Category: St. Clair Outdoors

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Story by Mike Bolton
Photos by Jerry Martin

Anyone who might stumble upon the unobtrusive hogback ridge buried deeply in the woods off Old Springville Road near Clay probably wouldn’t give it a second glance. The ridge’s mundane appearance gives no hint as to its incredibly important role in Alabama’s history and this state’s remarkable topography.

Raindrops that fall a few inches southwest of the raised spot of Alabama earth trickle their way down through the leaves and black dirt and begin an incredible journey. The raindrops eventually gather to become a small stream that passes through Clay, and that stream becomes the Little Cahaba River as it nears Trussville.

It soon becomes the Cahaba River and meanders through several Birmingham suburbs before its 180-mile excursion through the heartland of Alabama. The odyssey finally ends at the community of Old Cahawba, Alabama’s first capital, located at the confluence of the Cahaba and Alabama rivers below Selma.

Back in Clay – oddly enough – raindrops that fall just a few inches northeast of the ridge begin an interesting journey of their own in an entirely different direction.

Raindrops there trickle down to eventually form Big Canoe Creek, a beautiful, almost pristine tributary that makes a serpentine run through Springville. From there it meanders for almost 50 miles through rural St. Clair County before finally reaching Lake Neely Henry.

While Big Canoe Creek and the Cahaba River share origination points and numerous similarities, one thing dramatically sets the two apart.

The Cahaba is a river constantly in peril because of the huge population that has grown in its watershed. Big Canoe Creek, meanwhile, sits almost unnoticed by most St. Clair residents, a jewel barely affected by an ever-growing encroachment by man.

Alex Varner, a former Springville resident who often canoes on Big Canoe Creek, says it is a hidden oasis where someone can literally paddle for days and never see another human being.

“People just don’t understand what they have right in their back door,” said Varner who now fights the daily grind of life on U.S. 280. “It is a creek that is full of fish and surrounded by wildlife. A lot of people would die to have a place like that.”

Big Canoe Creek is both blessed and cursed by that remote nature, those who love it claim.

It is protected from much harm by the fact that most St. Clair County residents’ only contact comes as they drive across one of its many bridges during their daily commute. That out-of-sight, out-of-mind existence does have consequences, its proponents say. When the call does come that it needs protection, so very few understand the importance.

Fortunately, there are a number who fathom the creek’s cosmetic, biological and recreational value. The Friends of Big Canoe Creek is an organization not made up of bespectacled tree huggers, as many might suspect, but rather an eclectic group of members who value the waterway for different reasons. The membership of about 50 people ranges from farmers who have lived on the creek all their lives to new residents who escaped Birmingham and fell in love with the creek flowing through their backyards.

Doug Morrison, the group’s president, is one of the latter whose attraction to the creek was by happenstance. Like many hoping to escape the Birmingham suburbs, the Center Point resident was turned off by the heavily congested U.S. 280 corridor and instead looked in the opposite direction to St. Clair County. When he and his wife, Joannie, stumbled upon a home for sale on Oak Grove Road in Springville, they were awestruck in two very different ways.

“My wife loved the house, and I loved the creek behind it,” Morrison says with a laugh.

He was no stranger to creeks. He grew up behind Eastwood Mall and had fond memories of turning over rocks and looking for crawfish in Shades Creek. At first, he was only attracted by having a creek as a neighbor. He said at the time he could have never imagined how a creek could have cast such a spell in his life.

“I began to see people in canoes and kayaks pass by my house, and I was fascinated,” he said. “One neighbor let me try his kayak, and I loved it. He eventually bought another kayak, and we began to go kayaking. Then I saw a neighbor wade fishing and catching fish. I tried that and loved that.”

On his short kayak jaunts, Morrison was astonished to see deer, otters, minks, wood ducks and a seemingly endless list of wildlife. He was equally astounded by the number of fish species in the creek, including 5-pound bass, crappie, bream, alligator gar and redhorse suckers. Only then did he realize what he was becoming a part of.

