outdoors

In the fall of 1962 Ron Grazioplena turned 14, making him old enough to hunt when accompanied by an adult. Back then, as it is now, the waterfowl season was split into two parts, the early and late season. Because his birthday occurred after the first split, Ron partook of the late season duck hunt. It wasn't until the following year - during the autumn of '63 - that he experienced his first goose hunt. 

Ron's entry into the world of the waterfowler took place in a different era, when hunters stood in line for days at the old permit station on Albion Road, hoping to draw one of the available blinds on the Oak Orchard Wildlife Management Area, where duck and goose hunters were limited to 15 shells and all hunting to cease at noon. But Ron and his buddies never had to stand in line. Rather than hunt the game management areas they scouted corn lots, winter wheat fields and the like. Gaining access courtesy of landowners was never a problem.

Ron's high school years at Notre Dame of Batavia limited his hunting to after school and weekends. In 1970 he graduated from St. Bernard College in Alabama with a degree in biology. Rather that apply for a job, he opted to spend the autumn outdoors and proceeded to hunt geese for 70 straight days. It was a regimen he adhered to for nearly two decades, spending every moment possible outdoors. In the process he accessed another form of education, one seldom found in a classroom.

Ron's hunting career began with the youthful anticipation of taking his first duck or goose, to seeking his first bag limit, to striving to take birds on every hunt. Before long he began to invest his time and money into purchasing the best equipment in order to help him attain his goals. Eventually, after years of waterfowling, the time came when he felt that taking his limit of ducks or geese was not nearly as important as the enjoyment of the hunt in all its different aspects. Said Ron, "The frosty chill that comes with first light, sunrise, the whistling of wings over the marsh and the beauty of the birds. Nature began to mean something."  

By 1991 Ron had reached a point where he pulled the trigger only on occassion, discovering he no longer wished to hunt the waterfowl he had enjoyed over the years. By now the family owned a 30 acre marsh and it was at this time when Ron decided he would do his part to help waterfowl thrive. Thus began the building and erecting of wood duck nesting boxes.  

While wood ducks readily took to the nesting boxes, so too did various predators help themselves to the contents of the boxes. One spring, while assisting Ron in the repair of the nesting boxes, we found several with raccoons sleeping inside. And these were boxes that had been placed in the middle of the marsh, far from shore. Still, it had not deterred the strong-swimming racoons. In addition to racoons, mink inhabit the marsh. While not a skilled climber like the raccoon, the mink is an aquatic predator which readily preys on  ducks and their eggs. Thats not too mention weasels, a hazard for shore nesters, then there are  were the winged predators: Great Horned Owls,Redtail  hawks and the like. 

 With so many predators having a taste for waterfowl, Ron developed a new type of nesting compartment, one made from plastic drums, both comfortable and roomy for nesting waterfowl. Made of hard plastic, the drums are secured to steel pipe, their width and and slick surface prevents raccoons and such from taking a firm grip and climbing up and in. In the above photo, the drum on the right has a goose sitting on a clutch of eggs.

"This style of nest has a bottom section which enables hen ducks to spend the night with their ducklings safely out of the water, yet out in the middle of the marsh and away from shore predators" said Ron. He refers to them as "duck motels."  

"Past experience has shown that mother ducks, particularly wood ducks, will utilize such a structure to protect their brood at night when they need to be out of the water and under their mother's wings for warmth and protection", he added.

Installing and maintaining the nests, as well as policing the marsh takes a lot of work. Here Matt Moscicki prepares to install nests. Additional help on the marsh includes Jeff Moscicki, Mary MacIntyre, Darla Luttrell and Ron's cousin and marsh owner, Kenny Grazioplene. 

This is Mary MacIntyre showing the location of active nests.

Mary removing debris from the spillway.

Here Matt prepares to set a pipe into the marsh bottom.

Here's Ron enjoying the fruits of their labor as depicted in the following photos. 

A pair of mallards dabbling

As the mallard on left comes up for air, note the water running off his head and down his bill.

The marsh is home to a variety of waterfowl. Sometimes the open water diving ducks show up, like this pair of buffleheads.

Buffleheads taking off. Both bufflehead photos courtesy of Mary MacIntyre.

