Forever Wild

High Falls is located in Dekalb County toward the head waters of Town Creek that empty into Lake Guntersville. Town Creek is known by kayakers who favor paddling in the mountain creek for its class 4 and 5 whitewater. Promoters of Big Canoe Creek Preserve hope to join Forever Wild properties like this to be protected, preserved and enjoyed.

 

Exploring the possibility of a Big Canoe Creek Preserve

Story by Carol Pappas
Photos by Michael McKenzie
Submitted photos

For Springville’s Laura McKenzie, Big Canoe Creek is more than just a picturesque stream that meanders lazily through St. Clair County. It’s her science classroom, her family’s recreation area and an environmental wonder all rolled into one.

When she and her husband, Michael, moved to the area, she said she joked with him, “Now we can commence with raising a biologist.”

As it turns out, it wasn’t much of a stretch. “Because of our creek, so far, we have two biologists and counting,” she said. Over the years, she has used the creek to teach groups of homeschoolers as well as her family about ecology and biology.

She shares an attraction to the creek with people like Doug Morrison. He began his love of the creek through recreation but soon found an inner passion to save it, preserve it and share it for generations. Today, he is president of Friends of Big Canoe Creek, an environmental group dedicated to preserving this natural resource.

All across the state, there are people just like McKenzie and Morrison, who recognize the value of preserving Alabama treasures. In 2009, Big Canoe Creek was nominated to be a part of the Forever Wild program, which buys land all across Alabama to preserve it for the public’s enjoyment.

Funding has been on hold while the program awaits its fate in the Nov. 6 election. On the ballot as Amendment 1, voters across Alabama will have an opportunity to vote ‘yes’ or ‘no’ on continuing to fund Forever Wild through interest earned on natural gas royalties, capped at $15 million each year.

Those who question continuing it say they just aren’t sure how much longer or at what level the program should be funded.

Since its creation in 1992, the Forever Wild Land Trust has bought more than 227,000 acres of land for public use. But even so, Alabama ranks last with the smallest percentage of public conservation land in the Southeast, according to Forever Wild.

“I think Forever Wild is a great program because it provides land available to the public for recreation,” Morrison said. “Every community needs green space for an opportunity to explore, experience and absorb nature. Outdoor activities are important physically and mentally for all ages, and the Friends of Big Canoe Creek has nominated land in Springville which adjoins Big Canoe Creek, for consideration by Forever Wild.”

Morrison said the hope is for a Big Canoe Creek Nature Preserve open to the public for hiking, biking, horseback riding and scouting. As part of the plan, they want public access to the creek for canoeing, kayaking and fishing. “It could be a recreational oasis, and is a great opportunity to preserve land adjacent to a state treasure that is Big Canoe Creek.”

He’s not alone in that belief. “Big Canoe Creek is a beautiful stream, rich with unique and rare species of plant and animal life,” according to Wendy Jackson, executive director of the Alabama Freshwater Land Trust. Jackson, who also lives in St. Clair County, has been a vocal proponent of the Forever Wild program and has worked alongside countless groups to keep it going.

“The property under consideration by Forever Wild will help preserve the integrity of the creek while providing outdoor recreation activities,” she said. But more than just recreation, she pointed out, “Forever Wild properties are proven economic engines for the communities where they are located because people from across Alabama and from out of state visit them, in turn generating tourism revenue for the local community.”

Barnett Lawley, former commissioner of the Alabama Department of Conservation and Natural Resources, has worked tirelessly across the state during his tenure as commissioner and in the days since for Forever Wild.

But his roots in the creation of Forever Wild go all the way back to the beginning. The St. Clair County native was vice president of the Wildlife Federation when the bill was passed. As commissioner, he automatically became chairman of the Forever Wild board.

He shares McKenzie’s belief that the lands acquired are indeed outdoor classrooms. “It’s pristine land, and it needs to be protected” for generations to come. He points to the wetlands that are part of Forever Wild acquisitions, noting that they can teach about the natural filtration of groundwater. There are so many good things besides hunting and fishing.”

Lawley, too, talked about the economic impact. At Paint Rock River, the parking lot for public access had to be expanded twice.

In Hale County, just south of Greensboro, the national grand championship for field trial dogs is being held in September at the old state cattle ranch, which now bears the name of the man who had the vision behind it, M. Barnett Lawley Forever Wild Field Trial Area.