“I’m thinking what a gem this place is,” he said. “There are so many people here that just don’t seem to know it exists. They drive across it and take it for granted. They just don’t know how lucky they are to have something like this.”

Morrison admits he succumbed to a basic instinct of mankind. If you love something, you want to protect it. You first, however, have to develop that kinship with the creek to really appreciate it and to yearn for its protection.

As his kayaking expeditions increased, he began expanding his trips to differing locations on Big Canoe Creek. His concerns for the creek began to broaden past the litter that was occasionally dumped at the many bridges in St. Clair County that cross the creek. He became thirsty for knowledge of what makes creeks work and what can be found in them.

He was surprised to learn that Big Canoe Creek has more than 50 fish species, including some that can be found few other places in the world. He was shocked to discover that the many mussels he was seeing actually played an important role in filtering the water and keeping it pure. He was surprised to find that some of the mussels were probably of the eight listed federally as threatened. Shoot, he might have even seen the Canoe Creek Club Shell mussel that can be found nowhere else in the world but Big Canoe Creek.

While he didn’t consider himself some nerd that could explain the value of what he was seeing to a panel of scholars, he did have his own take on why he wanted to see them protected: “I do know God put them on this earth,” he says matter-of-factly.

His quest for knowledge continued. He figured the creek didn’t face many pollution threats but found that pollution can be found in many forms. He learned that the runoff from farms often contains animal wastes and fertilizers that increase the nutrient load in creeks.

And there were threats he had never thought of. He learned that pavement and concrete force fast-water runoff into waterways instead of allowing the rains to slowly filter through the earth before being released into creeks. He learned that cigarette butts thumped into some parking lots can eventually wash into storm drains and can be directed to creeks. He learned that those who change their own oil in vehicles and lawnmowers sometimes dump the used oil into storm drains. That oil is directed to creeks and rivers. He learned that buffers are needed to protect creeks from residential and commercial construction.

Because of its mainly rural path, Big Canoe Creek currently doesn’t face many of those issues, but Morrison knows that with St. Clair County’s rapid growth, those problems may be in the creek’s future. He was relieved to find that many of the potential problems can easily be stopped before they begin by simply educating the public.

He knew that a group, the Friends of Big Canoe Creek, had formed about 15 years ago but had become dormant. His next-door-neighbor Vickey Wheeler, had been a founding member, and he urged her to help him revive the group. He had plenty of support along the way from his wife, Joannie, who has worked tirelessly in the effort ever since.

Early on, he began looking for guidance by calling Liz Brooke at the Alabama Rivers Alliance and suddenly found help at every turn. Brooke introduced him to Varner.

Varner, the former Springville resident now on the Alabama Rivers Alliance board, had grown up playing in Big Canoe Creek. He fully understood the creek’s beauty and its importance. “He said to count him in on getting the group started,” Morrison said. “He played an important role in us getting started. He eventually became a board member and is still a board member.”

Varner canoes and fishes all across Alabama but says Big Canoe Creek will always have a special place in his heart. He had gotten away from the creek as he grew older and discovered other locations to play, like the Sipsey River, but when he became involved with Friends of Big Canoe Creek, “I got hooked all over again.”

House painter Robert “Beau” Jordan and wife Trish are both members. They moved to Oak Grove Road from Center Point in 1995 looking for a little acreage and a little solitude. The fact that a creek flowed through it wasn’t that big of a draw at the time, he remembers.

“We just wanted to get out in the country,” he said. “I was surprised when I started paying attention to the creek that it had so many fish in it. I started wade fishing and doing a little kayaking and fell in love with it.

“I’ve caught three species of bream, largemouth bass, spotted bass, rock bass, redeye bass and catfish.

“You really have to spend some time in the creek to appreciate it. I had no idea when I moved here that I would get into it like I have.”

Member Gerald Tucker, a farmer from Springville, has a lot more invested in Big Canoe Creek than most members. In 1873 his great-grandfather settled the land next to the creek near U.S. 11 and farmed there. Today, almost 140 years later, the 76-year-old is still raising cattle there. He says Big Canoe Creek has been a big part of his life and his family’s tradition. He says through the years, he has learned more and more about protecting it.