Check out the pointed bill on this Red-breasted Merganser - he's a diving duck and a fish eater.

A winged predator with an ample wing span flies past...

While nesting waterfowl are protected.... thanks to Ron "Grazo" Grazioplena and his friends.

This drake wood duck photo, submitted by Ron Grazioplena of Batavia, was also touched up a bit around the eye in order to better display the likeness of an old friend of Ron's. 

In the mid-nineties Ron was doing his best to enhance the lives of wood ducks and other waterfowl inhabiting a 30 acre marsh, a family-owned piece of property. With help from his father, the late Mario Grazioplena, Ron erected a series of wood duck nesting boxes. It was during this time period that the little wood duck with the peculiar white markings on its face became a regular visitor to the marsh. The first time he saw the duck, Ron immediately noticed the unique markings around its eyes. The markings, in the form of white piping entirely circling the eye, were were common for hen wood ducks, not males.    

Each day, when Ron tossed dry feed to the feathered inhabitants of the marsh, the "woodie" was on hand to enjoy the handout. Ron became fond of the little wood duck with the strange markings, even giving him a name. Ron called him "Blaze."  For several weeks Blaze was a regular visitor to the marsh. Then, one day, just like that the little duck failed to show up. Next day same thing. When a week passed and still no sign of Blaze, Ron figured his little buddy had either migrated south or shot by a hunter

Weeks passed, the first half of the split duck season closed, Thanksgiving had come and gone and Ron had all but forgotten about the little wood duck. The morning of December 25th found Ron standing along the southwest corner of the marsh, giving the ducks a  Christmas morning handout. He was tossing cracked corn to the marsh inhabitants when a wood duck with strange but familiar markings swam toward him. It was Blaze!

Ron's little buddy had returned. Not surprisingly, the unexpected Christmas morning visit provided a moving moment. And while there is no way of knowing for certain, perhaps Blaze had been hatched right there on the family's marsh - in one of the wood duck nesting boxes erected by Ron and his father.

To fully appreciate the above-mentioned account, one  needs to go back in time, to the fall of 1962, Ron's first hunting season. Stay tuned for Full Circle Waterfowling....Pt. II  

Early morning angler tries his luck on the Point Breeze jetty.

Point Breeze Lighthouse....still under construction

Doug Harloff enticing crappies from below overhangs.

Mother goose on a shoreline nest....

while her mate keeps a lookout.

A painted turtle suns itself....

and a Black Crowned Night Heron hides amid branches.

A mute swan dabbling for food.

While the swans are graceful in appearance......

this Canada goose learns how territorial they can be!

One of the "Twin Bridges", a name for the area in a bygone era.

Seagull enclave on the breakwall.

We are about to have our catch inspected.

Monitoring 30 inlets from the Niagara River to Henderson Harbor, this team checks out the number of fish caught, size, species, etc. It was a good morning on the creek, time to head for the Black North Inn for lunch!

Dave and Sandra Wheeler enjoy the wide open spaces and life on the farm. On Molasses Hill, in the northeast corner of Attica, the husband and wife team raise American Quarterhorses, Paints, Herefords and Angus. Here, amid the rolling foothills of the Appalachian Plateau, the Wheeler's horses and cattle graze and gambol about in spacious pastures with the lake plain as a backdrop, On a clear day the view is exceptional.   

This photo is taken from the top of Molasses Hill Rd. looking north. The Wheeler farm is a couple hundred yards to the west. Using the zoom lens......

the water tower at the Batavia Vet's Hospital comes into view, to the right are four silos located north of the thruway. The cylindrical shape to the right of the silos is the Elba water tank.

This cavorting Paint certainly seems happy with the location....

while a pair of angus watch the camera.

Casting a wary eye in my direction....

A pair of Paints grazing.........I'll get back to the livestock in a moment, first a couple more scenic shots.

Zooming in from the Wheeler's east pasture, that's the Rochester skyline off in the distance...Xerox Tower, Lincoln Tower, etc.

The plume of smoke on the horizon is spewing from the Somerset smokestack on the shore of Lake Ontario in Niagara County.

As this Paint parades past, just inside the woods are a few bovines that decided to play "hooky".