That’s 750 dogs, their owners, their trainers and others associated with them staying in the area for two weeks. For the Black Belt, it is a much-needed injection of outside money, Lawley said.

And natural resources like those across Alabama are economic drivers used to lure industrial prospects to the state. At Gov. Riley’s annual Turkey Hunt, 100 prospects from around the world stayed at different farms and lodges across the state. You might recognize names like Airbus and Thyssen-Krupp among the guest list. Both now call Alabama home.

They see the quality of life found here. “It’s an economic development tool using natural resources. Forever Wild adds to that program,” Lawley said.

Recreation, education, economic development, tourism — it all sounds like a winning proposition for Alabama. Add to that, the use of money to fund it from a depleting resource — natural gas — and putting it into a permanent resource — land — and Lawley reasons that it is good for the people of Alabama. The land becomes a permanent asset of the state, it doesn’t use a dime of taxpayer money, and it is a resource that can be used and enjoyed by the people from now on.

While Forever Wild is a statewide political issue, McKenzie illustrates through the comments of a mother and a teacher how all politics are indeed local. “The creek has offered a place of sanctuary, peace, fun and renewal. I would love for other parents in our area to be able to share in these benefits. That is why I’m so excited about the possibility of Forever Wild buying the property along Big Canoe Creek. Kids are much more motivated to learn when they are actively engaged in their subject,” she said. “When they value the beauty of the creek, they begin to value the science behind it.”

And when they value something, they want to protect and preserve it.

As Lawley put it, “Forever Wild is a reinvestment into the state for the people.”

Barn Owls on the Lake

Story by Carol Pappas
Photos by Jerry Martin
and Kathy Henry

Hagan, the last of the barn owls to leave their roost in July, flew the coop from an unlikely perch — the rafters of a covered pier on Pell City’s Logan Martin Lake.

He, his brothers and mother took up residence some weeks earlier. The mother first, of course, and brothers coming along later, hatching a few days apart.

They didn’t seem to give a hoot about their unusual surroundings of water instead of land. In fact, barn owls don’t hoot at all. Their vocal repertoire is more like a blood-curdling scream, the kind Alfred Hitchcock might fancy to play a role in a terrifying scene.

It seems only fitting that a ghoulish face and silent wings in flight, swooping toward their prey at night, would make this scene complete. Hitchcock would be proud.

For Kathy Henry, owner of the last known address for Hagan and his older brothers, Aaron and Mit, her visitors haven’t been frightening at all. That is, unless you count the time one night when the mother silently swooped down behind Henry and friends, letting out that scream because she thought her young were in danger.

The owl lunged toward the family boxer, “and he took off running like a sane person — as did we. She screamed four times until we got to the door,” Henry said.

Other than that near miss, owl watching has been an entertaining pastime around the Henry property. She rigged a Wingscapes BirdCam she dubbed “owl cam” to a PVC pipe to watch as the family grew. She named them. “The first born was Aaron, after the friend that found them. The middle born was Mit, after a friend of ours who has overcome an extreme fear of birds and now loves birds. And the youngest was named after the 4-year-old grandson of our favorite neighbor.

“Hagan, the owl, was hatched about five days after we found the first two, and Hagan, the human, climbed up and was the first to see it,” Henry said.

Barn owls hatch their young in the order the eggs were laid, so when the youngster climbed the ladder to look and came down saying there were three, she tried to correct him. When he didn’t give up, she ascended the ladder to see for herself and discovered the trio staring back at her.

Over the owls’ month-long stay, Henry, a pharmacist by trade, has learned all about her winged friends. “They nest in caves, hollowed trees and old buildings,” she said. But somehow, they took a turn across the water and ended up at Henry’s lakeside place. “I think it was because she (the mother) knew they would be safe. At least I like to tell myself that.”

She has taken dozens of photos and hours of footage, studied their habits and shared her knowledge with other curious onlookers. But it never seemed to faze those being looked upon.

Perhaps Henry’s right. They knew they were safe. “It’s been fun,” she said. “I really enjoyed it. I hope they come back.”

Winnataska

Almost a century of fun: Camp boasts spirit and history

Story by Carolyn Stern
Photos by Jerry Martin
Submitted photos

A wild place with a rushing creek and a waterfall; a chance to test your skill in canoes or on horses or to take on a Robin Hood pose by learning to handle a bow and arrow in archery class — the stuff of dreams for a boy or girl stuck in the city in the summer. Wild and wonderful, Camp Winnataska has made those dreams come true for almost 100 years.

