek.
The banks were nowhere near as high, streamside vegetation nowhere near
as thick. With the stream swollen after a week of rain, the pools and runs
were deep. I hoped to catch a trout or perhaps a small bass. Much to my
surprise, a pool at the end of a short rapids produced a big fish. At first
I thought I had hooked a small carp, but when it came into view, rolled
and ripped off line, I knew it was a bass, a 17-inch smallmouth. Made my
day.
I cast a gold spoon into several fishy looking spots,
including log-filled pools at sharp bends in the stream. Two especially
good looking fish havens were at the base of a ridge on the right side
of the creek; one a run against a clay bank, the other a pool next to slabs
of conglomerate. No hits, no follows.
There is a house to the right of the bridge, so
I crossed to the opposite side. The stream bottom in this area is a rock
outcrop, forming tiny waterfalls, chutes, and solid footing, so I waded
midstream, crossed under the bridge and arrived at my car at 11:30.
I was disappointed I didn't have time to explore
further upstream. I recalled there was an Indian village site along Crum
Creek, but couldn't determine where it was from the hasty review of my
research notes earlier that morning. I had hoped to recognize some feature
that would provide a clue to its location.
Little did I know how close I came to being there,
done that.
Crum Creek Part 2
Discovery: Return to Crum Creek's Fish Camp
May 29, 2001, 57 degrees, Sunny 
I was excited. It was only a 10-minute walk to the
site of an Indian village that was located near one of the most productive
fishing grounds in the Mohawk Valley.
This seasonal hamlet was built atop a peninsula
of high ground at a bend in Crum Creek that was only a few hundred yards
from East Canada Creek and the Mohawk River. From here the Mohawks caught
fish with nets, spears and set lines, and gathered mussels and clams. Although
there were bullheads, eels and brook trout in these waters, suckers were
the most abundant and sought after fish, especially during the spring spawning
run.
canoes lined up near this tree at the bottom of fish camp ridge?
It was 10:45 a.m. when I parked near the
Route 5 Bridge and walked downstream to the point of land at the west end
of the peninsula. It was an easy climb on a gravel and cobble trail to
the top. From there I could see Crum Creek, Route 5 and the south side
of the Mohawk Valley. It didn't take much imagination to picture
elm bark and dugout canoes beached along the shoreline, and hear the chatter
of women and children as they hauled in their nets.
I passed through a thin stand of hemlock, elm, boxelder,
basswood and maple, and into a field dotted with buttercups, asters and
wild roses. Fresh "cow pies" revealed a pasture, so I walked to the south
edge of the ridge. A dirt road angled to the bottom through giant maples.
One of these fallen monarchs was covered with moss. A grey squirrel scurried
across the forest floor and disappeared in a big thornapple tree.
Through the trees I could see a plowed field below.
Although these floodplain soils are some of the richest in the world,
it is doubtful the early inhabitants of this site planted maize down there.
Back then flooding was quite common (no dams upstream) so the relatively
few crops planted near this seasonal village were most likely planted on
higher ground.
Further east I discovered a stone fencerow in the
park-like forest along the south edge. I also discovered a huge depression
in the hillside. While I was looking it over, a train passed below. It
was at exactly 11:30. I learned later the depression was created during
the construction of the railroad.
Directly north, in the middle of the peninsula,
was a big meadow. Purple and white phlox grew along the edge. I crossed
the meadow, passed under a big oak, waved to some cows in the pasture,
and walked to the edge of the woods on the other side. From there I could
see a white house, red barn and blue silos; the current inhabitants of
this ancient village site.
Actually there was more than one village here. As
many as 300 Mohawks "camped" here on and
off during the 1400s, 1500s and again in the 1700s. Although its high-ground
location made it more defensible, it was more likely located here to avoid
floodwaters. There were no palisades or longhouses because this was not
a main village. Bark huts provided shelter for the early inhabitants. (The
Mohawks that resided here in the 1700s lived in cabins.)
I couldn't help wondering what daily life was like
back then. The women and children did most of the work around camp. How
did it look, smell, sound? Were there fish drying in the sun? Had seed
been planted? Were canoes beached along the creek or were the men
away? (During the 1400s and 1500s, the men spent much of their time hunting
deer, or trying to kill or capture their neighbors.)