Chow time in the cattle barn....

Munching away....

It was time to say so long, and hopefully I'll see these horses barrel racing at the Attica Rodeo this summer.

This trio of sycamores is situated in a pasture along the bank of Little Tonawanda Creek, barely visible behind the trees. I doubt I ever drive past without being reminded of my days as a bait fisherman. In the 60's and early 70's, while wading the stream with a 4x12 foot net attached to broom handles, I paid little attention to the sycamores. Baitfish flourished in the Little T in those years, and walking slowly against the current provided optimum results. Without fail our haul always included shiners, so many after one pass in fact, if the sun was shining, their silver scales created a minor glare. Catching minnows with a drag seine was like eating potato chips - it was fun and impossible to stop after just one pass.

While the bulk of the catch consisted of shiners in the 3-5 inch range, Creek chubs, suckers and horned dace often turned up in the net. These fish were put into a larger bait bucket and later, at a favored pike haunt, they would be swimming below a slip-bobber rig with an English hook sewn into their back. Seeing your float bob up and down once or twice before quickly disappearing below the surface, then waiting for what you felt was sufficient time for the pike to swallow such a large bait, was exciting stuff. 

Seining minnows was every bit of a good time as the actual fishing and we never knew what to expect when we lifted the net clear of the water. Sunfish, fingerling smallmouth bass, crayfish and the like were no surprise. I once had a water snake bounce off my leg, and on numerous occassions after walking ashore found leeches attached to my ankles....this is was to be expected when your attire consists of cut-offs and old sneakers. I think the leeches may have had something to do with the purchase of my first pair of hip boots.

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The turkey pictured above is roosted in a cottonwood tree normally patrolled by a little red squirrel we call "Meany," so named because he routinely harrasses the much larger gray squirrels. Photo was taken Tuesday afternoon. The turkey had a companion in a neighboring ash tree seen in photo below.

This turkey is looking at the camera.  Still no sign of Meany, and while he remained out of sight, a pair of gray squirrels thought it a good time to drop by.

Checking to see if the coast is clear.....

Eyeing up the remains of last fall's apple crop...

Apparently not bad!

Overlooking the lake plain from Mudrzynski's Hill in Oakfield

On Oak Orchard Creek at this time of year it is nearly impossible to distinguish the main channel from flooded backwaters

Placid-looking surface belies a strong current

Conifer swamp beyond the power line

At first glance this seems to be nothing more than a reflective image, but a closer look reveals...

beavers constructed their lodge around the trunk of a black willow

Here the beaver has girdled cottonwoods

Apparently the beavers have a taste for wild cherry as well

Tuesday morning, 6 a.m., March 30th, if the pic's a bit blurry....so was the photographer, he hadn't had his coffee yet, but thought you might like to see the "cinnamon moon"

According to one staff member of the Iroquois National Wildlife Refuge, The Comprehensive Conservation Plan is a 15 year planning document calling for the layout of habitat management, strategy and public use opportunities, staffing, and infrastructure including buildings in and around Casey Rd. headquarters. The documentation of the plan should be completed by fall.

 One component of the CCP, habitat management, entails “conifer plantation.” Conifer plantation calls for the removal of non-native evergreens as well as some deciduous shrub species. The species targeted for removal are evergreens, including Norway spruce, Scotch pine and Australian pine. Some white pine, a native tree, will also be removed.  The process will be a twofold operation; some trees girdled, others taken by loggers.

The above mentioned tree species will be replaced with eastern hemlocks and a mix of hard wood species. “We are trying to make more of a natural system,” said the staff member.

The conifer plantation phase has caused concern for some, as indicated by an unsigned letter I received recently. While in no way discourteous, the author voiced concern at the notion of removing decades-old evergreens. The letter is as follows: 

“I write this letter to express my concern over the policy implemented on the Iroquois National Wildlife Refuge. They are considering girdling all the Norway spruce and other evergreens on the refuge. Their stated purpose is to remove non-native species of trees from the refuge. I have been eye witness to literally hundreds of mourning doves flocking to those spruce and pine trees at dusk. The spruce groves in particular have provided excellent cover, helping to establish a large population of mourning doves on the refuge.”  

