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Although this year's visit has been shortened, the group is committed to
taking more weekend trips into beautiful Pennsylvania in an effort to fill the
trout adventure pages with additional content. We're looking forward
to putting in the leg work so those that can't make it themselves can at
least enjoy our trips via the internet!

PAWild--2008
05.09.08 - 05.12.08
(Porcupine, bear, deer, high winds, 30 degree temps. and toppling trees… OH
MY!)
Our adventure begins with Floatman arriving
at my home to load the D-Box. Although it is diminutive on the outside, it
is deceptively roomy. With gas prices hovering just below $4/gallon, the
32mpg highway is well worth the long stares and pointing from the locals
we’ll surely pass in route. Promptly at 4:30pm, Friday 5.9.8, our travels
toward Youngstown to meet JDM are underway. We’re making good, all is well
and we’re on time according to the paper calculations that have plagued my
mind for the entire week. The looming thoughts surrounding the drive
durations between points “A, B, C, and D”, became a constant nag and source
of pondering. At this point, we’ll discover how accurate my calculations
have been. Cruising at 70mph, all seems well navigating 271 South toward
480. As we round the bend, passing Chagrin, we’re suddenly wedged into the
jaws of a lengthy traffic jam…a little dismayed at the additional 30 minutes
of bumper to bumper stop and go routine, I make a quick call to my little
girl to say just one more time, “I love you and Daddy’ll be home soon!” and
then to JDM to let him know that we’d be arriving late.
Once flushed from the schedule constricting
entrails of a 5 mile traffic jam that existed without purpose, the wheels of
the Xb are now humming a 75mph tune. We arrive to install JDM as a member
of the group and make our way to 80E. In no time at all, a collective sigh
of relief is exhaled by the crew as we are no longer in the state of Ohio.
Smiles swipe across the three of our faces as the “Welcome to Pennsylvania”
road sign cordially invites us to the bosom of Trout Country. Why is it
that the state border has such a calming effect? Could it be that for the
expense of an ever-so-short drive Pennsylvania offers an absurd amount of
joy for the dry fly fisherman? I think this is certainly the case! As the
miles accumulate and time clicks by, we pass the drive with fishing stories
both true and slightly exaggerated.
Pulling into town just after sunset, we
searched for our motel and realized we needed the assistance of the
locals. Mapquest failed us yet again! The right turn at Albuquerque should
have been a left. Cruising down Main Street we pulled over to the side of
the road and requested the help of two teenage girls making the rounds in
the heart of town. Don’t they teach these kids not to talk to strangers? I
guess this is a silly city notion, because the girls walked right over to
the window to give us directions. With their help we found the parking lot
to the motel within minutes. The overnight stay would be short as the
break for our camping / fishing destination would be quite early. After
unloading the gear into the room, we made a few toasts and tried
unsuccessfully not to smile after every word uttered. Tonight, we’ll
celebrate friendship, the beauty of trout, the tasteful merits of Yuengling
on draft, Possum’s presence in spirit, and great eats. I had refrained from
eating the entire day in anticipation of this evening’s festivities. To say
we were all hungry would have
been
making light of the actual situation. Two toasts in the room and our
stomachs reminded that the time to eat was now! Between us, all the major
food groups (at least the important ones) were consumed. Veal parmesan,
fried haddock, medium rare cow patty, American fries, bacon/cheese potato
skins, spaghetti w/homemade sauce, and a pitcher of Yin’ seems to me to be
the essential categories for a healthy body! LOL! The bar was a huge
contrast to the quiet drive. Bustling with local folk that were happy to be
in good company, the place was rockin’. The juke box never ceased pumping
out great tunes that carried memories of the adventures of youth and lack of
wisdom. A group of guys and gals, seated at the bar, were singing along
with the more popular tunes. Not a soul in the establishment seem to mind
at all. I couldn’t help but wish that this type of atmosphere could be
replicated at some of my local pubs as everyone appeared to be having such a
great time and coexisted without any hint of judgmental tendencies. Our
tableside conversation and atmosphere meandered from singing, to people
watching, to munching. From their website, the motel bragged of the great
food and service and although the feeling was notably small town, their
claims were founded in truth and not creative marketing. We all commented
how great everything turned out to be. I have a strong feeling that this
place will become a regular stop for a bight to eat, if not a place to stay
overnight on future trips.
