Thursday, July 31, 2014

"Trout" and "Quack, Quack, Ducks" - Kid's Art

By: Autumn Samsel (age 7)

Why I did "Trout" was because I really enjoy fishing so I decided I’d making someone fishing in the Soque River for trout. I used pastels, pens and pencils. ~ Autumn
Why I did "Quack Quack Ducks" is because Sarah [sister] has a friend that works in the garden with her who works at a contest in the Soque River- a duck race and she has to go around pushing ducks so they don’t get stuck and stuff. So that’s why I did "Quack Quack Ducks." ~ Autumn

"A Day on the Soquee" ... a remembrance

By: Ruby Batson

Submitted by: Dolores Wilson


July 1937
“Yee-hoooo!” “Yee-hoooo!”  I stop and listen to the familiar sound coming up the hill from the Soquee River.  My home and farm is just up the hill, you know.  I look out to the field and see my Dad stop pulling corn.  “Dad”, I yell out.  “Can I come with you?”  “No, not this time.  You can come when you grow and little more.”

I wait in our yard.  Mama and me are breaking beans and shucking corn.  The big shade trees help keep up cool.  I hear our dog barking and I know some folks are coming up from the bottoms.  That’s what we call the land down next to the river.  My dad just ferried them folks across the Soquee.

Today some cousin folk and their neighbor were there waiting.  They brought their young’uns to help tote food or dry goods that they may be needing today from Grandma’s store.  As they come by the house, they shout out a “Howdy” to me and my Mama.  We stop and shout, “Howdy, Howdy” and Mama asks, “How’s the family?”  They talk a bit and then head on down the road.

You see, my Grandma, Mattie, ran the local General store.  So, “as the crow flies”, the quickest path for several families was to cross the Soquee and cut through the woods.  The path was pretty well traveled cause this was also a trail to the schoolhouse.

We only had one group wanting to come across today.  Some days Dad has to stop working in the fields or at the sawmill two or three times to ferry folks across the river.  He loves going anyhow and never asks for payment.  But today one of the kinfolk gave him some eggs and tomatoes.  I shout, “Oh, Boy!” when dad brings the tomatoes to the house.  There’s nothing better than a slice of tomato with Mama’s hot biscuits.

Monday, July 28, 2014

"We all live Downstream"

Submitted by: Jennie Inglis  

Published in The Northeast Georgian 
Friday, October 1, 2004

Did you see that picture of Pitts Park on the cover of the September 21 issue of The Northeast Georgian?  Pitts Lake is more like it!
            My amateurish guess tells me that that much water in Pitts Park means that the Soque River was about 15 feet above normal!
            The day after Hurricane Frances dumped that much water on us, Ralph Shaw and I traveled to Atlanta to attend the 10th anniversary celebration of the Upper Chattahoochee Riverkeeper (UCR).  We learned that night that the Chattahoochee had crested at 23 feet above normal.
The Soque’s 15 feet contributed to one of the highest recorded water levels of the Chattahoochee River in history.  So goes the water out of the hills of Habersham, down through the valleys of Hall.
            The upper Chattahoochee, as defined by the UCR, is the 200 miles or so of the river from West Point Lake below Atlanta to the headwaters here in Northeast Georgia.
            Our beautiful little river, the Soque, fully contained within Habersham County, makes up the eastern branch of the headwaters.  The western headwaters rise in the hills of White County.
            What is the UCR?  Its website says, “Established in 1994, the Upper Chattahoochee Riverkeeper Fund Inc., is an independent environmental advocacy organization dedicated solely to protecting the Chattahoochee River.  From its headwaters to West Point Lake, the Chattahoochee is severely impacted by urban development, industrial discharges and agricultural runoff.  State water quality standards are routinely violated along the entire stretch of the upper Chattahoochee.  Development in Atlanta and the continued discharge of untreated sewage in the river during storms are significant problems for communities downstream.”
            “Riverkeeper’s mission is to advocate and secure the protection and stewardship of the Chattahoochee River, its tributaries and watershed, in order to restore and conserve their ecological health for the people and fish and wildlife that depend on the river system”
            At the anniversary celebration, I learned the names of some the individuals and corporations that substantially support the UCR.  That organization has some clout!
            While Ralph and I are just citizens who are concerned – more for the Soque River than the entire upper Chattahoochee River – we are the organization, too.
            Ralph made significant personal sacrifice to the river; I dedicated a couple of years volunteering with the Soque River Watershed Association.  We are to the UCR membership what the Soque is to the Chattahoochee.  To extend that metaphor, Habersham County is to the Atlanta Metro Area what the Soque is to the Chattahoochee.
            Those of us here in the headwaters and the headwaters themselves, represent the grassroots of the UCR and the Chattahoochee river system.
            Our work is here at home.  Think, for just a moment, of how our little river fits into the big picture.  If you can’t imagine that, think of how the creek that runs by your house, on your property or in your neighborhood, contributes to the Soque.
            Then, consider the phrase, “We all live downstream.”