“I have also witnessed coopers hawks and sharp shinned hawks hunting the spruce groves for doves. If the evergreen trees provide such excellent habitat for mourning doves, coopers hawks and sharp shinned hawks, which are all protected species, is it wise to destroy the habitat in which they thrive? The doves don’t seem to mind nesting in non-native species of trees!”

The writer makes good points – but he’s not done. Also, it should be noted, beginning in the second sentence of the paragraph below, the letter writer and Refuge staff seem to be in partial agreement.

“Surely the destruction of habitat will have a negative effect on these birds, upsetting the natural balance between bird, predator and habitat. If the Refuge wishes to restore native species of trees to the area, wouldn’t it be more productive to plant hemlock trees, which once flourished in the Alabama swamps?  As the hemlocks grow, the spruce and pines groves could be allowed to die out slowly, without causing such a negative impact on native populations of protected bird species. Nature moves slowly. Why not allow slow changes that can support populations of wild life without man’s drastic intrusions? Be a refuge for the birds. Isn’t that your mission?”

All things considered, there are those who see habitat management as a good thing while others   believe that nature, left to its own devices, works things out in its own way and in its own time.    

It was only last Sunday when Claudia and I saw our first flock of geese. By Wednesday the skies were filled with myriad waterfowl, a good sign that spring is almost here.

Spring offically arrives at 1:32 pm Saturday, March 20th, but thousands of geese can't be wrong. If their arrival signals an early spring, it's okay with me. 

While the larger ponds and marshes are still covered with ice, throngs of Canadas have been congregating in open fields and small patches of open water.

Some geese took advantage of the open water....

  while others waddled in slushy snow.

A lone goose glides over the phragmites.

Preparing to touch down.

The respite is over...

once again heading for an unknown destination.

All photos were taken off Roberts Road along the southern perimeter of the Iroquois National Wildlife Refuge. Special thanks to my grandson, Sammy, for his assistance!  

Stacy Wirth provided this picture. She was driving on Brookville Road in Alexander today when she spotted the Bald eagle dining on a deer carcass.

Zach Walsh casts his lure into an inlet of the Tonawanda Creek by Law Street, near where he lives. The 16-year-old said the inlet is one of his regular springtime fishing holes. Last spring, he said, he caught a pretty good pike there. Zach was kind enough to fill me in on a few other good spots right in the neighborhood.

Most of these photos are scenic Alaska shots, while others depict a way of life totally foreign to the rest of North America. Taking pictures proved far easier than prospecting for gold! 

Pioneer Peak

Sitka Spruce grove in the Matanuska Valley

That white mass you see between the horizon and the cloud is Mt. McKinley, aka Denali. We were 80 miles down the highway from Denali Park when I snapped the photo.

Full moon at midnight over Pete's Creek....the Summer Solstice, June 21, 1997

Stunted birch and spruce trees.

Part of a "fish wheel" under construction. When completed, the fish wheel  will be used just like a river boat's paddle wheel, but instead of providing locomotion, it seines migrating salmon.

It's 1am and that is the Alaska pipeline near Coldfoot in the Artic Circle.

Maybe I'm jumping the gun a bit, itching to see a robin, or the first flock of geese in migratory formation.  Whatever the reason, I thought it a good time to pass along these photos taken by Mark Stryker of Alexander.  With the exception of the Scrub Jay pictured above, these photos were taken last summer near his Alexander home.

House Finch, Goldfinch in left bottom corner

Female Red-bellied Woodpecker

Hummingbird Moth......on a butterfly bush no less!

Orb Weaver

White-crowned Sparrow

?????? Anyone...anyone?

American Goldfinch

I'd like to thank Mark for sharing these awesome photos with the Batavian

After entering Mike Hilchey’s town of Elba home, the first thing that caught my eye was the number of fishing rods lining the wall. Turning to hand him my jacket, I saw the glass covered display cases full of vintage spoons and spinners. And that’s just inside the entranceway.   

As Mike leads Claudia and me through a narrow hall, we see a few paintings on the wall, mostly waterfowl, including one signature Roy Mason watercolor. Entering the den was like stepping back in time five, six, seven decades and more. Here was the treasure trove of vintage fishing lures: hand-carved wooden lures with glass eyes, bronze spinners, deer hair frogs & mice for the fly-fishermen, even a tiny Redeye Wiggler made for the fly-rod. And that barely scratches the surface of his collection.  

