Chapter 11- The River
Schuyler To Frankfort
Discovery: Utterly Amazing!
October 12, 2000, 55 degrees, Sunny
I was surprised John Pitarresi wanted
to join me on the Mohawk again. Our last outing was the trip from hell.
Of course that was during the heat of summer and this was a much more comfortable
autumn day. And, as John noted, "a good time to see wildlife and catch
smallmouths."
By the time we had breakfast at Dave's Diner in
Schuyler, parked a vehicle near the mouth of Moyer Creek in Frankfort and
returned to carry canoe and gear down that steep trail beside the Dyke
Road Bridge, it was 9:30.
The
fastwater below the bridge grabbed the canoe and propelled us into another
adventure. As if to point the way, a small flock of mergansers ran across
the water and flew downstream under a railroad bridge. We cast plugs and
spinners to the abutments and the wooden pilings under the bridge. No takers.
Willows, silver maple and boxelder lined the riverbank.
Their colors were starting to fade. Piles of logs and other debris in the
water looked great for smallmouths. While I held the canoe in position
John cast a Rapala. All we got for our efforts was a scolding from a chipmunk.
Beaver had been working a riverside cornfield as
evidenced by a muddy slide to the river. "Our" flock of mergansers ran
off the water again, flying over several Canada geese that paddled well
ahead of the canoe. A screech turned our attention overhead to a soaring
red-tailed hawk. So far John was half-right. It was a good day to see wildlife.
At 10:25 we passed the pier and abutment of an ancient
bridge. My topo map didn't indicate any roads in this area. Hmmm?
The other half of John's prediction manifested
near the mouth of a canal crossover stream (Burch Creek). His floating
Rapala took two smallmouth bass, one a 13-incher. While John released that
fish, a train rumbled over the stream culvert. As we rounded the next bend,
Dutch Hill came into view. The fall colors of this 600-foot high, three-mile
long wooded plateau dominated the scenery on the south side of the river.
By 11 o'clock we were ready for a stretch break but the riverbanks
were too high and muddy to land a canoe, so we continued downriver for
another 20 minutes to a small grassy beach on the north side of the river.
From there we climbed the bank to a stand of hawthorn and followed a well-packed
deer trail into a predominantly hardwood forest. It was along this trail
we discovered a Mohawk Valley monarch: a towering "swamp" oak, 17-feet
in circumference, breast high. There was a large fungus growing near the
bottom. How much history had this monarch witnessed? How much longer would
it reign?
We were back on the river at noon. Ten minutes later
we passed a fishing platform on the south side of the river. No one was
fishing. Downstream the current picked up and the river changed considerably.
Streams came in from both sides and the riverbank turned from mud to rock
and gravel. The trees were more colorful along this stretch.More reds and
yellows.
monarch: a swamp oak that was 17-feet around. Note the
fungus at the bottom. The one without the hat.
A tributary from the north was Sterling
Creek. Today it flows into the canal before flowing over a crossover dam
to the river. The name of this stream has been changed from Stauring to
Staring to Sterling, as the spelling of the Palatine family who lived here
was changed over the years. It was on this stream that the Tryon County
Militia camped on the first night of their march to relieve the siege of
Fort Stanwix in August 1777. It was also here that the Tryon County
Militia camped when the March and Battle of Oriskany was re-created in
August 1977. Participation in that re-creation was one of the most
memorable experiences of my life.
As we approached a grassy island, a blue heron lifted its great
grey wings and pumped downstream. It was 12:40. There were piles of logs
among the trees at the lower end of the island; deposited by spring floodwaters.
John had fished this stretch of the river before,
so while we cast to the stream outlets and rocky shoreline, I asked him
where he usually caught fish.
"I almost always catch bass right up against the bank. I fish the shaded side of the river, but the shade of logs or rocks are also good."
John was casting a Number 5, orange, floating Rapala.
It started producing at 1 o'clock. He caught three smallmouth bass, one
after the other. One was a 14-incher. They loved that little orange minnow.
Nothing touched my spinner.
As we drifted past a meadow and pasture on our right,
two wood ducks jumped off the river and flew directly downstream, and then
the strangest thing happened. A great blue heron flew directly upstream
. . . and passed no more than 10 feet over our heads. John whispered, "Utterly
amazing!"
I responded, "Utterly amazing it didn't crap on
our heads." I had seen herons defecate before. Not a pretty sight.
Looked like someone had dumped paint in the water.
Cows were standing in the river at the mouth of Bonny Brook on the south side of the river. This relatively small tributary had deposited so many cobblestones there was just a narrow channel on the north side of the river. The cows remained in the river until we were almost upon them. We said goodbye to those Bonny Brook bovines, zipped through that narrow chute and fished the deep pool below. Downstream from the pool we spooked another pair of woodies and a great blue heron, and John caught a smallmouth from the roots of a fallen tree. It was 2 o'clock.
These Bonny Brook bovines were standing on a cobblestone bar that almost crossed the river.
As we approached a large pasture on our right, a
red-tailed hawk landed in the top of a dead tree. It remained there until
we were almost under it, and then with the sun glinting off its "orange"
tail, it took flight and circled overhead. We stopped for a stretch break
and were back on the river at 2:20.
At 2:30 we passed an old stone bridge abutment.
This abutment, according to a historic marker on old Route 5S, was located
in the area of an old river crossing. "Frank's Ford" crossed the river
at what is now the village of Frankfort. We landed the canoe on the cobblestone
delta at the mouth of Moyer Creek at 2:45.
After the canoe and gear were loaded in the Jeep,
we walked down to the dam where the Mohawk flows into the canal. Below
this dam is one of the best fishing holes in the Mohawk River. But that's
another story.
Follow the path of this discovery trip by clicking on Mohawk Valley Maps: by Maptech.
Type West Schuyler, select New York, press GO! Click on margin arrows to follow the path of the Mohawk River from Schuyler to Frankfort.
Return to Mohawk Valley Book-In-Progress Index