Notes: 
The Upper Chattahoochee Riverkeeper changed its name to the Chattahoochee Riverkeeper and is celebrating its 20th anniversary in October 2014.
Ralph Shaw died in early 2014.

Sunday, July 27, 2014

"Misty Soque" and "Soque Watershed" Photos

Submitted by: Morgan S. Alexander (14 years old)


Mist rising from the Soque at sunset.

Soque Watershed



Saturday, July 26, 2014

Summertime Fun

Submitted by: Antonia and Ray Reed


"When the summer weather is really hot, we like to put on our water shoes and go 'hiking' up the river - it doesn't matter how wet we get - it feels great, especially knowing how clean the Soque is."

Tuesday, July 22, 2014

Rarely Seen 1960's John Kollock Artwork of old Habersham Mills

Shared by: Aubrey Motz, III


Rarely seen print of Habersham Mills by John Kollock (sometime in the 1960's).


Tuesday, July 15, 2014

"Surprise in a Shallow Riffle" Photo

Submitted by: Ty Akins


Ty Akins was pleasantly surprised by this catch in a shallow riffle along the Soque River.

Wednesday, July 9, 2014

"Rainbows and Havana's"

Submitted by: Preston M. Sutter




Every fall in north Georgia, there’s a certain type of morning that creeps down the back of my neck, right where my jacket should be.  My nose picks up the scent of wood smoke so faint it makes me wonder if it is even there.  The summer rains have long since passed, yet the mountain air still seems wet.  Thickets of rhododendron and mountain laurel have eased their grip on my beautiful Soque River, happy to thirst less for its life giving water than in the height of the summer. 

The trout also seem grateful for autumn’s long awaited reprieve.  Their hefty backs break the surface from tip to tail as they eagerly sip insects whose sluggish wings couldn’t carry the width of river; nature dutifully dropping them into the riffles where the maws of hungry fish wait expectantly.  These trout are what bring my friend Tommy Wilbanks and me to the river this morning.  We sit quietly on the bank among the hemlock branches, patiently waiting for the trout to forfeit their positions among the pockets and pools below. 

I have known Tommy my entire life as my father’s best friend.  Only in the last few years have I come to find the passion in fly-fishing that has captivated Tommy for so many years more.  His family has owned this land for three times my mere twenty-one years, and I have every reason to believe that the fish along its banks and the grouse hidden among its coverts will keep it in the family for years to come. 

We have been coming to this stream for longer than I can remember; the cycles of the river marking the chapters of my life.  I’ve come to understand the seasons through the eyes of this river.  I have watched my father and Tommy work together along her banks each season, efficiently yet humbly bringing their quarry to hand.  Yet while my father and I have always been guests in the gin-clear waters of the Soque, for Tommy the waters are his home. 

In the past few years, my relationship with this man has evolved from seeing him as my dad’s best friend, to his becoming a mentor in my development as a fly-fisherman.  As a part-time sales associate for the Orvis Company, I have seen (and heard) my fair share of fishermen’s claims of omnipotence on the rivers and streams of the southeast.  Some customers come through the shop with their heads lifted high, their eyes framed by horn-rimmed glasses, examining each midge and mayfly imitation with the scrutiny of Atticus Finch, the pensive lawyer in To Kill a Mockingbird.  They are “Type A” fishermen who see trout fishing as a status symbol, and who pursue it with an arrogance that believes it is a contest that can be won.  They miss the point as they bet with one another about “who will catch what” on their airline flights to British Columbia or New Zealand.  

Others pass through the store with their hands in their pockets, anxious for any information that might explain why the trout didn’t bite this morning, last weekend, or any other time they fished.  They seem uneasy, padding the tally of fish they caught so that I might be impressed, and hanging on my every word as if I have a clue about the puzzling behavior of trout.  

