Flyway of the Monarchs

Oswego County is full of natural wonders. Spectacular geological features like the Salmon River Falls Unique Area and the fabulous sand dunes at Deer Creek Marsh Wildlife Management Area etch the landscape. World class salmon, steelhead and walleye swim in our waters. And each spring and fall our friendly skies load up with migrating fowl of every feather.



But not all miracles are big and obvious. Indeed, Oswego County is full of marvels of a smaller nature, and one of the most colorful is the fall migration of monarchs.

The majestic monarch travels thousands of miles in its life journey. (Photo by NYS DEC Web site).

This majestic butterfly’s range reaches way into Canada. As summer days grow shorter, signaling the butterflies to start moving to warmer climates, those born north of the border leisurely head south. Reaching Lake Ontario, they’re reluctant to fly over the huge pond. Although they can flutter for long distances, they have to stop sometime, to get out of heavy winds, to rest, roost, stuff like that. So they try to fly over land as much as possible and skirt the shoreline looking for some they can follow to the U.S. of A. At Cape Vincent they bank a sharp right.



Just about any refuge will do in an emergency. However, given a choice, monarchs prefer certain spots. In fact, they have an uncanny knack for resting in places their ancestors also frequented, often in the same tree their great grandparents used (four generations are produced each year) when they made the trip last fall.



Two of their most popular Oswego County haunts are Deer Creek Marsh Wildlife Management Area and Sandy Pond. The back sides of the dunes offer great protection from the weather, and lots of trees and bushes for perches.



They start migrating in good numbers in mid-August and continue coming until about mid-September. When they finally settle down for the night, they can fill a bush so thick, its branches seem to sprout quivering blotches of orange and gold.



I went up to both spots last week to see what I could see. I wasn’t disappointed. As I walked the beach, I looked north and my eyes settled on the graceful dance of several individuals.



When you first catch sight of one, it’s a fleck in the distance, so small and insignificant you think it’s a floater (one of the tiny spots some of us have in our vision). As it gets closer, you notice its telltale swaying flight and before you know it, a full blown monarch is effortlessly floating past you. It’s humbling to see how such a delicate, weightless critter can remain on its flight path pitted against such a vast expanse of open air and water.



I didn’t see flocks, but I did see several, including a small cluster resting on a tree trunk.



They should start appearing in massive quantities in late afternoon from now until the middle of next month. The best way to locate a batch is to walk the beach and keep an eye out for specks on the horizon that are flying in a determined direction, but in a very roundabout way. If your timing is right, they’ll lead you to their roost.



If luck is with you, you’ll find a tree pasted with tiny, colorful sails gently flapping in the breeze, and others circling the branches looking for perches. You’ll walk away with the knowledge you witnessed one of life’s smallest, most colorful miracles unfold before your eyes.

(The following photos were taken by Janet Clerkin)

A DEC interpretive sign at the parking area at Deer Creek Marsh explains how the dunes were formed. To reach this parking area, turn left at the end of Rainbow Shores Road in the Town of Sandy Creek.


Monarchs cross over miles of open water before landing on the beach.


The shoreline at Deer Creek Marsh, looking north. The area is owned by the NYS DEC and is part of the unique Eastern Lake Ontario freshwater dune system.

Driftwood on the beach.

Shrubs, small trees and dune grass line the edge of the beach at Deer Creek Marsh and provide a place for the monarchs to rest.

The back sides of the dunes offer shelter from the weather.

A viewing platform is situated between the marsh and the shoreline, offering an expansive view of two distinct habitats.

Milkweed and Queen Anne's Lace are common in the upland areas of the dune system.

Goldenrod is a bright symbol of late summer.

Fields of Queen Anne's Lace thrive along the back side of the dunes at Deer Creek Marsh. The dainty flower originated in Europe and is a member of the wild carrot family.

The milkweed plant plays an important role in the life cycle of the monarch. The butterfly lays its eggs on the leaves, the caterpillar feeds on the leaves, and the butterfly feeds on the milky white liquid during the late summer.

