Tag: Features

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.”

Features

Hell and Back Again

Movie gets special Pell City premiere

Story by Carol Pappas
Photo by Jerry Martin

It was a phrase and a sentiment Sgt. Matt Bein borrowed after multiple deployments to Iraq and Afghanistan as a Marine sergeant, but he says it describes life after war best. “We were ready for anything … until we came home.”

He had been wounded by IEDs, improvised explosive devices, more than once on his deployments, but it never deterred him from the fight until the last one.

On a foot patrol in Afghanistan, he set off what he now believes to have been a remote IED, and he suffered brain injury. “I remember waking up in a corn field … soggy mud. My right leg was buried in the mud, and I thought I had lost it.”

When medics put him on the stretcher, he could feel that his leg was still intact, and he thought, “Thank God, I still had all my limbs. I’ve got everything. I’m good. I’m good,” he told them, and he got off the stretcher to walk the rest of the way.

He took one step, “fell flat on my face,” and then noticed the ground covered in blood.

A medivac helicopter was on site within 20 minutes, and he was on his way to medical care. “I was in and out of it from there. The only thing I could think about was just breathe, just breathe,” he said.

While civilians might think the rest of the story is a ticket home and return to normal life, for soldiers like Bein, there is a new definition for normal. Coming home is a whole new battleground for them, full of challenges, adjustments, coping and simply trying to survive.

Today, Bein is involved in helping other veterans come home, to talk about their experiences, their fears and get them the resources they need. He is part of a program called MAPS, Military Assistance Personal Support, and the St. Clair County-based group may be the first of its kind.

For Bein, the road has been a long one. For two years, he never spoke of the horrors he had seen, the buddies he lost. He had lived for deployments, fighting, “avenging and honoring” his fallen brothers.

His injuries were so severe doctors couldn’t believe he was still walking. He had a blood clot in his brain. “‘With your brain injury you should be almost paralyzed,’” Bein said one physician told him when he walked into the office.

Through it all, he still believed that one day he would deploy again. He had friends who were deploying, and when he went to see them off, he took his young son with him. “When the white buses pulled up, my son started screaming frantically, ‘Don’t go, Dad! I don’t want you to go!’ He knew what the buses meant — you’re coming back or you’re leaving.”

It was at that point that he decided to cooperate. The husband and father of three told himself, “I don’t need to do this to my kids and family anymore.”

He began to talk to his doctors. “I lost four friends. That’s why I was so intent on avenging and honoring their deaths. I can’t do my job in the civilian world.”

But one doctor’s response gave him pause, helped him see a different path. “He asked me, ‘If those guys were still here what would they say?’ ”

And Bein found the answer he is living today: “The best way to honor them is not to fight but to spread awareness about where we have been and find people that need help.”

Bein and others are hoping that awareness will come through a new, award-winning documentary set to be premier in Bein’s hometown of Pell City. Hell and Back Again is the story of a marine platoon in Afghanistan — Bein’s platoon. It is the true story of what he and his platoon encountered in war, but it’s the rest of the story, too, the hellish, real-life drama of coming home.

It is the Alabama premier of the Academy-Award-nominated film that won the Sundance Film Festival, showing at the Pell City Center on June 14. A reception will honor the veterans at 6 p.m., followed by the film at 7.

Afterward, Bein and Sgt. Nathan Harris will hold a panel discussion for the audience, yet another avenue for building understanding.

A film producer was embedded with this platoon in Afghanistan in 2009, which was part of the surge ordered by President Barack Obama. The film is about war through the eyes of the platoon, but when Harris was shot, the film turns to the new battleground for him and centers on his nightmare of a journey home.

“We have done research, and 500,000 veterans will come home mentally or physically distraught — basically disabled,” Bein said. “We need to make our best effort to reach out to them and get hem the help they deserve.”

Being able to talk about it “eventually made me see how I could honor the guys who died.

“It was an amazing time — one of the greatest times of our lives. If given the opportunity, I’d do it again,” Bein said.

But he noted that he tries to encourage fellow soldiers with a poignant piece of advice: “We all did great things on our deployments. Don’t let that be the best thing we have ever done.”

Visit the official Hell and Back Movie Site

How to get involved

Features

The Ark Restaurant

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From skirting liquor laws to finding fame as the place for catfish

Story by Jerry C. Smith
Photos by Jerry Martin
Submitted photos

St. Clair folks are passionate about two basic food groups: barbecue and catfish. While the debate still rages among barbecue aficionados, the Pell City/Riverside area hosts a restaurant called The Ark, which has for decades set a gold standard in the catfish genre.

