Chapter 12 - Tributaries
Sauquoit Creek - Part 4
Discovery: Nature Bounces Back
September 17, 2002, 55 degrees, Cloudy
This was a very special outing. The week before
we were both in the hospital fearing for our lives. And now, humbled but
hearty, Denny Gillen and I were exploring another stretch of Sauquoit Creek.
The plan: continue our upstream trek by wading
from Chenango Road to the east end of Brookline Drive. This section runs
a mile or so through residential areas and under expressways in the Town
and Village of New Hartford. From the road it looks more like a concrete
ditch than a stream, so we didn't know what to expect.
The trail from the pull-off on Chenango Road crossed a railroad track to an almost dry rock-filled tributary that we followed down to the creek. Downstream there were deep pools and runs under the railroad bridge and the Chenango Road Bridge. Upstream under a good-size waterfalls was a huge pool. A great blue heron took off from the side of the pool, pumped his great wings and disappeared into the trees.
It
was 9:15 a.m. when Denny headed for the waterfalls and I waded towards
the bridges. Denny had one thing in mind. Catch the big brown that had
to reside in that pool. I carried cameras and fishing rod. When I had taken
my fill of photographs and failed to catch a fish, I waded up to the waterfalls.
Limestone slabs, and bent and twisted steel pilings created the two-tier waterfalls. I suspect there was a natural waterfalls under all that reinforcement. Judging from the packed trail, a graffiti-painted rock and a rope hanging from a tree, the pool below the falls is a popular swimming hole.
Denny had climbed to the top of the dam and was
heading upstream when I caught up to him. He didn't raise a single fish
near the falls nor in the long stretch of mostly shallow water between
the falls and Route 12.
At 10 o'clock, cars and trucks rumbling overhead,
we waded under the Route 12 Expressway Bridge. The creek in this area has
been rerouted and channelized, as evidenced by its straight track and the
second-growth trees along the bank. The traffic didn't seem to bother wildlife
because there were deer, raccoon and heron tracks in the mud near the bridge. 
Just upstream from the bridge
the Sauquoit runs over a rocky bottom, through a series of shaded pools
and runs, and along undercut banks. Denny had a couple of hits and saw
a "big fish with a red back" but couldn't hook up. In this same area I
caught an 11-inch brown---the first fish of the day. Thinking it might
be the only fish of the day; we stopped to take photographs.
I bypassed the next couple of pools and headed upstream, but couldn't resist dropping my Phoebe into a long, deep run of flatwater next to limestone slabs. I had just started to crank the reel when the water erupted and I felt the weight of a big fish. I yelled to Denny, "I've got a good fish on! Hurry up. I want you to see it before it gets away."
But it didn't get away. It jumped clear of the water and made some good runs, but the tiny hooks held and I landed one of the best trout I've caught in a small stream. I was sure it was a 19-incher, but it measured 17 inches . . . three times.
Denny was as excited as I, taking photos and marveling at the fish's color and size. After releasing the fish, we headed upstream to another two-tier waterfalls, and the beginning of a quarter-mile of creek that was rerouted, channelized and walled to accommodate the Route 8 Expressway. The water below the falls was littered with large chunks of limestone. Despite this ideal trout habitat Denny couldn't catch a fish.
We climbed around the waterfalls and waded into one of the strangest stretches of water I've ever fished. It started with a low concrete dam. Above the dam, the left side of the creek ran along the bottom of a concrete wall with a chain link fence on the top. High on the opposite bank, cars zipped along the expressway, hidden from view by second growth trees and brush. Just upstream from this section, the left bank turned to shrubs and trees and the right bank became a wall of concrete that supported a ramp to Route 8.
The water next to the second wall was too deep to wade, but large chunks of limestone on the left side and under the water in the middle of the creek, provided steppingstones. When Denny approached this stretch of water he saw two fish dash out from under one of the stones, but several casts produced nada. Just upstream, I flushed a green heron, caught a 10-inch trout and waited for Denny to get around me so he could fish new water.
While expressway traffic zipped by overhead, Denny
swam his metal minnow through the long run at the bottom of the wall, but
nothing touched it. When his spinning reel became snarled in monofilament,
I made one cast over his shoulder. My spoon hit the wall and dropped into
the mouth of a 10-inch trout that danced across the water. Denny looked
over his shoulder and said, "This is starting to piss me off!" That really
cracked me up. I laughed so hard it got Denny laughing too. Our positions
in this sometimes-frustrating sport of fishing have been reversed many
times over the years. 
Before getting to the shallow water at the upper
end of the wall, we ran out of steppingstones, so we waded to shore and
walked the wooded shoreline, noting residences behind the trees, and the
Genesee St. Bridge just ahead. We waded under New Hartford's busiest street
at 11:45 and approached a completely different stream.
For several hundred yards there were homes on the
left and Route 8 on the right. Here the creek bottom was cobble and mostly
shallow, but gradually developed into holes and runs. Along the way we
spooked a great blue heron, and a mallard flew over our heads.
I
caught a small chub from one of the pools and Denny caught a 6 1/2-inch
brown trout. As he released the fish, he said with a grin, "At least I
didn't get skunked."
As I approached a concrete wall on the expressway
side of the creek, I noted some branches hanging down the side. Fish often
lie under overhanging vegetation, so I cast my lure so it hit the water
right under the branches, and was rewarded with an 11-inch brown.
At 12:40 we saw Denny's car parked at the end of
Brookline Drive. Just upstream was a railroad bridge. It was tempting,
but not as tempting as the soup and sandwich waiting for us at Casab's
Deli in downtown New
Hartford.
and shrubs that grew between Sauquoit Creek
and Brookline Drive.
Post Script: Adjustment is The
Name of the Game
Sauquoit Creek in New Hartford has been sliced, diced, channelized
and rerouted to accommodate industry, residences and highways. Long stretches
of its once-wooded banks have been turned to stone riprap or concrete walls.
Despite all of these "alterations" it has adjusted to its new environs.
Trees and shrubs grow among the rocks . . . and fish and wildlife abound
right next to one of the busiest highways in the region, and where hundreds
of people live and work.
After Denny and I explored this section, I realized
we had something in common with this "altered" body of water. We too have
been sliced, diced, channelized and rerouted---Denny with intestinal operations
and me with heart, throat and kidney operations. But, like Sauquoit Creek
we have adjusted to our conditions, and continue to enjoy exploring the
nooks and crannies of the Mohawk Valley . . . and feasting at some of its
finest eateries.
Follow the path of this discovery trip by clicking on Mohawk Valley Maps: by Maptech.
Type New Hartford, select New York, press GO!
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