Chapter 12 - Tributaries
Oriskany Creek Then and Now
Oriskany
Creek begins its descent near Prospect Hill in Madison County and flows
31 miles north, mostly through Oneida County, to the Mohawk River.
Along the way it passes through the villages and hamlets of Solsville,
Oriskany Falls, Deansboro, Farmers Mills, Clinton, Kirkland, Clarks Mills,
Walesville, Colemans Mills and Oriskany.
There are some wild places on Oriskany Creek.
There was an Oneida Indian village near the mouth
of the creek before the Revolutionary War. The name of the creek
came from that village which was called Oriska. Curious, considering there
is no "r" in the Oneida language.
Almost every village on the creek today developed around water-powered
mills when this region was settled after the war. Remnants of these mills
can be found up and down the creek and its tributaries.
Today Oriskany Creek is one of the finest brown
trout streams in upstate New York. Like so many other local anglers, I've
waded and fished the creek many times over the years, but I had never canoed
it or knew anyone who had. Fact is most of the creek is not canoeable any
time of year, but I reasoned, the lower five miles could be canoe-fished
during high water periods. The opportunity to prove my theory came on June
13, 2000.
Discovery Trips on Oriskany Creek
| Part One - Walesville to Mohawk River
-June 13, 2000
Canoeing Adventure on Oriskany Creek |
| Part Two - Walesville upstream to Clark Mills - Nov 1, 2000
Not a Wasted Day |
| Part Three - Clark Mills upstream to Kirkland October 26, 2000
Doesn't Get Any Better Than This |
| Part Four - Kirkland upstream to Norton Ave (Clinton) First Try June
29, 2001 - July 10, 2001
Classic But Not Easy |
| Part Five - Norton Ave upstream to Clinton Rd - Aug 16, 2001
Lots of History Here |
| Part Six - Clinton Rd upstream to Rte 12B Bridge Aug 21, 2001
Doorways to History ---and---Classic and Riprap Water |
| Part Seven - Rte 12 B upstream to Farmers Mills 2nd Bridge - Oct 2,
2001
Clinton Was a Mining Town---and---Enough Already! |
| Part Eight -Farmers Mills halfway to Deansboro - Oct 9, 2001
A Roundtrip Adventure |
| Part Nine - Second half of Farmers Mills
to Deansboro -Nov
15, 2001
How Lucky Can You Get? |
| Part Ten - Deansboro to Burnham Rd - April 23, 2002
Good Thing We Loaded up On Sausage Gravy and Biscuits |
| Part Eleven - Burnham Rd to Van Hyning Rd
October 7. 2003
Ask and You Shall Receive |
Discovery: Canoeing Adventure on Oriskany Creek
June 13, 2000, 60 degrees, Threatening Rain
After
I parked the Jeep at the mouth of the creek, Gary Eychner drove me
up to Walesville where I had hidden Willow (my 10-foot solo canoe) in the
weeds near the bridge. It was cloudy, 60 degrees, rain predicted
later that morning. I was waterproof head to toe --- rain hat, jacket,
pants and hip boots.
A Lost Pond Canoe, which I call "Willow" because
it looks like a willow leaf floating on the water, was
ideal for exploring the lower reaches of Oriskany Creek.
While I was getting gear and canoe ready to launch,
Gary cast a gold spoon into a pool just downstream from the bridge and
caught 14-inch brown that jumped clear out of the water. We took photos
of each other with the fish. (Heh, I could have caught it.) It was
9 a.m. when Gary left for work and I pushed off to an adventure on Oriskany
Creek.
Below the bridge, the canoe passed swiftly between
small trees and shrub-lined streambanks, away from civilization and on
to a stretch of water dominated by huge willows, maples and sycamores.
Road noise faded into the rush and babble of water and the chirping of
birds. Except for the winding path of gray sky overhead and an occasional
patch of blue phlox and yellow flag, green dominated the scenery.
At the mouth of Dean's Creek, I poked the
canoe into the tributary and drifted back to fish the pool below the merging
waters. Great looking pool but nothing liked my lure.
A half-hour after launch, I passed under a
cable that carried a small cart across the stream. Just downstream power
lines crossed overhead. The valley opened up in this area and I was greeted
by the departure and/or complaints of mallards, great blue heron,
red wing blackbirds, crows and swallows.
Most of the stream to this point was fast-moving
water, so the little canoe moved swiftly by small pools and runs that I
would have fished if wading. At the end of a short rapids, the canoe
caught the point of an eddy and swung around in a pool. A cast across the
upper end of the pool produced an 11-inch brown trout.
As I approached the Thruway bridge (1.4 miles),
it was evident it was being repaired or replaced. Giant cranes towered
over the creek on the left side and there was other heavy equipment nearby.