They also serve steaks, frog legs, shrimp and other fine fare, but the owner attests that about 60 percent of Ark customers ask for catfish. In fact, you can decline a menu and simply hold up one, two or three fingers to indicate how many fillets you want with your fries, slaw and hushpuppies.

Their Alabama pond-raised, deep-fried catfish entrees are excruciatingly delicious and served in a warm, home-style venue whose long, colorful heritage dates back to the Roaring Twenties. The Ark’s bio is like a story made for Hollywood.

At one time, St. Clair County was dry. If you wanted alcoholic spirits, you either went to Jefferson County or to a local bootlegger. Things got even tighter during Prohibition, when alcohol became illegal everywhere.

But E.O. “Red” Thompson had a better idea. He bought an old dredge barge at salvage, formerly used for deepening river channels and clearing debris, refitted it as a speakeasy, and christened it The Ark.

Thompson anchored it about 30 feet from the west bank of the Coosa River, near present-day US Highway 78. The Coosa borderlines St. Clair and Talladega counties, so The Ark was technically in either (or neither) county, depending on from which direction the law was coming.

It was known to be a rip-roaring establishment, catering to most any vice you can name. Patrons boarded The Ark from their boats, or they could use a 4-foot-wide catwalk. In a 1990 Birmingham News story by Marie West Cromer, George Scisson of Riverside related, “More than one inebriated customer had trouble getting back to shore on that walkway.”

Scisson continued, “They served river catfish and hushpuppies and all the beer you wanted, and neither St. Clair or Talladega law could touch them because it wasn’t located in either county. … I was too young to buy beer then, but I drank it on the old Ark. Beer was 15 cents a can, and a sign said, ‘All the catfish and hushpuppies you can eat, 60 cents.’ They put more fish in a sandwich for 35 cents back then than you get on a platter today.”

Eventually, the original Ark caught fire, burned and sank. Undaunted, Mr. Thompson built a new log building on the river’s west bank. In Cromer’s story, the late Bob Cornett described this second Ark, “It was a rustic building … breezes from the river whistled through cracks in the floor and walls. … Some customers came by boat, and some were served from a pier.”

Ferry boats were used in those days to cross the Coosa, which was much narrower than today’s impounded waterway. In 1938, a new highway bridge was built on US 78. Because the bridge had replaced a ferry, it was opened as a toll bridge at first. In fact, Cornett’s father, Sam Cornett, operated the tollbooth.

Thompson was described as a “gruff old gentleman who ran a tight ship.” Cornett told of two men who told the cashier their food was no good and walked out without paying their bill. Thompson forcibly brought them back in, and told them, “Now pay the lady for what you done et.”

Waitress Hazel Castleberry, who invented The Ark’s special fish sauce that’s still in use today, recalls her days of service with Thompson. “Menus were not used back then. Customers just told us what they wanted, and we wrote it down quick and got away from them as fast as we could because Thompson didn’t believe in his hired help socializing with customers.”

But, alas, this new Ark also burned. Thompson built yet another roadhouse on the other side of US 78, where today’s Ark is located, and renamed it Red’s Place. It was a true Southern hangout in every sense, much like the Boar’s Nest on Dukes of Hazzard. They say Thompson was much like Boss Hogg, and Sheriff Roscoe P. Coltrane also had a counterpart at Red’s. Many St. Clair middle-agers will tell you Red’s did almost as much business from the back door as from the front.

Eventually, the aforementioned Mr. Cornett purchased Red’s Place, and named it The Ark once again. That was some 34 years ago, just a few days after Bob and Sylvia Cornett were wed. Before long, the Cornetts’ Ark had built a reputation for fine food, atmosphere and community appreciation that still prevails today.

The Ark’s ambience is something you just have to experience for yourselves. In an Anniston Star item by George Smith, Cornett described The Ark’s decor: “This is no hoity-toity joint. Anyone is welcome here. Our only requirement is that you wear a shirt and shoes, and the reason for that is the health department. Shoot, if it were not for [them], we probably wouldn’t worry about shoes or shirts.”

Smith added, “The walls are Ponderosa pine paneling, the ceiling is plywood and batten, the tables wear checkered oilcloth, and the booths are hard as any church bench you can remember.”

It’s always been blessed with loyal, long-term employees. Hazel Castleberry’s daughter, Alesia Moore; her sister, Tammy Truss; and Tammy’s daughter Sheree Smith, have worked there for years.