The secluded woodland camp close to Prescott in St. Clair County is not pretentious. It has no grand entrance nor elaborate buildings. But this collection of some of the best of the natural world and of human efforts holds a special place in the hearts and minds of those lucky enough to spend time here.

Hundreds of young people flood the camp during June and July, a week at a time. They swim, hike, work on crafts, learn to function as a team and sing, sing, sing. Everything they do during their week is based on the principles on which the camp was founded, but the way they’re presented is pure enjoyment.

A fortunate coincidence laid the groundwork for this dream to come true.

In 1914, Dr. Elwyn Ballard, the first commissioner of Boy Scouts in the Birmingham area, had been looking for an isolated retreat away from the city to establish a Scout camp. One spring day, he and his wife, Florence, took a ride in their Model T from Birmingham out past Grants Mill and through Leeds to Prescott to meet up with friends Lucien Brown and a Scout worker, Hewlett Ansley, at their favorite fishing hole. In the heavily forested area, the road narrowed to just a path between the trees, and they found the friends at Kelly Creek, which would eventually become part of Camp Winnataska.

In her book, “Winnataska Remembered,” Katherine Price Garmon, daughter of future camp Director D.R. Price, quotes Florence Ballard, who was her aunt. “We fell in love with the place; the small pool, the falls, and the big pool below with towering cliffs … but its inaccessibility was one of its greatest charms.”

With Dr. Ballard’s strong endorsement, the Boy Scouts purchased some of the property, leased other acres and used it for overnight camping for two years. By 1918, however, the leaders decided that a camp closer to Birmingham was more suitable for their needs.

As luck would have it, the interdenominational Birmingham Sunday School Association had been thinking about starting a pioneer effort in religious camps for boys, and Dr. Ballard was able to bring the two groups together. The association board agreed to sponsor the program to accomplish “the fourfold goals of the association: physical, mental, spiritual and religious development.”

However, Rosa Strickland, a board member and a respected Birmingham teacher and Sunday school worker, had an objection to the plan. She insisted that a similar camp should be provided for girls. D.R. Price said, “Nobody argued with Miss Rosa.”

Other camps established around this time were taking Indian names, and Mrs. Ballard was asked to choose a name from a list of Indian words. Considering the waterfall was (and is) a primary feature of the camp, she chose Winnataska, which means “laughing water.” The number of arrowheads found on the property, along with the fact that there’s plenty of water at Kelly creek for use and to draw game to the area, indicated there had been a sizable settlement. This connection made using an Indian name even more fitting for this ancient land.

Affirming Price’s prediction, Miss Rosa’s proposal for a girls’ camp was accepted and had outstanding results when the first Sunday School Association camp took place in 1918. Out of an expected 75 boys, aged 12 through 15, only 31 registered. To be fair, some boys this age were already working. In contrast, the girls’ registration had to be stopped at 108, leaving some disappointed.

The earliest female campers (aged 15 to 17) boarded a train at Birmingham’s Terminal Station on July 17, 1918, got off at the Brompton stop and walked the final five miles to Winnataska, dressed in the long skirts and the hats of the day. (A photograph in Stockham Hall at the camp shows smiles on many faces and skeptical looks on others.)

As time passed, school-type buses were used to pick up campers at designated sites around Birmingham. Today, automobiles filled with whatever the camper feels is necessary (no cell phones are allowed) crowd the parking lot on registration days. Then the fun begins.

The camper’s huts are named for Indian tribes: Cherokee, Choctaw, Creek, Seminole, Chickasaw and Navajo. At the time camps for younger children began, the Sunday School Council was helping a religious education camp in Mexico. Winnataska began sending their Sunday worship offerings to that camp and used Spanish words to name the Chico (“little one”) cabins (ages 6 to 8): Siesta, Casa Nueva, Tienda and Adobe.

Each hut has leaders who encourage their groups to take pride in themselves and their surroundings. A simple task (to some campers) is to keep their hut clean. The fun comes when they are required to sing or cheer (loudly) whenever they’re walking outdoors. Each tribe has special songs and are encouraged to drown out the others.

“I’m Chickasaw born and Chickasaw bred/And when I die I’m Chickasaw dead./So, rah, rah for Chickasaw/rah, rah for Chickasaw/Rah, rah, rah./Bum-diddly-um-dum. Chickasaw!”