Matilda enjoys the late afternoon breeze off Lake Ontario.

Summer Whitewater Fun

Salmon River's summer colors

Up until recently, whitewater was feared by average folks. So much so, you couldn’t even find it in the dictionary. But that didn’t mean it didn’t exist. Indeed, all you had to do was go up to the Salmon River to see all the whitewater you wanted.



Oh, the stuff has always fascinated folks. Indeed, the city of Niagara Falls relies on raging whitewater's loud, scary qualities for its very existence; while places like the Salmon River Falls Unique Area silently testify to its more subtle artistic merits. But normal folks (except trout and salmon anglers, of course) never dreamt of stepping foot in it, let alone floating it for cheap thrills.



Daredevils did. Indeed, documentaries showing adventurers on places like the Colorado and Trinity Rivers planted a seed that bloomed into movies like “Deliverance” and “the River Wild,” launching whitewater onto a wave of respectability.



New York, the most mountainous state in the northeast, is etched in a web of the stuff. I-81 crosses two of its finest strands: the Black and Salmon Rivers.



The state’s only stream that can boast year-round adventure class rapids, the Black River requires great skill to navigate. Since this is a family-friendly blog--and this mighty stream is for experts only--we won’t go there.



The Salmon River is a different story. Oh, it has its dangerous moments, like during the spring thaw and when it’s swollen to a rage by a hard rain. Normally, however, this time of year sees it low and relatively safe. Free spirits have been riding its currents on everything from rubber tubes and air mattresses to more substantial craft like kayaks and canoes since the 1960s.



Its reputation really took off in 1996. That’s when the authorities, through prodding by whitewater interests, environmentalists and fishermen, made it mandatory for the power company to release a base flow from the dam which kept the river running at a consistent pace.



The rapids proved so popular, local businesses decided to try and raise the water level another notch, and convinced the power company to conduct water releases for recreational purposes five times each summer: one weekend in June, August and September, and two weekends in July.



Last month’s releases attracted colorful, boisterous flotillas of every type of craft imaginable. In fact, professional fishing guide Rick Miick tried floating the river for Skamania and landlocked Atlantic salmon on July 24. He caught some bass and claimed the trout and salmon weren’t hitting because “the kaleidoscope of rafts, kayaks and canoes shooting over the water was so intense and loud, respectable trout and salmon ducked for cover or clung to the river bottom in fear of their lives.”



The neatest things about the Salmon River during the dog days of summer are its relatively warm temperatures and safe rapids. Ranked on a scale from class I (shallow ripples a kitten can wade) to class VI (highly technical cataracts that can kill ya’), the Salmon River's rapids don't rise above class III, mild enough for an average eight-year-old, wearing a personal flotation device, to handle.



The releases scheduled for August 7-8 and September 4-5 are still far enough away to plan for.



If you’ve never paddled a fast moving river before, consider going during the August release and joining one of the organized runs offered by commercial outfits like Whitewater Challengers, www.whitewaterchallengers.com; and Adventure Calls, www.adventure-calls.com. (I don’t know of any commercial rafting companies that run the river during the September release, so you’re on your own for that one.)



Then show up in a swim suit. The outfitter will provide instructions, a seat on a raft, paddle, personal flotation device and, most importantly, a “brain bucket” (helmet). You’ll launch into the bubbly and set off on an adventure that’ll make you all wet...creating memories you’ll never forget.

Close-up of some rafters along the river


Kayaks and rubber rafts

Before His Time

Scottie VanDerWater with a "reel" armful.

It’s said that 5% of anglers catch 95% of the fish.



Scottie VanDerWater is living proof of that. He catches more fish in a day than most guys catch in a month. And he really stands out when he’s doing it. You see, he’s only seven years old.