Considering its present atmosphere and colorful past, The Ark might well be described as a road house for catfish lovers. Autographed photos, media clippings and other memorabilia cover every inch of wall space.

It’s been written up in a host of local and national newspapers and food and travel magazines. The Ark’s catfish platter is listed on the Alabama Bureau of Tourism and Travel’s coveted “100 Dishes to Eat Before You Die” list. The Ark was also pictured in a 1995 New York Times story by a photographer sent here when St. Clair first went Republican.

It has been featured in USA Today’s “Top Ten Catfish Restaurants In The Nation,” an annual list compiled by the Catfish Institute of America. In a 1997 St. Clair News-Aegis story by Stan Griffin, Bob Cornett said, “Anyone who wouldn’t take a national honor like that seriously would be very foolish. I feel very fortunate, and we try to maintain the quality of our food service to justify such a ranking.”

In a recent interview, current owner Sylvia Cornett named a few celebrities she and her late husband, Bob, have hosted. They include former Gov. Don Seigelman, former state Sen. Larry Means, movie director Terry Gilliam, “Little Jim” Folsom, Supreme Court Justice Mark Kennedy (George C. Wallace’s son-in-law), the Temptations on tour and CNN reporter John King.

Practically every major NASCAR driver has graced their tables, including Richard and Kyle Petty, Jim and Bill France, Neil Bonnett, Ryan Newman, Buddy “Leadfoot” Baker, the legendary Red Farmer who built Talladega Speedway, Mario Andretti, Tony Stewart, Dale Earnhart Jr., and Bobby and Davey Allison, to mention a few.

They’ve hosted large business groups from Norway and Japan, including the Honda folks. In fact, the deal that brought the Honda assembly plant to Lincoln was signed over a catfish dinner at The Ark.

In all its various incarnations, The Ark has long been an integral part of eastern St. Clair’s civic persona. Many families have dined there for several generations. In fact, two of the restaurant’s most loyal patrons, Jim and Ann Riddle Burton of Low Gap, became engaged to wed while driving to The Ark in Jim’s new ‘65 Corvette.

They’ve been together ever since and are still devout Arkies. When asked how Jim and Ann have lived together so happily for more than 47 years, he replied, “We’ve never had an argument. But sometimes neighbors a block away can hear us reasoning together.”

The Burtons weren’t the only folks to link The Ark to matrimony. Gloria Anderson, who still works at The Ark, was married there. Bob Cornett himself gave away the bride, who wore a long, flowing white gown. After the ceremony, The Ark opened for business as usual.

Sylvia’s son, Warren Smith, related a story about the time when The Ark served dinner to a monkey. Other customers and wait staff did double takes as the little simian, about the size of a two-year-old child and well-dressed in a shirt and shorts, sat beside his (human) lady companion while sipping a drink.

Actually, he was a service monkey whose sole job was to push a medic alert button worn on a chain around his neck in the event his mistress had a sudden seizure. Smith said. “He had medical papers and everything, just like a seeing-eye dog, but nobody else knew that.”

The Cornett family is of St. Clair pioneer stock, almost from the time Pell City began. Cornett House Hotel was a frontier hostelry located near the railway in Pell City. It was heavily damaged in 1902 when a huge store of dynamite in a railroad warehouse blew up, doing some $1,500 worth of harm to the hotel (a very substantial sum more than a hundred years ago), also wrecking much of Pell City.

Mentored by noted Ashville author/historian Mattie Lou Teague Crow, Bob Cornett operated a popular local newspaper, the St. Clair Observer, before investing in The Ark. The Observer was later sold and absorbed into the present day St. Clair News-Aegis. Always the entrepreneur, Cornett had also owned a bar called The Fatted Calf, which he opened in 1967, just after St. Clair County voted to go ‘wet.’

Today’s Ark hosts a multitude of catfish fans, some of them third or fourth generation customers. The place teems with action during Race Week at Talladega. Regular customers often come from as far away as Georgia.

The Ark’s daily attendance is amazing, considering that they have only one tiny, time-worn sign out front, partially hidden by bushes. Like with any really successful restaurant, word of mouth is everything.

Features

St. Clair Horse Country

[Show as slideshow]

Lusitanos, Arabians find home in St. Clair

Story by Elaine Hobson Miller
Photos by Jerry Martin

From the deserts of ancient Arabia and the bullfighting rings of Portugal, two distinctly different yet equally majestic horse breeds have made their way to St. Clair County. World-class Arabians prance and play at Don Olvey’s Aradon Farm in Odenville, while purebred Lusitanos strut and cavort at Robert and Carolyn Crum’s Shangrila Farm in Gallant.