“A little education goes a long way,” he says with a laugh.

Tucker says he once thought nothing about allowing his cattle to roam and drink from the creek. Once he learned about damage to the creek from sediment washing from the bare banks where livestock trampled, he was quick to react. He erected fencing to keep his cows out of the creek. A seemingly small step, he admits, but the creek needs only a little help to protect it, the group is quick to point out.

“When most people think about problems facing a waterway they immediately think of industry, but the problems are not always from industry,” Morrison said. “You have nutrient loading from livestock and septic tanks and sedimentation from clearing land.

“Many times all that is needed is to leave a little land buffer between whatever you are doing and the creek. People aren’t purposely causing harm. You let them learn about things, and they understand. They want to protect the creek, too.”

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Rural paradise, Kelly Run Farm, known far and wide for breeding, training retrievers

Story by Carol Pappas
Photos by Jerry Martin

It is one of those hidden-away places that you just might miss if you weren’t looking for it. But find the gated dirt road leading to Kelly Run Farm, round the bend and you come face-to-face with a rustic paradise.

A log home, wide-open pasture and ponds against a backdrop of towering trees make an ideal setting for Clarke and Dyxie Pauly, who wanted to get away from the harried pace of big-city life and pursue their passion for dogs.

To the Paulys, the land is their paradise. To their four-legged friends — some they own; some simply guests in their boarding operation — the land is their heaven.

Clarke Pauly has built a national reputation on this 30-acre tract that lies between Pell City and Odenville, breeding and training field Golden Retrievers. On a recent visit to Kelly Run Farm, named for the creek that runs nearby, the Paulys were playing host to two litters of Golden Retrievers, 13 in all. Theirs was a seven-week stay before moving on to points across the country, filling the wish lists of hunters and dog lovers and to be used as guide dogs in two instances.

The 9-puppy litter belonged to Taz, the Paulys’ 4-year-old field dog, and Mr. D.J. from Tennessee, who is a confirmation or show dog. It was the Paulys’ first attempt at breeding these distinctly different types of Golden Retrievers, but the result was nothing short of an absolute cuteness guaranteed to evoke a smile from all who see them. “They came out real pretty,” said Clarke, who had his hands full trying to get nine scurrying puppies to pause a moment to look in the direction of a camera.

Rebel, the Paulys’ 9-year-old, and Sky from Florida are true field dogs, and they are the parents of the 4-puppy litter. “They are true working dogs,” Clarke said. But at this moment, they’re just plain puppies, exploring everything around them.

At 5 and 6 weeks, he had them out touring the property, getting them used to all types of topography. “That way, nothing really scares them. They’re used to all terrains,” Dyxie noted.

While the puppies have been an enjoyable diversion at Kelly Run Farm, it’s the business of boarding dogs and training Golden Retrievers that keeps the Paulys the busiest.

When they moved to St. Clair County in December of 1999, it was to have just the right place to train dogs. Clarke began training after Dyxie’s Golden Retriever went jogging with him back in Birmingham. “She would stay to my left and I thought, ‘That’s cool.’ ” He began to do more and more and then started training dogs in city parks but soon found they weren’t ideal for his newfound hobby. “When the police were called on us, I knew it wasn’t working,” he said.

They began a search for just the right property and just as visitors do today, they rounded the bend and came face to face with their dream home.

“We always wanted a log home,” Dyxie recalled. One Labor Day, they saw an ad that said: “Log home with 20 acres.”

“It had to be just so,” Clarke said, remembering a mental checklist he had made for the perfect place before their arrival. “We couldn’t see it from the road.” But when they turned in, “both of us looked at each other and said, ‘Wow!’ It had a swamp. Every criteria was met. It was like the list. We built the ponds the way we wanted. It was just our dream house,” Clarke said.

“It was meant to be,” Dyxie said, echoing the sentiment.

And it has been. The Paulys have been partnering with Jackie Mertens of Topbrass Retrievers in Madison, Fla., on the training side of the business virtually ever since. “We raise. She markets. If you want field Goldens, Jackie’s the woman to see,” Clarke said.