There are boxes bearing the names of Heddon, Creek-Chub, Eppinger, Arbogast and others, all synonymous with noted fish catchers of the mid-20th century.  Others are dated even further back in time, bearing the names of South Bend, Pleuger, Chapman, and the Paw-Paw Bait Co. There is also a collection of Buell spinners from the late 1800’s.

Mike was born and raised locally. The Hilchey homestead was on Trumbull Parkway, but his dad, the late Weldon Hilchey made his living in rural Genesee County. “Dad had a welding shop in Elba and he knew all the local farmers. Any that had farm ponds we had access to,” Mike stated. As a result, Mike began wetting a line with his dad early in his formative years, decades before Take a Kid Fishing became a slogan.   

Fishing was hot in those years for the father and son, and there were days when it seemed like the bass were just waiting for the lure to hit the water. “Some days we’d catch a fish on almost every cast.” he said. There were also yearly family trips to Canada, up beyond North Bay, Ontario. “Me, mom, dad and my sister all fished. We fished for everything, pike, bass and walleye.” 

Having listened to Mike Hilchey’s accounts of fishing trips to local farm ponds with his dad, of family outings to Canadian waters, its no wonder he’s taken to collecting vintage lures. Then I asked how long he’s been at it.

“Roughly I’ve been collecting for 28 to 30 years” he said. “I got started before many people got into it. At that time I could go to flea markets and garage sales and buy a whole tackle box full of lures for as little as $20 or $25.”       

Today many of Mike Hilchey’s mint condition lures are listed anywhere from $100 to $150 apiece. Some, like the Heddon Spin Diver, command an even higher price. “You can’t get one for under $500”, he said. Still, the Spin Diver’s price tag is not the costliest among his collection. When Claudia asked if he had come across any really unusual or unique stuff, he replied, “I’ve had my share of good finds – sold some, traded others” he said. One of his most valued is the Shakespeare Rhodes Minnow, pictured below. For vintage lure collectors, a mint condition “Rhodes” is considered a rarity and will command a price in the thousands!

His passion for collecting vintage fishing lures hasn’t put a damper on Mike’s angling enthusiasm. For the most part his days of farm pond angling are a thing of the past and he now spends much of his time on the bass tournament circuit. Now retired, Mike Hilchey puts his boat in the water sometime after ice-out, fishing every chance he gets until November 30, the day bass season closes. 

 Below are a few more photos from Mike's yesteryear collection

An unusual splatter-finish

A 1942 South Bend fishing catalog

There’s a good story behind many of the lures in my old tackle box. Such is the case with the wobbling spoon pictured above. Called a Red-eyed Wiggler, it was at one time manufactured by the Hofschneider Tackle Co. in Rochester, N.Y. I was twelve years old on the day I made a mental note to purchase one. And I doubt I ever clipped it to my line without thinking of two former Batavians who, back in the day, were virtually inseparable. You see, they were the reason I went out and bought a “wiggler”. Before I tell you about them, I first need to fast forward a few years.

I was an up and coming northern pike fisherman on the day I walked into Barrett’s Batavia Marine to see the late Paul Levins. I wanted Paul to show me how to make a slip-bobber rig for catching northerns. I was strolling between used gun rack and the counter when I heard Paul’s voice from the back of the store.  “That’s a nice pike,” he said.

It was a nice pike, big as any I’d seen up to that time. Having seen the fish, I walked right into the mix, immediately asking “Where’d ya catch it?” The proud angler was from the east end of town, I had seen him around, but didn’t know him personally. “Under the Jackson Street Bridge,” he replied.  It wasn’t long before I learned the pike in question wasn’t caught at said locale. As is common practice among anglers, I don’t blame him for trying to keep his hotspot a secret.

What’s more, at the time the fibber’s account made perfect sense to me. The reason being, it had only been a few years earlier that I was standing atop the old Lehigh Railroad Bridge – which was adjacent the South Jackson St. Bridge - when I saw a rowboat passing below. In it were the aforementioned pals who grew up on Batavia’s southside. Pat Pullinzi was doing the rowing while Mike Lovria tended to his fishing gear.