Almost 47 inches tall, he’s kind’a small; in fact, he’s the only guy I know who’s caught carp as long as he is, and some that outweighed him to boot. And even though he struggles a lot harder than most seasoned anglers while pulling the brutes in, he doesn’t give up and almost always gets his fish.



While it’s clear he’s a natural born fisherman, having a father who used to make a living as a licensed charter specializing in the Oswego River drainage, doesn’t hurt. Indeed, with Scott senior at his side, the pair has yet to see the river throw anything at ‘em that they couldn’t handle.



Last week, the elder Scott invited me to go fishing with him and the boy. I accepted quicker than a carp sucking down a dough ball.



Considering the higher than average heat and humidity slamming our area, Scott Sr. decided the best, most convenient setting for our fish story would be Fulton. “We’re going for panfish, catfish and carp,” he reasoned, “species that love hot weather.”



We made it to downtown Fulton by 11 a.m. The temperature was already in the high 80s. Severe thunderstorms in the Finger Lakes a couple days earlier raised the Oswego River a couple notches.



Our first stop was the upper pool; more specifically, the water gurgling out of the powerhouse turbines on the west side of Lock 2. The place was loaded with huge carp, gars (a primitive fish that swam with the dinosaurs), panfish and smallmouth bass. And everything was biting…except the gars. Worms kept the two Scotts busy catching panfish and bass, and I nailed my share of the critters on Berkley Power Bait Atomic Teasers.



After a couple hours of exciting action the fish turned off completely. Figuring we still hadn’t caught a carp or catfish, Scott decided to try the river downstream of Lock 3.



Good call!



We parked in the Canal Landing lot at the southeastern corner of the Oneida Street bridge, crossed the canal, and headed downstream to the spillway, I fished in the rapids on the west side of the wall, the Scotts tried their luck in the canal on the east side.



We caught everything Scott Sr. promised that morning, and then some, including a keeper crappie, so many smallmouths that we stopped counting after 15 minutes, a 14-inch bucketmouth, a green sunfish (the elder Scott says “they used to be uncommon around here but I’m getting more and more every year,”) and the biggest bowfin (another primitive species that’s been around since the dinosaurs) that’s ever slipped through my fingers (it was just too feisty and slimy to hold). Sheepshead ranging from five to 15 pounds, swam so close you could count their scales.



But the highlights of the day were Scottie Jr. catching the two biggest fish: a four-pound catfish and a 15-pound carp. It’s fascinating watching a 38-pound kid fighting a fish almost half his size, in fast water, no less. He did what was needed and landed both.



Afterwards, he never bragged…Just smiled all the way home.

Scottie as a kid.

One sunfish catchin' young man!

Down to business: showing Scott Sr. where to cast.

Haulin' in an uncooperative carp.

Hero shot

Releasing his trophy.

The proper way to hold a cat.

Releasing a cat

Tip-toeing Through the Sand Dunes

Trail through the dunes.

Stretching for 17 miles, the Eastern Lake Ontario Dune and Wetland Area offers one of the most scenic shorelines along the big pond. Boasting the tallest sand dunes--some up to 70 feet high--between Cape Cod and Lake Michigan, this barrier system’s ponds, creeks, and bottomland forests comprise the most productive fish and game habitat on the tiniest Great Lake. And Oswego County is the gateway to this enchanted collection of landscapes and seascapes.



The mouth of the Salmon River marks this giant sand box’s southern border. Indeed the soft sandy beach created by the river is Brennan Beach RV Park’s greatest attraction. Billed as the largest RV park in the Northeast, it ends at the south shore of the mouth of Deer Creek.



On the other side, barely a jump across during high water, and a dry step in summer (by July the creek goes underground a few feet before the beach), lies Deer Creek Wildlife Management Area, a visitor-friendly classroom into the workings of a barrier system.



What makes it so is the path running through it. You see, WMAs are managed for fish and game and, as a rule, don’t have roads or clearly defined footpaths running through them. Deer Creek WMA has both; its dune area starts with an abandoned asphalt road that ends in a footpath running right down the middle of the system, skirting the edge of the back dunes on one side, the pond that swallows Deer Creek on the other.