The owners of both farms started their breeding programs for the same reason: They fell in love with a breed. Olvey’s passion started with a day at a friend’s barn, while the Crums began by admiring an exhibition horse. In each case, a spark was ignited instantly, and their encounters changed the course of their lives.

“I had a friend in the Arabian horse business, and he had an Open Barn with food and tours and invited me to come out,” says Olvey, 76, who rode American Quarter Horses as a child. “I saw these beautiful Arabians, a breed I had never seen before. I decided then and there to get into raising them.”

Olvey bought his first Arabian in 1985 while living in Hoover. He built a barn on his stepfather’s farm in Tuscaloosa County, where he kept his horses until he could find a place of his own. He considers his discovery of the land that was to become Aradon Farm as something magical.

“I wasn’t familiar with this side of town,” he says of Odenville. “I went to Pell City one day, looked on a map and saw Highway 174. I thought I would ride through there on my way home. Through the trees I saw this beautiful pasture, and I said to myself, ‘Oh, would I love to have that.’ I drove another block, and saw a for-sale sign. I called the Realtor immediately and signed the contract that day. It was just what I wanted.”

That first horse Olvey purchased was a stallion, because “every man thinks he wants a stallion,” he says. Then he bought four mares out of Missouri and had them shipped to Alabama. He did a lot of research to learn the industry, studying national Arabian horse publications to get familiar with the bloodlines. “Even in the Arabian breed, there are several different bloodlines,” says Olvey. “You’ve got the Egyptian strain, the Polish, the Russian, the Spanish, and the American strain — called domestic because we’ve taken all those others and blended them together.”

Although his original horses were either sold or died, they gave Olvey his start toward becoming one of the largest Arabian breeders in the Southeast. He has two domestic Arabian stallions, both of them champions. Giaccomo was a Scottsdale Arabian Horse Show Champion 2-year-old colt, a U.S. National Top Ten Yearling Colt and a Region 15 Champion Stallion. PS Andiamo is a U.S. and Canada Top Ten Stallion. Both were sired by Marwan Al Shaquab, who is “the hottest thing in the (Arabian) breeds right now,” according to Olvey.

His two stallions and 12 broodmares produce six to 10 foals per year, which are weaned at four months and sell for $5,000 to $80,000 each. He also breeds to other people’s stallions, and ships semen from his own stallions to other breeders for a $2,500 stud fee. He has eight babies due next year. “We breed for halter horses, and that’s what we mainly show,” Olvey says.

Charlie Watts, one of the Rolling Stones rock group, bought one of Olvey’s mares and flew her to England. Olvey has spent time around Wayne Newton, one of the top Arabian breeders in the country, as well as the late actor Patrick Swayze. “At a horse show, everybody is just an Arabian horse person,” Olvey says. “Even Swayze you wouldn’t have thought was anybody special. He was there because he loved the horse and he wanted to compete and blend in.”

Until recently, his resident trainer, Les Sichini, handled the horses at shows. But three years ago Olvey started showing as an amateur with two of his Aradon-bred colts, Pysnario and Phantasy. He started winning right out of the chute.

“I’ve never had so much fun,” he admits. “I won in Scottsdale, won the Region 12 (a big Southeast show) and at National, I was in the top 10 out of 29 horses. I was thrilled with that.”

While he used to enjoy trail riding, he can’t ride anymore due to back surgery. His carpet business, Don’s Carpet One, keeps him pretty busy, and so does his fight with cancer. “In 2003 I was told I had two years to live,” he says. “Three and a half years later, I was told that again. I’ve been undergoing treatments for nine years, and I’m still in the battle. I’m really a strong believer, I’m a Christian, and I’m at peace with whatever God wants.”

Portuguese roots planted in Gallant

Robert and Carolyn Crum were living in West Palm Beach, Fla., when they saw their first Andalusian horse. “He was a gorgeous black exhibition horse, and we started talking to his trainer,” Carolyn relates. “We decided to start breeding Andalusians.”

In 2001, they went to Mexico to get married on the farm of a breeder of Andalusians and Lusitanos. Intending to buy an Andalusian, they came home with a Lusitano stallion and mare instead.