On the boarding side, it was a business that eventually evolved. “We had enough runs for our dogs, but friends kept asking, ‘Can you keep my dog?’ We thought it was a good idea. In 2003, we started boarding,” Dyxie said.

Today, they can board up to 52 dogs at one time, and more than 1,000 clients have entrusted their dogs’ care at Kelly Run Farm, almost a doggie day camp with room to roam, exercise, play and swim. Among their more famous guests was a Golden Retriever who played “Duke” on the Bush’s Beans commercials three years running. In the commercials, Duke is the talking dog who tries to sell the secret family recipe for the highly successful line of beans.

No fear, he didn’t sell the recipe on any of his trips to Kelly Run, but his owners did thank Clarke and Dyxie for hosting their star with a special, framed photograph sequence of their boarder of notoriety in some of the advertisements in which he appeared.

Others may not be as famous, but they are no less loved. It is evident from the moment you step onto the property. And that love carries over to the discipline of training dogs.

Clarke agrees to demonstrate years worth of work in training Taz and Rebel, whose playful personalities come out as they jump and run, circling Clarke and making them look like any other dog who loves the attention of their master. But when it’s time to go to ‘work,’ their keen focus is all on Clarke and the job at hand.

On this particular afternoon, Clarke demonstrates the hunt for a downed bird. A gunshot sounds. Taz is more than ready to take off, but she doesn’t. She is at complete attention — like a statue at Clarke’s side. He sounds a short whistle, and she is off and running like a strong gust of wind. Another whistle sounds, and the abruptness of the stop is amazing. She turns, faces Clarke and sits. With a hand motion to the left from Clarke, the gust catches hold again, and she speedily heads directly toward her prey. She can’t see it, but the whistles and the motions from Clarke telegraph the exact location to her.

She runs into the woods and in a moment or so, she heads back with the prize from the woods and the praise awaiting her from Clarke a hundred yards away.

It’s just another day at Kelly Run Farm, where a dog’s life truly is the good life. And in return, the Paulys enjoy the good life, too. Nothing tells that story quite as well their own words in “About Us” on their website.

Here’s a hint, the title reads: “About Us (and the dogs that own us).”

Noodling: noun

1. Fishing for catfish using only bare hands, practiced primarily in the southern United States. The noodler places his hand inside a discovered catfish hole.

— Wikipedia

2. A form of fishing in which someone runs into a lake and searches for holes on the bottom with his foot. Then he inserts his finger into the hole and lets something bite it. Hopefully, it’s a catfish.

— Urban Dictionary

By Loyd McIntosh

Photos by Jerry Martin

The following activities are illegal or prohibited in the State of Alabama: Bear wrestling matches, to chain an alligator to a fire hydrant, to wear a fake moustache that causes laughter in church, and to be blindfolded while operating a vehicle.

Those illustrations may be a bit far-fetched, but the overall point is adventure, and real endorphin-creating, adrenaline-pumping adventure can be hard to find — at least the kind of fun that doesn’t land you in the Graybar Hotel or get your face plastered on one of those mugshot magazines you see on convenience store counters.

For those looking for a good time that will get the blood flowing and, literally, get you in touch with nature, look no further than noodling, an outdoor water sport gaining in popularity among young men throughout the area. Noodling, sometimes referred to as grabbling, is a type of fishing that eschews rod, reel and worms in favor of the bare hands.

From late-May through early-July, noodlers make their way to lakes, ponds and streams around St. Clair County. Mostly young men, these gonzo outdoorsmen look for holes near or in the banks, preferably under a dock or a boat ramp, where large catfish may be hiding. Once an appropriate spot is found, a noodler will leap over the side of their boat and into the murky water.

After a couple of tense minutes as God only knows what takes place under the water’s surface, the noodler emerges, one arm wrapped around the flapping catfish, the other inside the mouth of the catfish. And thus you have an emerging adventure sport that is growing in popularity on lakes like Logan Martin and Neely Henry.