Along the way, you’ll be surrounded by the flora attracted to a natural, freshwater barrier system: American beachgrass, cotton woods, dune grapes and POISON IVY.



Signs all around the place remind folks the dunes are fragile and people should stay off. But cousin Staash claims “poison ivy works much better in discouraging foot traffic in the sensitive areas than any ol’ signs.”



And he’s probably right. Unfortunately, a lot of visitors don’t know their poison ivy from saw grass, and in the two weeks it takes for the itching to stop, they resolve to never set foot in the place again.



And that’s sad because the place is so beautiful it’s worth revisiting over and over, particularly as the seasons change. Avoid contact with the poison ivy by wearing clothes that cover the entire body, not touching anything you can’t identify and staying on the trail.



Believe me, the path will take you close to everything there is to see, from the beachgrass clinging precariously to the steep dunes and the old cottonwoods crowning the crests to the scrubby dune willows, wormwood and cottonwood saplings making a toehold in lower areas. The pond is only a few feet away, close enough to see the huge carp and pike residing within, far enough away to fill your eyes with a beautiful panorama.



Get here by heading north on NY 3 for 1.9 miles from its intersection with NY 13. Turn left on Rainbow Shores Road, follow it to the end, and turn left onto the unpaved, hard surface road. Bear left at the fork 0.6 mile later and continue for 0.2 mile to the parking lot.



If you’d rather see the place from the water, the New York State Department of Environmental Conservation offers a canoe launch on Deer Creek, on the west side of NY 3, about 1.5 miles north of its intersection with NY 13.

Dune walkover


Grass swirl on the beach

Inside the dune

Admiring an iris on the beach

In deep summer, Deer Creek ends right at the beach, never crossing over

Deer Creek Pond at dusk

Beach dunes

Footpath to the beach

Nature Park at Camp Zerbe Is a Wilderness Gem

Photo courtesy of Camp Zerbe

With Oneida Lake shimmering just outside my bedroom window, the Oswego and Salmon Rivers and Lake Ontario about 30 miles north, I’m blessed to live within a half-hour’s drive of the best trophy fishing in the country. What’s more, it’s all in Oswego County, the most fisherman friendly spot in NY, where some of the best fishing is right at the side of the road.



Not surprisingly, then, sometimes I want less; like solitary moments on a pond surrounded by wilderness.



Well, the Creator made Oswego County an angler’s paradise. And the proof is in the water. You see, guys coming up here can fish the world-famous spots mentioned above in the morning, and spend the afternoon on lesser natural wonders like tiny glen brooks, ponds normally found only in mountain meadows, or the rarest fishing habitats of all, kettlehole lakes.



Kettlehole lakes were created at the end of the last ice-age. As the glacier retreated north, it left huge chunks of ice that were spawned underneath it by springs, or torn off the main ice sheet by gouges scoured out of the land. Their weight sunk holes into the ground and when they melted their water remained in the depressions, forming lakes.



Oswego has more than its fair share of these natural wonders. A couple, located on private property near Caughdenoy, are off limits to the public. But three of these gems sit in Camp Zerbe, a 540-acre nature park just north of Williamstown, on the eastern edge of the county.



Run by Oswego City-County Youth Bureau, Division of Parks and Recreation, Camp Zerbe traces it roots back to the early 1930s. It was founded by Fred Zerbe, superintendent of the Syracuse Boys Club, a man with great vision and sensitivity. It used to be a place for urban kids to get out of the city during the height of the Great Depression and find peace and natural beauty among the three kettlehole lakes set into the forest like tears of a grateful wilderness spared the saw and ax that leveled the surrounding woods.



“Fred Zerbe found this wooded hollow peaceful in a time of economic turbulence,” says John Hiller, keeper of the grounds. “Today, we try to stay true to his vision, providing a restful spot for anyone who needs a break from everyday anxiety. That’s especially important now as we face similar economic straits,” Hiller continues.