Waking up from a decent night’s sleep, the
vehicles reloaded, our room tidied up a bit, and we once again
found
ourselves sleepy eyed in the dining area. Our intent was to break – fast
with a meal that was both affordable and nourishing. The server noticed our
hats adorned with trout and made quick conversation. He apparently new his
stuff as he recited the streams, creeks, and fly fishing professionals of
the area to us without skipping a beat. We found this very interesting and
somewhat generous information. We bid him goodbye and thank you and in a
matter of 20 minutes we arrived at the parking destination. Last year, by
the graces of a Possum’s “trail rated” Jeep, we were able to ford the main
stem of the stream and position ourselves much closer to base camp. This
year, and with the Xb, the law of ground
clearance prevented this convenience. The guys waited patiently as I made
sure all my gear was fastened for the haul and held no reservations about
ribbing me for all the gear I had on my back. After what most likely seemed
hours, we were off.
No more than 50 feet from the vehicle, the
first crossing resulted in a drastic reduction of foot temperature. There
is nothing quite like the chill of water at 7am to wake you up. Thankfully,
the weather forecast had rearranged the cards enough that Saturday would be
a good day to trek-in, setup camp, and fish. It was cool enough to make the
hike enjoyable once you brought yourself up to speed. The sky was clear,
the sun had just starting to warm the straw colored grasses of the field and
the foliage had a blend of fall and spring colors intermixed. The gurgling
sounds of the
stream,
chirp of the birds, pitter-patter scurries of field mice, chipmunks, and the
other small inhabitants were music to our yearning ears and a soothing salve
to a brain filled with the business of city life.
The trail into camp is a diversity of terrain
involving stream crossings, dirt roads, grass covered meadows, gravel,
cobble and steep, narrow mountain-side trails. Two and a
half hours later, making the decent down the last part of the narrow trail,
we began to see more familiar ground. The trail opens wide to an area
abundant with pines. The landscape more exposed because of branches
elevated well overhead. This was our cue to release ourselves from the self
imposed burden of pack mules. After setting up our tents, separating out
all the food and aromatic items for the bear bad / stuff sack, Floatman and
I installed the cook area. Working as a team, we went down the list of
things needed to be done prepared or erected before we could get to the
reason
we
were here…FISHING!
Nearest the tent area is a tributary of the
stream we had to ford when first departing the vehicle. This tributary has
good elevation gain and the typical trout stream plunge pool topography.
The weather had maintained a brisk coolness as the sun was trying, but not
yet succeeding, at breaking through the mountainous vegetation and tree
canopy to warm things up. An extremely small hatch was starting to take
shape, but not in enough scale to
initiate fish activity. Our casts were nothing but practice as the pools
within a short distance of our camp were void of active fish. JDM,
Floatman, and I studied a pool for a bit hoping that things would change.
All we needed to see was a wake, a surface dimple, or a splash…anything! As
the minutes passed, it was clear that a backup plan needed to be
instituted.
Plan “B” involved traveling down the
tributary nearest our camp around foot of a mountain and up another feeder
stream. This walk would eat away at the clock and push the day closer to
noon. The high sun would have warmed the terrain enough to produce a hatch
and activate the fish. As we approached the lower reaches of the stream a
hatch was
underway.
Positioned under a small root ball extending from a far bank, a rather
brazen brookie made his presence known with his aerial displays. First up
was JDM and within a cast or two the fish was brought to hand. Three guys
fishing this small stream needed strategy. I came up with the 15 minute
plan. JDM would walk up stream 15 minutes. Floatman would wait 15 and
begin fishing from our current
position and I would cruise downstream 15 and begin fishing. I figured this
would give enough of a bugger between us and settle the fish before the
fisherman’s assault.