My first concern was something hard falling on my head. And me without
a hard hat. That concern was whisked away as I got closer to the bridge
and past the point of no return . . . and saw two girders spanning the
creek just a few feet off the water. They were apparently used to move
equipment from one side to the other, but with the canoe moving so fast
I didn't have time to dwell on their purpose. I scrunched down in the canoe
and slipped under the girders --- headroom to spare --- and passed
under the bridge without incident ... and without anyone even noticing
me.
Before I could recover from the thoughts of what
might have happened, I was under the closed bridge at Colemans Mills.
I had originally planned to launch here, but like the land near most closed
bridges it was heavily posted by adjacent landowners.
In moments I left the hamlet behind and returned
to the wild. Wind gusts disturbed a small stand of cedars on the right
side of the creek, reminding me of the coming rain. Further down- stream,
the silver strands of high voltage transmission lines crossed the creek.
It was 10 a.m.
Upstream from the Judd Road Bridge, a great blue heron
was standing in the water, intent on procuring breakfast. It didn't
move until I was right next to it; the closest I've ever approached
a heron. Below the bridge, a small, beautifully colored, brown trout
took my lure. I returned the fish to the water; a better fate than a heron's
breakfast.
The stretch of creek below the bridge was quite
clean and wild, with just a couple of homes visible through the trees.
I stopped to stretch and take pictures near a grassy island. Two mallards
jumped from the water in protest and flew downstream.
Back in the canoe, I passed through a long
rapids. On the right was a sand-over-silt slip bank. Downstream, stone
riprap announced that Valley Road Bridge was just around the bend. The
hole under the bridge was deep and dark, an ideal place to swim a crayfish
plug. A 13-inch brown ate the plug.
After the fish swam back to the hole under the bridge,
I continued downstream to a short but scary rapids; high banks on the right,
grass and willows on the left. In the middle of a narrow chute, Willow
bounced off rocks, shaking from side to side. Tough little canoe.
Below the rapids, where the creek ran straight,
was a fascinating sight. Hundreds of birds, were feeding on insects
coming off the water. Birds criss-crossed the valley from water level to
a hundred feet up. I recognized swallows and waxwings, but there were others
enjoying the feast. A pair of startled mallards broke the spell.
I saw the dead tree lying lengthwise and partially
submerged on the right side of the stream at the lower end of a run
of fast water. My plan, as always, was to avoid contact, so I paddled
the canoe to the left side of the creek. The creek had other plans. A cross-current
pulled Willow across the stream toward the tree. I worked the paddle to
no avail. The canoe hit the tree, bounced back into the current and hit
the tree again before reaching quiet water unscathed. Willow had saved
my buns again. I love that canoe.
A long stretch of stillwater predicted the Oriskany
Dam was just ahead. It was built to feed a canal that supplied water for
mills in the village. Well above the dam, I beached the canoe on
the right side of the creek (opposite the road) and dragged it through
the woods and grass to the bottom of the dam. I made a few casts,
took some photos and returned to the water. It was 11:15 and just
starting to rain.
Downstream from the dam, two fishermen waded the
creek. One, stringer of trout in tow, walked up the bank when he saw me,
but didn't answer my greeting. The other fisherman was standing in the
stream drifting bait through a long pool. He had the most incredulous look
on his face, and asked, "Where'd you come from?!"
I told him I had floated down from Walesville. Apparently
still amazed, he asked, "But how'd you get over the falls?"
When I explained that I had walked around the dam,
he shook his head and went on fishing.
It was 11:30 and pouring when I passed under the
Utica Street Bridge in the village of Oriskany (4.3 miles). Just downstream
I could see the partially demolished Route 69 bridge and was surprised
to see the construction crew working in the pouring rain. They were too
busy to see me. Most of the activity was on the left side of the
bridge, so I slipped under the partially demolished right side, again wishing
for a hard hat.
It took only a few minutes to float to the last
bridge on the creek. This ancient railroad crossing provided cover from
the rain, so I stayed under it for about 10 minutes before continuing.
Between the railroad bridge and the mouth of the creek, I played tag with
a great blue heron, watched a mallard and her ducklings, appreciated the
beauty and abundance of wild flowers and marveled at how deep and
rich the soil is in Mohawk River floodplain.
Near the mouth of the creek (5.3 miles) I
beached the canoe and carried it up the crumbling bank. It was 12:15 and
still pouring. Rain gear had kept me dry until I loaded and lashed the
canoe to the Jeep. The cuffs of my shirt were soaking wet when I drove
to the Oriskany Diner for some hot coffee and soup.
In just over three hours I had floated more than
five miles; seen wildlife, wild flowers and wild places; caught a few
nice fish, and had some close calls. If that's not an adventure,
what is?