The easiest of three to reach, Lake Lorraine, is less than ¼ mile from the parking lot. You’ll have to walk down a groomed trail, through a spectacular forest to get there, but the sight is worth the trip. Cradled in a meadow, ringed by a thin bog crowned in water lilies and other indigenous marsh flora, the lake looks like a wilderness pond high in the Adirondacks. Ospreys, bald eagles, blue herons, you name it fly its friendly skies.



It has fish, too. I tried my luck and caught a five-inch pumpkinseed and a couple bullheads the same size on my favorite go-to bait, a Berkley Power Wiggler. Hiller informs me that others have told him the lake also has largemouth bass, but I didn’t fish long enough to catch one.



Not that I didn’t want to. You see, the trail down to the lake takes a sharp left. I almost kept following it but decided to go fishing instead.



After catching the last bullhead, my curiosity got the best of me and I hit the trail again. It skirts the water for a little ways before climbing back up the hill, to an opening shaded by some of the biggest pines I’ve ever seen. Indeed, upon closer inspection, I realized I wasn’t in a clearing at all, but in the open area cleared out of the forest floor by the deep shade created by the towering trees. It was an awesome feeling standing under such majesty. The last I felt that insignificant in the grand scheme of things was when I stood in a patch of old growth sequoias in northern California some 15 years ago.



A family-friendly place, Camp Zerbe has picnic areas, a play ground and an interpretive nature center. It’s open from dawn to dusk and there is no admission charged to drop in and visit. For more information, call (315) 349-3451 or 1-800-596-3200, ext. 3451, or go to http://www.oswegocounty.com/youth/CZerbe/Zerbe.html



Camp Zerbe is on NY 104, about eight miles East of I-81 exit 34.

Camp Zerbe's interpretive center is loaded with informative displays.


Gateway to Camp Zerbe's nature walk to Lake Lorraine


Lake Lorraine

Bench with a view of Lake Lorraine

Photo courtesty of Camp Zerbe

Photo courtesy of Camp Zerbe

Photo courtesty of Camp Zerbe

Photo courtesy of Camp Zerbe

Oneida Lake Walleye

Rick holding a double, one of two caught that morning.

My good buddy and professional fishing guide Rick Miick invited me to go for walleyes on Oneida Lake. He called from the lake on a Sunday morning and had all he could do to just talk to me. His play by play: “There’s another one…hold it while I land it…boy this hook is deep…Oops, there’s another one…” and so on, had me considering jumping into the lake (I only live a few hundred feet away from it) and swimming out to join him.



In the two minutes we spoke--actually it was more like me listening to splashes, grunts, groans and all the other noises fishermen make when they’re on a hot bite--he landed three walleyes ranging from 17 to 21 inches.



Now I know he’s good with steelhead and smallies, but we never fished for walleyes. His telephone antics sounded almost too good to be true. I was a little skeptical.



But I gave him the benefit of the doubt and set a time and place to meet him and Stan Oulette, a buddy of ours. We launched at early light and headed out to the eastern half of the lake, into water that would range from 30 to 20 feet deep during the drift.



I was the first to get my Heddon Sonar into the water. Letting it sink to bottom, I snapped the rod back to jump the lure and get it vibrating. I reeled in the slack as the bladebait dropped. After jigging in this fashion for about 15 seconds, a 16-inch walleye hit me.



By the time I landed him, Rick was battling what seemed to be the biggest fish in the lake. After a five-minute struggle, in which time the beast took the line under the boat, around the wind socks (both of ‘em) around the prop, we finally got it to the net; a 15-pound sheepshead. I’ve heard they got that big but I never saw one before.



Then it was Stan’s turn. He nailed a carp that went at least 25 pounds.



When we set back for home four hours later, our score was three carp, a couple white bass, three sheepshead, and 12 walleyes, nine of which were big enough to keep; all on Sonars.