Making my way further down to the valley and
closer to the main stem, I felt the effects of sunlight on a more open
area. The temperature had raised at least 10 degrees and the hatch was in
full swing. Fish where scattered everywhere and most positioned in direct
sunlight on riffles where feasting on the yellow stones. Brook trout are
notoriously opportunistic fish. They will eat and strike at anything coming
down the feeding lane as a matter of life or death. What was surprising to
me was witnessing several fish notice my offering float by at a distance,
turn, swim down stream, turn again, line themselves up and then strike the
stimulator. This behavior was new to me. I believe the new polarized
sunglasses had something to do with the capability of seeing this unfold for
the first time. Many of the deeper pools and shaded locations that held
trout in previous trips did not this time around. I guessed that it may
have been because of the
temperatures,
over fishing, last year’s drought conditions, or some other reason I had yet
to contemplate. Fishing slowly, I made my way in the direction of Floatman
and JDM. I found that I was more successful picking fish from small pockets
than the bathtub sized pools. The skinny water was holding fish in just
about every size as well. I’ve watched Possum and .Blackie hook fish from
areas that would contradict reason and now found myself following their
example. It took some practice to identify where the fly should be placed
as the “float window” in these areas is extremely short, but I got the hang
of it. As the day wore on, Floatman and I eventually ended up
fishing leap frog style. We would occasionally prod the other to take the
next hole because of generosity and our body’s need to take a break.
Eventually we met up with JDM and decided to take the hike back down stream
toward camp. The dogs were barking, our joints were aching, and Floatman
and I sounded like two old men grunting when crossing instable ground. We
had fished many hours, caught many fish, and as Saturday evening approached,
we needed to realize that the time to call it a day was coming.
Well, the time to call it quits was calling,
but neither of us was willing to answer the call! Just a little bit more
fishing needed to be done. Returning to the meadow at the base of the
crow’s foot of mountain terrain, we fish a few more locations and then said,
“I’m done!”
Changing out of wet wading boots into clean
dry socks and shoes felt like a vacation unto itself! What a relief to
experience
warmth in the toes! I prepared the usual grub for the group. JDM had made
a trip way upstream on the trib. closest to camp and wouldn’t return until
after the meal was fully cooked. His garlic zucchini/squash, Uncle Ben’s
long
grain rice, and toasted pita waited patiently for his fork. Float and I
were ready for a bed and the time was barely approaching 8:30pm! While we
sat by the fire, zoning out into our own little worlds of tiredness,
Floatman pointed out movement in the leaves only a few feet from the cook
area. A porcupine, the first live-in its natural habitat-not dead on the
side of the road spiked rodent I had ever seen. He walked sloth like past
us and only appeared excited as I snapped a few photos. He was quick to
position his spikes up and in full display, just in case I decided to do
something stupid like snuggle the little critter! LOL! When the irritant of
my camera’s flash had ceased and I sat back down further
away,
he made his way up the base of a nearby tree. High into the branches, he
had found a place to sleep for the night. It was reminder to us that it was
probably time to call it a night ourselves.
Mother Nature has a tendency to show her
beauty in ways that are open to interpretation. Observing the behavior of a
bear from the observation deck at Katmai National Park is a beautiful sight,
peering at a bear from the fly of your tent at 3:30am is also very
terrifying for those same people! The amount of submersion has much to do
with a person’s comfort when taking in Nature’s wonders. Would you not
agree? LOL! It is very common for
animals to leave us signs to follow. For instance, noticeable thin trails
through brush and over varying terrain are indicators of pathways that
animals choose to travel. Scat, broken trees, claw marks, and paw prints
are signs that these same trails are also highways of sorts for bears.
Positioning a camp area close to a animal trail will likely result in
bringing you closer to nature’s wonders…both BIG and small. The ability to
take notice of these signs could be a valuable lesson to learn and possibly
one learned the hard way.