Staff members, Blackfeet (for boys) and Comanches (for girls), plan activities that encourage competition as well as teamwork — swimming, riding horses, canoeing and rope climbing. Campers take part with enthusiasm, all with the hope of being named the Honor Hut on the last day of camp.

Each day begins with Bible study in the 1930 Branscomb Chapel and ends at Hillside (which overlooks the waterfall) with an inspirational talk or a short worship service. Through all these specially planned activities, the camp continues to fulfill the fourfold purpose of the Sunday School Association — physical, mental, spiritual and religious development.

Mary Margaret Shephard is director of the summer camps, and Courtney Bean is the programs director. In 1922, D.R. Price became the first director. The camp was growing so quickly it was clear a formal leader was needed to oversee the property and activities.

Price held the position for 35 years. His immediate priority was to replace or update the existing housing for leaders and campers. Some structures were usable, and they were made more comfortable by being fitted with screens and new bunk beds. Before the luxury of the new beds, the 1920s girls sang a song about their old double-decker bunks, which had straw mattresses.

“In our bunk, in our bunk, where the hay comes trickling down, ‘till it hits you in the crown, in our bunk, in our bunk.”

In 1930, property was cleared for Branscomb chapel, a circular open-air stone structure. Lester Coupland, a stonemason and carpenter who lived near Branchville, was the principal builder. Coupland’s son, Carl, says his father and his father’s uncle, Sam Simpson, rode their mules eight miles to the job.

As construction moved along, campers were recruited to gather rocks for the walls. Price reminded them that some rocks with color or distinct shapes were more attractive than others. He always told them to get the “pretty rocks,” his daughter says. The floor and seats are made with flat stone pieces from the creek below the waterfall.

Mrs. Garmon says the building’s round shape was chosen because Native Americans revered that shape, and Winnataska’s founders wanted to honor their tradition. Another custom, also thought to be from Indian lore, has continued to dictate movement in the chapel. One doesn’t walk straight across the floor from one doorway to another. To do so is believed to be unlucky. Movement goes around the circle.

Lester Coupland was asked to be caretaker of the camp in 1935, and he moved his family from their farm near Branchville to the premises. He remained caretaker until 1940. Friends of many years, Carl Coupland and Mrs. Garmon laugh about the times they and Garmon’s sisters played in the sand pile and all around the camp when their fathers were at work. Coupland says, “I was always smaller and the girls picked on me.”

The “big hole” at the foot of the waterfall is a really good place to fish, Coupland says, but his favorite memory of living at Camp Winnataska is not about the fish. “I was able to hear the water rushing over the falls every night,” he says. “There’s no better sound in the world to put you to sleep.”

Kelly Creek runs through the property and eventually into the Cahaba River. Over the years, a number of bridges were built to join the two parts of the campgrounds, but heavy rains that raised the level of the rushing water washed them away. Finally, John Elon Stanley (caretaker of the camp from 1940 to 1961) and architect Walter Holmquist, with help from Roy Connor and Blackfeet Bingham Ballard and Fletcher Yielding, completed the bridge that carries campers over the falls today. The bridge was officially named for him at the camp’s 50th anniversary celebration.

The bridge isn’t the only sign of Stanley’s creative talent. He had been a railroad bridge builder and his impressive techniques can also be seen in the ceilings in Stockham Hall and Brewer Chapel. The beautiful and sturdy ceiling rafters were made of wood harvested from Winnataska land.

A number of structures and markers on the property honor those who have been key to the growth of the camp and in keeping alive what D.R. Price called “The Winnataska Spirit”.

They include Branscomb Chapel, Brewer Chapel, Reimel Hall, Stockham Hall, the Stanley Bridge, Rosa Strickland Lodge, Price Lodge, Norton Flagpole, Grayson Lodge and Grace Lake.

The present caretaker, Mark Buerhaus, was a Blackfoot from 1994 to 1998, and he just couldn’t stay away. He’s responsible for management of the 1,400 acres of camp property and for 55 structures that encompass 87,000 square feet. He says he couldn’t possibly do it all without his assistant, J.T. Braxton.

Buerhaus is a busy man with a family on the property and is on call 24-7. He’s an enthusiastic supporter of Winnataska and knows where the campers are at almost any time of the day or night. Yes, night: neon (ask a camper) and pirate nights, mission impossible hide-and-seek, country night and Indian night. All include some sort of costumes and the absolutely necessary singing and dancing. Wherever Mark is needed, he goes. Even if it’s into the night activities.