Pat Pullinzi

And as I stated previously, from their earliest years together, through St. Anthony’s School and all through their BHS years, Mike Lovria and Pat Pullinzi were inseparable. Whether they were fishing the Tonawanda, hunting upland game (pheasants were plentiful in those years) and chasing rabbits behind the late Mike Lovria Sr’s, beagle, the duo were practically joined at the hip.

It was a late spring afternoon when Lovria and Pullinzi passed below the bridge in a rowboat.  From my vantage point I could see a minnow bucket on the floor of the boat, probably full of chubs. In the bow were fishing rods, one of which had a Red-eyed Wiggler attached to the line. Word had it that, Earlier that day, one of the two – I’m not sure which – hooked and lost a big northern pike somewhere in the vicinity of Whiskey Run. When I saw the pair heading upstream they were returning in an attempt to relocate the big fish.  

Mike Lovria

In those years, being at such an impressionable age and desiring more than anything to catch a big pike,  the mental image of a young Mike Lovria and Pat Pullinzi rowing upstream in pursuit of a big northern was etched into my back pages. And it was only days afterward that a Red-eyed Wiggler occupied a compartment in my tackle box.  Forty-eight years later it's still there.  

That’s Tim Sawyer  rerigging his fishing gear. Minutes earlier, something inhaled the Spin ‘N Glo tied to the end of his line and raced downstream a ways before breaking water. When the  fish breached the surface, we saw that it was a big king salmon, tinted red with age, and boy, did it launch itself out of the water. It didn’t flop about, but rather had its body perfectly parallel to the river surface, high above the water and facing downstream. Kind of looked like a big muscle with fins - then it crashed back into the river and kept going. The fish had no doubt spawned in this same stream, spent the next 4-5 years at sea gorging itself on anchovies and the like. Its biological clock said it was time to return to the place of its origin and procreate. Chasing down Tim’s lure had put a temporary halt to those plans. The fish made one long run and the battle was at a standstill. The line was still taught, but there was no movement. The big fish had wrapped the line around submerged brush before continuing on its way.

It was a Thursday afternoon, only a few hours since we launched a two-man Zodiac, into a narrow stretch of the Little Susitna River. Originating in a place called Hatcher Pass in the Talkeetna Mountains, the Little Su flows southward for approximately eighty miles before emptying into Cook Inlet. The plan was to float a 47 mile stretch of the river between Parks Highway and the inlet.

We stowed the fishing gear and alternately paddled and drifted with the current several more miles downstream before finding a sandbar on a bend in the river, an ideal location to pitch the tent. We arose early the following morning, had a quick breakfast and were on our way. The scenery along the river was different, the bank lined with a wide variety of flora: evergreens and birch trees, wildflowers and plants I’ve not seen before or since. Occasionally we’d see an eagle gliding high, or sometimes precariously perched atop a Sitka spruce. Many times, while drifting quietly, rustling sounds could be heard in the thick brush of the river bank, but unable to see through the dense growth.

At one point during the afternoon we had stopped to fish – or snooze – when we saw an unusual sight. A member of the gull family called a Kittiwake plummeted into the river along the opposite bank. The Kittiwake is the only gull that occasionally dives and swims underwater to capture its food. It hit the water for what seemed like a split second, and came up flapping its wings. It was quickly airborne, clutching what looked like a large eel. In its haste to make off with its dinner, the Kittiwake flew into an overhanging branch, and dropped its prey back into the river.

In its lower reaches, the river widened, the sand and gravel bars, replaced by shallow, rocky stretches. It was in such a location where the raft sprang a leak. Fortunately, Tim had the foresight to bring along a patch kit. The repairs took only minutes and we were once again on our way. At 1 a.m. Saturday morning, 47 miles downstream from our take off point, we beached the raft. The next day we’d venture north to Montana Creek for another go at the King Salmon, bringing an end to my Alaska visit.   