With that said, Saturday evening we tucked
ourselves into our sleeping bags with temperatures in the low 50’s, by
midnight they had plunged into the high 30’s. Waking up with a frozen nose
(among other parts) was enlightening. I quickly slipped into several layers
of trail weighted fleece, fleece winter cap, along with a second layer of
wool socks and fell back to sleep quickly. In what seemed like 2 hour
intervals, I was up to mark the territory surrounding my tent. Animals do
it, why not me?
LOL!
I would have preferred to sleep straight through the night, but for some
reason it was not to be. We were blessed with the presence of a large owl
that must have been perched directly overhead. His loud, constant and
rhythmic hoots continued throughout most of the night.
Shortly after daybreak Sunday morning, we all
arose to hear a tale that JDM and I had
thankfully slept through. At 3:30am, Floatman was awakened to a terrible
crashing sound. Tree branches snapping, leaves rustling, and the thudding
sound of something large navigating through the woods had him fully awake
within seconds. The giant animal made its way through our camp area with
grunts and heavy breathing. It was obvious from Floatman’s description that
a bear had ventured through the 10 feet separating our tents. It must have
been a samurai bear as it didn’t trip on any of the guy lines supporting
them. I was extremely happy that for some reason I did not hear this giant
and his journey through the middle of our campsite. I believe that Floatman
was extremely unhappy that he was awake for it! It
was
obvious that this event had Floatman irked as he retold the story while we
broke down the tents and prepared to vacate the area. Note to self, next
year…move camp 50 yards West of current location!
Sunday morning had me back at the cooksite
preparing eggs, bacon, toasted pita, and French pressed coffee.
The food was served hot. Given the AM temperatures, it was a welcome
comfort. The dishes were cleaned, the cooksite broken down and stored, and
the packs loaded for the trip out. Today’s weather would be much different
than yesterdays. A cold front was coming in and a slight breeze was
changing into wind gusts.
Following our original plan, the group hiked
half way out and into the valley. Stashing the packs in brush, we ventured
out to fish the more accessible main stem. The winds were now beginning to
kick up considerably, but the valley was supplying a bit of shelter from all
but a few of them. In a matter of minutes that changed. The down force of
wind was whipping through the tree tops with aggressive tendencies. All of
sudden the sound of
cracking
timber and snapping tree branches could be heard behind me. The velocity of
the aerial assault was too much for the standing deadwood to handle. The
sound of several large trees thundering to the ground put JDM on the run to
my position. His intent was to tell me that we were leaving. I believe we
had made the decision to get out of here alive at the same moment. He
approached from behind me as I was fastening the fly to the hookkeeper of my
rod. The water’s surface of the hole I was harassing had become covered
with leaves and debris and was impossible to fish any longer. Just as I
turned in agreement of our retreat, I peered back to see the tree
perched atop the undercut bank of the hole I had just vacated begin to
topple. 30 feet in front of me, I watched in deep amazement as a 100 foot
tall tree with a 5 foot diameter trunk and 12 foot diameter root ball pivot
to fill in the entire streambed. It was surreal. I realize the danger of
what I had witnessed, but was also impressed by being able to see it
transpire before me. It was powerful!
Needless to say, JDM was ready to high tail
it out (as was I). The snap, crackle, pop that I had heard off in the
distance was a tree closer to his position. The events had us all in panic
mode and we trekked out with a deliberate pace vigilant of any movement and
sound resembling more falling timber.
We stopped in town to recharge our batteries
with liquid energy and grab a snack. Along the route home stopping at a
DHFF barbless hook area, but found it covered with windswept debris as
well. We attempted to make the most of our short time there by making small
talk with a bamboo fly guy standing a bridge overlooking the stream. He
didn’t have anything good to report, so JDM and I spoke to him about his
awesome looking flamed bamboo rod. He had constructed the rod himself
including the cork handle, wood reelseat, and butt cap. It was a
masterpiece! As we all returned to the car, I took the opportunity to
display some of my creations as he show us he matching wood rod case he had
built to house the rod. WOW! Very nice!
That was the cap on an adventurous couple of
days spent with good company, on class A wild trout waters, within the heart
of a designated WILD area. I hope you enjoyed the story!
Dj
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