Rick says the largest schools are still pretty close to the creeks in which they spawned, and if you know where there’s a tributary mouth with water 25 to 35 feet deep nearby, the walleyes will be there. Look for them too in the deep water west of Shackleton Shoals, in Oswego County's 25- to 40-foot depths, all summer long.

Stan Oulette holding a typical Oneida Lake Pike


Stan's bonus carp!

Walleyes in the Park

Oswego's Night Eyes

Oswego's night life includes bass too!

Oswego is a leader among New York’s metropolitan areas. It was the first port city on the Great Lakes, has one of the greatest teachers colleges in the country and boasts three nuclear power plants side by side. But its greatest claim to fame is being the walleye capitol of the world.



Oh sure, there are a lot of larger, prettier cities on major rivers like the Mississippi, Ohio and Delaware that offer walleyes from their banks (shoreline, that is), but none coughs up the quantity of true trophies that the Oswego River does near its mouth. In fact, anything smaller than a six-pounder is considered loose change and 10-pounders don’t even warrant a second look.



I went up last Wednesday (June 2) to try my luck at some trophy catfish in the upper pool between the city’s dams. Unfortunately--and some would kill for this kind of luck--the ½ dozen dead shiners I brought along for the job were quickly gobbled up by smallies. And the lures I started tossing around didn’t fare much better. Now, I like to tackle with feisty bronzebacks as much as the next guy, but this time of year they’re protecting their fry and I don’t find much sport in pulling males off their nests and leaving their offspring at the mercy of gobies and other predators.



So I went downtown, pulled into the west bank parking lot below Bridge Street and headed for the fenced-in walkway. I cast toward the middle of the river and got snagged right when my jig hit bottom. Before I could even think of working it free, some guy walks up to me, straining pole in his right hand, and asks “Hey dude, you got a long-handled net?”



“Nope.”



He became distressed. “How’m I gonna land this walleye? It’s my first!”



“Ask those guys over there,” I suggested, pointing downstream.



They had a long one and even landed the fish for the kid. It wasn’t the greatest walleye--in fact at 23 inches it was tiny by Oswego River standards--but boy, it sure lit up his face.



A couple minutes later, his buddy nailed a smallmouth of a couple pounds.



Then I got to work. Tying on a fresh ¼-oz. Northland Vegas Glitter Jighead, baiting it with a 3-inch Berkley Power Grub, I cast across the current, let it sink to bottom and commenced bouncing it, teasingly.



Nothing.



I tried again.



Nothing.



And again.



Bingo!!! A smallmouth of about 16 inches shoots out of the water shaking its head like a cat whacking a mouse. I horsed him in, removed the hook and released him so quickly he never lost a breath.



About 20 casts, and three snags later, I’m down to my last jighead. I baited it, tossed it upstream and started bouncing. Suddenly I feel resistance and, figuring it’s a snag, prepared to break off. Bad move! The thing starts pulling back, hard, much more forcefully than a walleye generally does.



Finally getting the fish to the wall, I see its long white belly shining in the moonlight, a big eye attached to the upper end. I look in both directions for the guys with the net. They’re nowhere to be found.



I tried lifting the walleye, inch by inch, with the 8-pound-test line. I raised it about three feet, barely a foot from my yearning fingers and I figured I got’cha! Right when I’m smacking my lips to visions of fresh walleye in the frying pan, she swings (females are the biggest of the breed) and hits the wall. A split second later I hear a sickening snap like someone cracking a whip. She falls into the drink and fades into the dark water like a dream into sunlight.



Hearing the splash, the guy downstream asks “what was that?”



“Bullhead,” I replied, trying to discourage him from inching his way too close to me.



Last year big walleyes were downtown all summer long. This year promises to be the same. There ain’t a lot of ‘em, but there’s a disproportionate number of big ones.



They’ll hit all the usual suspects, from jigs, spoons and crankbaits to worms on spinner harness and minnows.



Although they’ll hit in daylight, they bite best at night.