The spring of 1997 had been quite damp in Batavia, gloomy even by Western New York standards. Still, I was surprised to get my first tan of the year inside the Arctic Circle. Not to be confused with the polar ice cap at its northern extreme, much of the Arctic Circle is full of lush growth, crystal-clear rivers, mountains and, during the month of June, 24 hours of sunlight. During our stay the sun was visible 24 hours. Each morning, between midnight and one a.m., the sun would skim the horizon before once again beginning its ascent. 

Not being used to catching shuteye in the daytime, the constant sunlight made sleeping difficult, even in the confines of a tent. There were times when I felt physically exhausted, but mentally the wheels were still turning. And the mosquitoes didn’t help. Lying inside the tent, you could hear their non-stop drone. They seemed to be just waiting for us to exit the tent. It seems the farther north you go, the bigger - and bolder - the mosquitoes.

Even the caribou find the mosquitoes annoying. The Alaskan Pipeline runs parallel with the Dalton Highway and Mike Bilbee, a game warden who patrols the Dalton Highway from Fairbanks to Prudhoe Bay, said he’s seen caribou literally get beneath the pipeline and use it to scratch their backs.   

We arrived at our destination by traveling north on the Dalton Highway, a 414 mile long, two-lane gravel road beginning outside of Fairbanks and stretching to the Prudhoe Bay on the Arctic Ocean. In between are three settlements: Coldfoot (pop. 13), Wiseman (pop.22) and Deadhorse (25 permanent residents). After reaching the 66^th parallel, the southern edge of the Arctic Circle, we stopped for pictures before pushing onward. We stopped outside of Coldfoot,  setting up camp on the south fork of the Koyokuk River.

The Koyokuk’s south fork is a rocky bottomed, swift-flowing river, noted for its arctic char. While we were a bit early for the char migration, we did manage to supplement our diet with Arctic Grayling. Considered one of the arctic’s most sought after game fish – lake trout & arctic char being the others – grayling are small in comparison. A grayling of one pound is average, anything 2-3 pounds is a good catch and four pounds is world class. Noted for their tall dorsal fin, the grayling of the Koyokuk River were accommodating and feisty on light spinning gear. We caught enough to sate our appetites. Stuffed with butter, wrapped in tin foil and cooked over an open fire, they proved quite tasty.

While the fishing was good, we had to stay on our toes at all times. Fresh bear prints were visible in the soft, bare earth along the river. At one point I tried to bathe in the river, but after wading ankle deep into the Koyokuk I changed my mind. I’ve bathed in the lakes and rivers of the far north, but nothing like this. The water was cold it numbed my ankles – I as afraid to submerge. I left the bar of soap on a rock, returned to camp, grabbed a washcloth, a five gallon pail and took a sponge bath.

It was on the return trip, about two in the morning, when Tim and I caught sight of wolf near the side of the road. Black as coal, the wolf looked our way, almost as if our approaching vehicle was of interest. Then just like that, it was gone.     

Next: Floating the Little Susitna River

Through the courtesy of Lester and John Lines, the owners & operators of the Aurora Mining Company, Tim Sawyer and I had set up our camp on Harrison Creek in the East Crazy Mountains of east-central Alaska.

This being grizzly country, we armed ourselves accordingly, carrying a high powered rifle and a .44 magnum wherever we went. A couple weeks before our arrival, seven grizzlies had been spotted ambling down the grassy slope of Mastodon Dome (so called for the prehistoric remains once unearthed on the site). All seven bears eventually made their way to the Lines’ camp, passing through without incident. An avid hunter, Tim had seen the big bears up close, the previous year taking a grizzly measuring nearly nine feet.  

Also in camp was “Pete” the German shepherd. A few years earlier a friend of John Lines noticed a puppy that had its snout wrapped with duct tape to keep it from barking. John's friend removed the duct tape and threatened to tell the authorities before leaving with the dog. The dog was then placed with John and the two became best friends.

 Prospecting was a lot of work. Tim donned a diver’s dry suit and vacuumed the bottom of the creek, sending rocks & sediment up a hose and onto a small floating dredge where it was deposited onto a small sluice. Gold, being the second heaviest element, sank to the bottom of the sluice before it could be washed out the back.   