Mosquitoes---a face full of them---brought me back
to reality. I headed back---on the north side of the ridge---and discovered
fencerows, a pasture littered with stones, wild apple and cherry
trees, and cows lying in the shade. Along the edge were piles of
tree stumps. I wondered what was uncovered when those stumps were removed
from the pasture. Clam and mussel shells perhaps. I also discovered a spring
on the north side of the ridge; a source of freshwater for the villagers
who lived here.
Cows had created tunnels through the trees, so I
followed one to the west end of the ridge Thistle and burdocks grew
around a depression in the gravel bank where I followed another trail down
to Crum Creek. It was noon when I headed upstream, looking for shells or
pieces of pottery. When my hip boots sprung a leak, I called it quits and
cut cross-lots to the Jeep. I didn't need pottery to remember this discovery
trip.
CrumCreek Part 3
Small-Stream Trout and Senior
Sycamore
September 15, 2004, 65 degrees, Sunny
It was 9 a.m. when Paul Flanders parked his pickup just off Clay Hill
Road. We walked through highground timberland for about a half-mile before
descending to Crum Creek. The plan was to fish upstream to the bridge,
but Paul mentioned there was a good pool at the big bend a hundred yards
downstream if I cared to give it a try. Hah!
In this area Crum Creek runs over granite rocks
and boulders, between wooded clay and gravel banks. At first glance it
looks too small and shallow to support trout. But Paul insisted there were
plenty of fish, noting that some long ago fish shocking surveys produced
surprising results.
While Paul rigged his spinning rod, I walked downstream
to find the big-bend pool. On the way I found a metal safety pin stringer.
Looked too big for stream trout; more like a stringer for walleyes or pike.
Lost? Or high expectations turned to disgust?
The highlight of this discovery trip was this huge sycamore
with a "den" at the bottom and shed bark all around. Paul Flanders reluctantly
provides perspective. No, I didn't hang shed bark in the small trees
just to take the photo.
The big-bend pool was a long, rock filled stretch
of stillwater that was so shallow, I could see the bottom. Nevertheless,
when my gold spoon was halfway across, a fish grabbed it and dove into
the rocks, snagging the line. When I tried to tug it loose, the lure
rocketed out of the water and hit me in the mouth. No blood, but it was
the first time I’d been caught by a trout.
From
then on fishing Crum Creek was a lesson in frustration. Overhanging
trees protected almost every pool. No matter what I did---underhand, overhand,
side-hand or even skip-cast---my gold spoon spent more time hung up in
branches than it did in the water. Reluctant to leave $2 lures as decorations,
I messed up most of the good water by retrieving lures. When I did manage
to actually swim a lure through a pool, I had a few follows and some hits.
One fish hit the lure three times but couldn’t connect because the lure’s
hooks were snagged on the line and it was running sideways. First time
I had ever had a trout hit a Phoebe running sideways.
. . . and where I caught this beautiful brown trout.
When I caught up to Paul, he was working a small
gold spoon (not a Phoebe) through a rocky run. He had had a few hits but
no hookups, except of course on rocks, trees and branches. Although he
lives nearby, he hadn’t fished this area for several years. Back then his
weapons of choice were flies, but his eyesight “ain’t what it used to be”
and those tippets are so tiny.
While the highground timberland was dominated by
second growth cherry, maple and ash, many of the streamside trees were
old timers like white pine, cottonwood, willow and a few oak and sycamore.
The highlight of this discovery trip was a huge sycamore with a “den” at
the bottom. Long sheds of bark were scattered all around and hanging from
seedlings. If that senior sycamore could talk . . .
Paul is a patient fisherman. Despite the overhanging
trees, he worked almost every pool and run, while I fished the deepest
pools and then waited for Paul to catch up.
Around 11 o’clock, I approached a good pool that
was under a tree lying across the creek. I passed it up and cast into a
shallow pool just upstream . . . and was astounded when a 13 ½-inch
brown trout took the lure and flip flopped on the surface. After measuring
and photographing the fish, I waded upstream. Along the way I discovered
a big sycamore and an almost identical size oak growing side by side.
As I sat atop the abutment, feet dangling off the
edge, I felt like a kid. Could hardly wait to tell Paul about the big fish
and the “twin” trees.
When Paul climbed up the bank at 11:30 and I told
him about the fish, he said, “You’re kidding.” His next words were “Did
you see the big oak and sycamore growing side by side?”
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