Mrs. Garmon, as the daughter of the camp’s first director, a camper herself and a niece of the Ballards, who found the property, feels a family responsibility about retaining the camp legacy. She tells about walking around the grounds one summer day and hearing very loud music coming from Stockham Hall. “I went over to check on the activities. The girls were being taught line-dancing.” She wasn’t quite sure about that or the music. But one little dancer caught her eye: “I thought, ‘If doing this gives her the feeling she’s a real dancer, that’s a good thing.’”

To date, more than 100,000 campers have sung the songs, hiked the trails and established friendships that last through the years. “Many campers are fourth-, fifth- and sixth-generations of families,” says Mrs. Garmon, “mostly from the Birmingham area. They wouldn’t think of going anywhere else.”

At a celebration of Winnataska’s 50th year, D.R. Price quoted a postcard sent home by a Chico camper: “Dear Mother, went swimming in the morning. I almost drowned. Camp is fun. This afternoon, I’m going to play with snakes.”

Why do kids like to go to camp? That about sums it up.

For a first-person account of what it was like to live at Camp Winnataska during the depression, check out the full edition Discover, The Essence of St. Clair online at ISSUU or in print.

Men of Steel

Fincher family sharpen skills as bladesmiths

Story by GiGi Hood
Photos by Jerry Martin

In today’s ever-changing and fast-paced world, where one technological wonder is all too quickly followed and then bested by yet another, the Fincher men of St. Clair County might best be defined as an anachronism.

Ray, his brother Jack and his nephew Jon are creators, designers, craftsmen, fabricators. But their works are light years removed from the technological wonders of our time. The passion of their work reverts to a much slower and simplistic time where ideas were born in the brain and created by the hand.

The Finchers have discovered a little known world — the universe of bladesmiths (or more commonly known as knife makers).  Each and every blade is unlike any other; one of a kind. Metal is the common thread that links their trade. Placed in a coal, charcoal or propane fire, it is heated to temperatures sometimes in excess of 1,800 degrees, where its physical properties become softened to the point it can be hammered out until it fits the puzzle that exists within the mind of the maker.

Ray was the first to become interested in knife making. “About 12 years ago, I was attending a gun show and bought a handmade knife from a blade master named Chuck Patrick,” he said. “There was just something about that creation that captured my interest. I think it was the simplicity, the creativity, the idea that something so simple, yet so special, could be made by hand.”

He then started buying knife parts and assembling them. Not long after, his brother Jack and his son, Jon, also became interested in his newfound project. While assembling knives was fun, the more involved they became, the desire to create their own knives grew. As a result, all three enrolled in classes at Texarkana College in Texarkana, Arkansas, to study and begin their certification in The American Bladesmith Society, which is the national organization for bladesmiths.

Certification is a multi-level process that begins with apprenticeship, progresses through a journeyman program and ends with the title of Master Bladesmith. Jon and Jack say they are not into their craft for the certification, just the pure enjoyment of creating one-of-a-kind knives from beginning to end. Ray is more active in it and has the goal of attaining journeyman status.

Jon, who was only 15 when he began, had to have permission from his principal to be absent from high school while attending the two-week classes in Texarkana. Swapping one type of education for another, he quickly fell in love with his newfound hobby. His first class, blacksmithing, culminated with the making of his first test knife. The test knife was required as one of the steps in completing his apprenticeship.

“It was fun; it allowed for individual creativity and it was also physical,” Jon explained. “There’s just something exciting about taking a flat piece of steel, heating it and then pounding on it until you’ve made your very own creation. It is very physical and very challenging. I loved it from the beginning, and I probably always will.”

Jon, a Marine who is in school at the University of South Alabama, makes a bee-line to the forge anytime he returns to St. Clair County. When observed as he works and explains the importance of each step, his passion for his art is clearly apparent.

Jack, Jon’s dad, enjoyed the knife assembly portion. But when the forging began, both father and son were truly hooked. “Jack, who earned his engineering degree from Auburn University, is both a seasoned professional with a great mind for detail and an eye for craftsmanship,” Ray explained. “He was immediately interested in knife making, but when Jon fell hard for it, that further cemented Jack’s passion. Anything Jon loves, Jack loves, so it was a match made in heaven for father and son — actually for all of us. Our mother instilled in us the importance of family togetherness, and she would be proud to know that we have carried that with us in all of our endeavors.”