While Tim worked the dredge, I used a pick and shovel along the creek bank, shoveling rocks, mud and sediment into five gallon pails until they were half full. Adding water, I swished it around some, before pouring the contents into a sluice set up in the creek. Sometimes, after the cloudy water passed through, flecks of “color” were visible on the bottom of the sluice. That was gold. We then washed off the sluice pad into another bucket, before transferring it into a pan. Using a little bit of water, you gently tilted the pan back and forth, allowing the water to wash away silt, exposing the gold. Generally, in a streamside operation, any gold left in the pan was so small you needed an eye dropper to pick it up. It was then transferred into a glass vial.

Though our work yielded minimal returns, it had been a good experience. Still, I was ready to try something else. There were grayling in Harrison Creek and after ten days of prospecting I was ready to go fishing.     

Ten days into our stay the weather turned and Tim thought it a good idea to take a field trip. We backtracked the fourteen miles through the East Crazy Mountains, only now there was a slight difference. Three days of rainy weather had reduced the graded secondary road to muddy ruts – three hours worth – until we reached the Steese Highway once again. Not so surprisingly, we weren’t on the highway long when we hit dry weather once again.

We traveled to the settlement of Circle, Alaska, on the banks of the Yukon River. There we came across one of the locals selling books out of a large tent. For $1.25 I purchased two books, one being Hemingway’s, The Old Man and the Sea, the other was Phillip Keller’s, A Shepherd Looks At Psalm 23.        

Our next stop was just down the road, at Circle Hot Springs, and a relaxing swim in water over 100 degrees Fahrenheit. Outasight! Just what the doctor ordered.  The next morning we made one final stop before returning to base camp. We had breakfast in yet another tiny settlement, this one called Central. This was a real treat, as breakfast in camp each day had consisted of oatmeal and half an orange.

It was also in Central where I spotted a pay phone. It was eleven o’clock in the morning. That meant it was 7 am in Batavia and Claudia hadn’t left for work yet. The phone rang twice before she picked up. “Hello?” It was good to hear her voice. “Hi Honey. I miss you. Can we have cavatelle,  meatballs and sausage when I get home?”      

Next stop: the Arctic Circle.

The seven hour flight was nearly at an end, and only then did I bother to look out the window. Looking down I noticed the glare of the sun, reflected off the snow and ice-capped peaks of the Wrangell Mountains. It was 10:30 pm. I wouldn’t experience darkness again for a month.

The date was June 1, 1997, and the plane was minutes from touching down in Anchorage, Alaska. At the airport I would meet up with Attica native Tim Sawyer, then a phys-ed instructor and high school football coach in Palmer, Alaska. There were two days of classes remaining, after which Tim and I would spend the next month seeing a good deal of Alaska, gold prospecting, hiking, fishing, photography, etc. Our journey would cover more than 2500 miles of Alaskan wilderness with seven different camp sites. Our travels took us through the Alaskan Range, across the Yukon River and beyond, to the Arctic Circle and several stops in between.

The adventure began with a five hour drive north to Fairbanks, then traveling northeast on the Steese Highway, a two-lane gravel road, for one-hundred forty miles. At some point, Tim turned off the “highway,” following a graded secondary road for fourteen miles through the East Crazy Mountains. By traversing a series of rolling hills and valleys, we came to the north fork of Harrison Creek. There we would set up base camp for ten days before moving on to the Arctic Circle and another go at the gold and some mighty fine grayling fishing.  

Four weeks later we would cap off our adventure by rafting a forty-seven mile section of the Little Susitna River, a two day excursion in a two-man Zodiac, a rubber raft with wooden floor boards. Through a series of posts over the next few days, I would like to revisit Alaska, and share the experience.

Monday is the Winter Solstice, officially the first day of winter and  the shortest day of the year. With three months (at least) of snow, wind and ice in the offing, I'd like to take one last look at autumn, and some of the locales Claudia and I canoed, hiked and cruised along the back roads. 

West Bethany woodlot

A grove of maple and hickory trees

Rather than build up their winter food cache with tender shoots of osier and black willow, the occupants of this beaver lodge raided a farmer's corn lot.

October moon

Black willows along Tonawanda Creek

A stop over for waterfowl, a home to aquatic fur bearers.

A layover between flights.

A placid backwater.

Late autumn on the Tonawanda.

Winter offically arrives with a crescent moon.