The Andalusian and the Lusitano are related, both having come originally from Spain, according to Carolyn. That country used them for bullfighting. When Spain outlawed bullfighting, there was nothing for the Spanish horse to do. So Spaniards started breeding them for beauty and elegance. The Portuguese still used these horses for bullfighting and trained them for the ring by having them work cattle in the fields.

“The Portuguese horse stayed more true to its roots than the Andalusian did,” Carolyn says. “The Lusitano is from Portugal.”

Originally from Birmingham, Carolyn was an attorney in Atlanta for several years when she decided to make a change and moved to Florida. That’s where she met Robert, who was in the construction business. It was a second marriage for both of them, and they shared a common interest in horses.

For the next 10 years, the Crums bred, trained and showed their horses. They concentrated on quality, rather than quantity, and their two stallions and two broodmares produced one or two babies each year. But they usually had half a dozen foals, colts and fillies of various ages and levels of training. Then the economy went sour, construction work dried up, and their health took a turn for the worse. The Crums had to make a difficult decision. “We almost got out of the horse business,” Carolyn says. “But we enjoy being able to see them every day. So we downsized to a smaller operation and changed our focus to breeding only.”

They also decided to leave Florida. With Carolyn’s roots in Alabama, they looked in this state and in Tennessee for some farmland and found a place in Gallant that was already set up for breeding warmbloods. They moved there in January, bringing trainer Whitney Wenzel, an Auburn University graduate from South Carolina, with them.

“It was a difficult move for 11 horses and all that equipment,” says Carolyn. “Half of my furniture is still in my guest house in Florida.” The Crums live in an apartment that’s part of their 17-stall barn, with plans to build a house one day.

Their breeding stock now includes three stallions and two broodmares. The grand old man of Shangrila Farms is Exaustivo, a 27-year-old who was born and trained at the Alter Real Stud in Portugal. The Alter Real was founded by the king of Portugal in the 1500s to breed classical equitation horses. Veneno Imperial is their 10-year-old exotic, buckskin-colored stallion imported from Brazil. Bolero (nicknamed Muffin) is a 6-year-old Shangrila Farm baby, whose grandsire was an international champion jumper, Novilheiro, ridden by famed British horseman John Whittaker. Bolero and Veneno have been featured in several international equine calendars.

They also have a couple of pets, including a rescued thoroughbred and a miniature horse named Cooper who loves to escape his corral and do laps around the barn. In addition, Whitney has five horses of her own.

At seven months, the Shangrila foals are weaned and ready to be matched up with a buyer, if they haven’t already been sold in-utero (before birth). The latter sell for $6,000, while the foals go for $8,000 and the weanlings for $10,000. The average would be $18,000 for a 2- to 3-year old, $22,000 – $25,000 for a 4-year-old under saddle with basic training. It isn’t unusual, however, for a Lusitano with great bloodlines and basic dressage training to go for $45,000, while one at the Grand Prix level of dressage could command $125,000.

“Lusitanos are used primarily for dressage. That’s where the market is,” Carolyn says. “They make wonderful cow horses, but no one wants one for that. They are too expensive for that discipline.”

After two heart surgeries, Carolyn, 75, can no longer ride. Neither does Robert, 72. The horses keep them young in mind and heart, though. They produce a calming effect on Carolyn, whether she’s rubbing their necks or watching them frolic in the pasture. The babies are her biggest joy, and she’s looking forward to a new crop next year.

“We haven’t had any babies for the last two years because of the economy, ” she says. “The number of our semen shipments are down, too. Horses are a reflection of the economy. But I‘m optimistic about this year.”

Features

Protecting Big Canoe Creek

[Show as slideshow]

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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Friendly Neighborhood Airport

[Show as slideshow]

Story by Loyd McIntosh
Photos by Jerry Martin

There is a funny joke that gets told throughout the aviation community about pilots. It goes a little something like this: What is the difference between a pilot and God? God doesn’t think he’s a pilot.

The meaning of the joke, of course, is that pilots are a different breed, a gonzo blend of Evel Knievel and Steve Austin (The Million-Dollar Man, to all of you born after 1980), willing to cheat the laws of physics, nature and death itself for the ultimate thrill.

To put oneself in the cockpit and spit in the face of gravity certainly takes guts, but what personality traits must it take to build and fly a plane? If Odenville resident Louis “Rusty” Hood is any indication, the answer is a combination of humility, honesty, and decency, with a little spirit of adventure thrown in for good measure.