“I’ve been dong this every summer since I was 14 or 15 years old and I love it,” says 19-year-old Cropwell native, Stephan Goin. “There is a just a rush you get when you catch that fish that I can’t explain. It’s just a lot of fun.”

Goin, an aspiring competitive angler, was introduced to noodling by a friend while out fishing on a hot summer day, one of those days when the high temperatures makes sitting in a boat with no shade unbearable. “We had been out there for a while and he said to me, ‘Have you ever been noodling?’ I said ‘noodling? What’s that?’ He went through the process and taught me how to land a fish, everything I needed to know,” Goin says.

After identifying a smaller hole and learning the basics, it was time for his initiation. Goin jumped in the water and noodled for his first catfish. The first few moments were tense and alarming, but, before long he was hooked.

“I felt something brush my hand then it hit me and scared me a little. It hit me so hard with this blunt force. I thought ‘I’ve go to do this’ and I pulled him out eventually,” Goin says. “I remember telling my mom and dad about it and if they had ever heard of noodling. It was like telling your parents you were going to buy a motorcycle.”

His first catch was a 15-pound catfish, a dwarf compared to the monsters he and other noodlers catch now. Goin says he caught a 50-pounder while noodling in Logan Martin Lake and knows of a 70-pounder caught by some others, also in Logan Martin. With monsters like these and other creatures lurking in the water, not to mention the drowning dangers inherent in the sport, noodling can be a wee bit hazardous.

“It can be kind of dangerous if you don’t know what you’re doing. I’ve heard of people drowning because they’ve followed a catfish into a hole that’s too small to get it out of and can’t get back to the surface,” Goin says. “Really what you have to watch out for are snakes, beavers and snapping turtles.”

Noodlers also need to look for angry homeowners who may not want them digging around their boat ramps or those who think they’re up to no good. Goin says it’s also not uncommon to encounter a marine policeman or a game and fish warden while chasing catfish on the banks of Logan Martin. “I’ve never gotten in trouble. I always have my fishing license on me and that’s always seemed to answer any questions when we get stopped,” Goin says.

“I remember one old guy just started cussing up a storm at us one day and called the Riverside Police on us,” Goin says. “They handled it, and after it was all over he said ‘God bless y’all.’ How do you like that? He cussed me up and down and then asked God to bless me.”

For many, noodling is still a mystery and, of course, controversial. Young men get the police called on them for far less than going underwater and emerging with a 35-pound catfish in their arms. And, at the moment, noodling isn’t legal everywhere in the United States. Texas only legalized noodling in May of this year. So, the big question is what does the law in Alabama say?

“It’s completely legal but you must have a game permit, and you’re limited to one fish over 34 inches long per person,” says Jerry Fincher, a conservation enforcement officer with the Alabama Department of Conservation Division of Wildlife and Freshwater Fisheries and, himself a fellow noodler. Fincher says noodlers who get crossways with the law haven’t sought the blessings of the homeowner before jumping in the water.

“You have to get permission from the homeowner before you can noodle around their docks or boat ramps. We ask for permission and if he says ‘no,’ then we’ll go on to someplace else,” Fincher says.

Fincher says many homeowners believe that noodlers cause problems to the foundations supporting boat ramps and docks and, therefore, don’t want them around. However, he says noodlers actually eliminate the problem actually caused by the fish which burrow holes on the bank to lay their eggs. Still, he says, if and when permission is granted, remember to be respectful and help give this budding sport a good name.

“Don’t use any profanity, clean up after yourself and just be a responsible citizen,” he says. “It’s a growing sport and a lot of fun. It’s a lot more popular now than it used to be.”

Goin would like to make the sport even more popular in the future. He has introduced the sport to professional B.A.S.S. anglers, football players and local adventure seekers and envisions a day where noodling tournaments and organized events are regular occurrences.

“I’ll take anyone out who wants to learn about it,” Goin says. “I don’t charge anyone. It’s just for the fun of it.”

For more on Logan Martin Lake, check out loganmartinlakelife.com

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