Describing himself as a problem child who definitely marched to the beat of a different drummer, Ray was sent to Riverside Military Academy in Gainesville, Georgia, during the regular school year. His summers were spent at another military school in Hollywood, Florida, where his love for deep-water diving was born. During his high-school years, he worked in a pipe shop. After graduating high school, he worked as a pipe fitter before joining the U.S. Marine Corps. After his time of service, he worked as a field pipe worker.

Following in the footsteps of his father, and having had the opportunity to become experienced in every aspect of pipe fitting, fabrication and design, he decided to embark on running his own business. “I had a pick-up truck, a barrel of tools, very little money but lots of desire, tenacity and determination,” he remembers. As his business, Fincher Fire Protection Systems, began to grow, family once again became intertwined when Jack, with his education, expertise and strong work ethic, went to work with Ray. Years later, after building the business, Ray decided it was time to retire and participate in his many other interests and his new love of bladesmithing.

Today, Ray, Jack and Jon all work out of the shop that Ray has built on his St. Clair County property that he shares with his wife, Nancy, and their Tennessee Walking Horses. Simply put, Ray loves knives, and Nancy loves horses. From the road, the property doesn’t speak of or give hints related to the diversity that exists within the confines of the fences that enclose the beautiful pastureland, barns and horses.

However, after driving through the property to the back shops, Jack, Jon and Ray’s world most certainly exists in tandem with Nancy’s. The huge shop, filled with high-priced and fine equipment doesn’t look like a hobby shop. It has all the accoutrements of a serious business: a forge, kiln, presses, lathes, table saws, trim saws, finishing equipment and multitudinous other high-tech tools.

It also houses a large supply of exotic materials, worthy of being used to make the handles for the finest of their creations. The supply is seemingly limitless. Tiger maple; desert iron wood; mesquite; giraffe bones (harvested from the carcasses of giraffes that have been killed by lions); Zircoti, a fine wood from Central America; and even petrified wooly mammoth tusk or walrus oossic are just a few of the exotic materials they use to create the beautiful handles for their metal masterpieces.

The Fincher guys love their hobby and have plenty to show for it. Ray said that, even though they sell their creations, it is still a hobby and not a business. “We turn everything we make back into our tools, our equipment, the stock we need, and our training,” he said. “Quite often, we travel to other parts of the country to attend schools, seminars and work with other bladesmiths to learn more about our trade. In conjunction with the Alabama Forging Council, we also travel around the country and help in the presentation and teaching the youths of today about the practices of another era.”

One of their greatest goals is learning how to produce Damascus Steel. A tedious and multi-stepped process, it is pattern welded and created by the layering of steel. The bladesmith starts with alternating layers of steel, forges, draws out and folds it over and over to create unique patterns.

Finally, as the blade is etched with acid, beautiful patterns can be seen within the layers of the Damascus Steel blade. As Jack pointed out, “There are no limits here. An infinite number of variations are possible. It’s incredible. They even have ways of putting your name or image in the steel. It’s called Mosaic Damascus. The possibilities are endless.”

The Finchers are getting ready for the Batson Blade Symposium, which will be held April 14, at Tannehill State Park, just south of Bessemer. In June, Atlanta will host the Atlanta Blade Masters Show, where literally thousands of people from all over the world are expected to attend.

They hope others share their enthusiasm. Forging opportunities are available for newcomers, and youths are particularly encouraged to get involved. The State Blacksmith Association and the Alabama Forge Council maintain top-notch forging facilities within the park. It hosts the Batson Symposium and an annual conference in September promoting smithing, in general.

At the present, the Finchers’ passion is still considered a hobby that will hopefully be passed to other generations. Ray best sums it up when he say he loves achieving in a field where learning is constant. “It slows us down, it makes us think, it gives us time to appreciate the intricacies of life, and it gives our family time and opportunity to dream, to create and enjoy the meaningful time that we are able to spend together because of our shared interests.”

Ray has one final dream. “Jon is so very talented. He loves this (and so does his dad). Given his foresight, his drive, his desire, his commitment to being a bladesmith, I think it will be quite sad if he doesn’t take the step to move from the arena of an enjoyable hobby to creating a viable business doing what he loves and what he is best at. Currently, he is the Fincher legacy, and I hope he will make the most out of his talent and the passion he possesses and that he will not only share it with our younger family members, but with the world as well.”

Protecting Big Canoe Creek

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.”

A Dog’s Life

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).”