When Tommy comes by the store it’s a different story.  He seems strangely out of place, indoors and without waders.  He is often more likely to talk about how the Georgia Bulldogs will fare against Florida next week than if the fishing was good on his trip to Noontootla Creek or Andros Island.  He will take a look at the pictures on the “bragging board” to see the fish other people deemed worthy of a photo.  He’ll pick up a fly, unable to tell you the scientific name of the insect it depicts and look at it like someone might look at a two-headed penny, amused by the work someone put into it.  I love that he has such an unassuming air; that he is more concerned with fishermen than with fish. 

I admire that Tommy has never given fish the epic and unconquerable mystique that so many fishermen and outdoor writers are prone to do.  He knows that a given fly, fished under specific conditions, will catch a fish.  He can read a stretch of the river and tell me where the fish are, where they will be in an hour, and which fly will probably work.  If the fly selection is a bust, he’ll tell me that I’m not “holding my mouth right” or that I should’ve showered this morning. 

His easygoing demeanor and wit disarm his hawk-like intensity as he stares at the stream’s surface.  He methodically works the runs of each section, understanding the nuances of the current and its effects on his fly.  His tenacity is often rewarded with an aerial display of crimson and chrome, and his swiftness in landing and releasing the fish is a testament to his respect for his agile adversary. 

In addition to the fragrance of wild magnolias and juniper, permeating the Soque woods, I detect the sweet smell of an embargo-violating Cuban cigar floating across the smooth rocks and logjams that separate us.  Between casts I often glance upstream to watch him as he changes flies, holding them closer to his face with each advancing year. 

Throughout the day he will often look my way, his mouth masked by his moustache and that cigar, grinning with an expression of sheer contentment.  He’ll offer information about where a big brown trout was holding yesterday or how last week he saw an otter right where I am standing.  I halfway think he looks downstream just to make sure I am still there, remembering that at the age of five I took off my life jacket and let it float away down stream.

There is always comfort in knowing that he is standing in the tail-out of the pool above me, ready to lend a net when my rod arcs and grins under the weight of another fish. 

While we catch fish throughout the afternoon, I know that Tommy’s finest hour is still to come.  As dusk approaches, (which always arrives too soon under the thick canopy of the Soque), Tommy leans against the tailgate of his Wrangler and slips out of his waders, our rod tips protruding above his head.  He stows away his vest and boots, all the while talking about his wife Connie and his two beautiful daughters. 

I have always been impressed at his ability to break down fishing gear, completely unhindered by the beer in his right hand.  While the leaves turn from green to gold in the fading light of this October evening, Tommy and I talk about his trip to the Bahamas last spring.  As usual, he offers his opinion of locally brewed beers and conch fritters long before mentioning the twelve-pound bonefish he battled one morning before breakfast.  This is the part of each trip with Tommy that I have come to truly enjoy.

As reel seats bang against the windshield, we climb an unmarked dirt road out of the Soque River woods.  Gears shift, as does our conversation, to speculation about what Connie might have left for us in the oven.   

About the Author
Preston Sutter is a native Georgian.  He is a 2007 graduate of the University of Alabama. 

An avid outdoorsman all his life, he gained a great love for fly-fishing in streams and coastal waters throughout the south, the Gulf of Mexico, and the Caribbean.  He became a student of the art during high school and college employment with the Orvis Company, and Boca Grande Outfitters.  His passion for fly-fishing led him to his profession as a fulltime fly-fishing guide with Shallow Water Expeditions, in Santa Rosa Beach Florida.  He specializes in guiding Tarpon and Redfish trips from Cape San Blas, Florida to Venice, Louisiana.  He is married and has one daughter.

This story was written when he was a senior at Alabama.


Tuesday, July 8, 2014

Biking the Yellowbank Basin


Biking the Yellowbank Basin

Despite past adventures, learning to explore a watershed by bike was going to require a little practice. My tools included maps, key contacts who knew the area, a phone and book, a bike of course, sunscreen, water, camera a few small gifts and a little luck. Each day was to be a mixture of pre-planned visits and lucky finds.    

Before starting out, I’d pour over maps to identify key roads and properties to see. I’d call and schedule visits with the few people I knew in each basin, usually farmers, and look for other points of interest to get an idea of the history of the sub-basin. At some point, I’d pick up the phone and call people living in interesting spots. Even though I was a stranger, coming out by bicycle seems just weird enough to pique interest rather than concern. Most people, well over 50%, were willing to let me come by for a visit.

The Yellowbank sub-watershed. Click Here for PDF map