A retired flight engineer from the Army National Guard, Hood might possibly be one of the nicest and most humble people you’re likely to meet. He just happens to enjoy building and flying experimental aircraft so much that he lives next to his own airstrip. His garage does double duty as a hangar, currently housing a pair of light, propeller-driven airplanes.

The first one is based on a 1930s design and in disrepair at the moment. Hood says he’s looking to part the thing out because “you know, they’ve improved airplane design since the ‘30s, both in construction techniques and design.”

The main attraction in Hood’s garage/hangar is a Murphy Rebel, a small, shiny-silver, two-seater airplane that looks more like a museum exhibit from a bygone era than an actual working plane. However, as Hood explains, this little baby tops out at around 90 miles per hour, can carry about 44 gallons of fuel (good for about six hours of flying), and is a highly popular aircraft in Canada, where it is primarily flown in wooded areas. It’s one of several airplanes Hood has built on his own in almost 40 years of flying.

“It comes in a box, and all the parts are there, and you apply your craftsmanship and 20,000 rivets. Then you add your engine, instruments and your radios, and you got an airplane,” Hood says. “Of course that’s about 10 seconds worth of talk and about two year’s worth of work.”

Somewhat shy and understated, Hood isn’t, by any stretch of the imagination, a gonzo, risk-taker in the air. “I’m no thrill seeker by any means,” says Hood. “I try to be very careful. I’ve been flying both personally and in the military since ‘75, I guess. I don’t take flying lightly.”

Thirty-plus years of military flying will do that to a guy.

Build them, and they will fly

Hood became interested in planes and flight while working at a motorcycle dealership in the afternoons while in high school. A tinker by nature, Hood first came upon the notion of building his own plane after noticing an ad in the back of Popular Mechanics magazine for a Benson Gyrocopter, a rotorcraft which looks like a cross between a helicopter and a go-cart.

It was in the middle of winter, the slow season at the dealership, so Hood decided to ride his motorcycle to the Benson factory in Raleigh, North Carolina, to look into buying his own gyrocopter. “I just wasn’t impressed, and I did a little research, and I found that most of those plans weren’t viable planes, so I decided against that. But, that did get me started on the idea of building my own plane,” Hood says.

Hood soon realized he didn’t have the funds to purchase his own plane, but began investigating planes he could build on his own. His search led him to an aircraft designed by a Burt Rutan, the experimental aircraft designer famous for designing the Model 86 Voyager, the first plane to fly around the world without stopping or refueling, among other accomplishments.

“He designed a little airplane called Quickie. It was a single-seat all fiberglass, composite, tandem wing. It had a wing out front and a wing in the middle, but no wing on the tail, which is a little unusual,” Hood explains. “If you know anything about Burt Rutan, unusual airplanes are his game.

“They offered the kit for $4,000, and I had $4,000 in my savings exactly, and I bought the kit which consisted of 12 gallons of glue, 144 yards of fiberglass, and two or three boxes of Styrofoam and urethane foam,” Hood adds. “I proceeded to in the course of the next couple of years, construct this airplane, and I flew it for 75 or 100 hours or so.”

Hood joined the Army National Guard in 1974, beginning his military career as a helicopter mechanic and eventually becoming a flight engineer on various military aircrafts, such as Sky Cranes, Huey and some additional fixed-wings. Closing in on his 50th birthday, Hood was deployed to Afghanistan in 2004, spending the next year flying and supervising a maintenance crew of more than 30 soldiers, performing an impressive amount of work while serving his country.

“We flew 7,000 hours, which set a record for our size unit for the time we were there in 04 and 05,” says Hood. “It was a lot of missions and a lot of work to keep those helicopters going. I was the old guy in the bunch at about 50. Most of those guys are teenagers, and they’ve got stamina, and all they need is a little direction.”

Hood retired from the National Guard soon after returning home from Afghanistan, and initially spent his time strictly on land-based activities, primarily motorcycle riding and gardening. It wasn’t long before a friend contacted Hood with a project. He needed help building an airplane – the Murphy Rebel currently sitting in his massive garage.

“I told him I had just gotten back from Afghanistan, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to fly anymore,” Hood says. “I told him to come back and ask me in a year.”

Sure enough, he came back with the intention of enlisting Hood’s help. Not ready to think about taking to the air once again, Hood jumped at the chance, helping complete the build and buying half-ownership of the plane. Eventually, Hood bought the plane outright and is back where he belongs – in the air.

“I’m just a fun flyer. I did enough hazardous flying in the military to get that out of my system,” Hood says. “When the weather is perfect, there’s no wind, and I feel good, I go for a ride.”

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