steely34
Posts: 628
Joined: 3/12/2006
From: Pequea, Pa
Status: offline
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So as I turned in for the night on Thursday and set the alarm for 2:30am, I couldn’t help but wonder just how much sleep I’d really get. You see times like this .. the night before my trip to the tribs I tend to get pretty excited with anticipation, wondering just how things would pan out. It was a long summer dealing with some frustration in physical therapy that was needed following some surgery and I really did not know if this trip would ever become a reality. I finally got the doctors word of approval though - said it would be good for my soul - whatever that meant. So after four hours of tossing and turning, I glanced over at the clock which showed 12:30am and I figured that was close enough. Gave my sleeping wife a kiss on the cheek, gave the dog a quick hug and out the door I went. Finally, after reading months of reports of low water, high water, where are the fish?, are they up to Folly’s yet --- I was going to make my annual fall trip there to experience it myself. Thing is though and perhaps this comes with age - although I needed to get my “fix” of feeling the steel, I was really looking forward to smelling the scent of decay that fall brings to the woods, hearing the water in the streams and feeling the Erie current against my legs once again. The 6 ½ hour drive can be a lonely one when done by yourself, but this particular drive was going to pass by quickly. Finally, I was on the road heading northwest once again.
The truck pulled into the small parking area next to the small stream where my son, who couldn’t join me, made me promise to fish first - he fell in love with this little crick since he caught his first steel there last year. Quickly put the waders on, strung up the fly rod and upstream I went. As I fished, I found myself quite often looking around and taking it all in. The last of the falling leaves, the beauty of the streambed shale and pebbles showing through the crystal clear water, and of course the scent of the season, and the occasional spotted fish. Over the next two days I found myself filling the camera with images that I hoped would someday later would bring me back to these moments:
And now as I sit here in the hotel room typing this up on the eve before I leave to go home , I can recall some very good memories that are still quite fresh in my mind. Today, I spent what was one of my best moments on the tribs. I fished with a fellow board member whom I had never met but only taked to via phone and through pm’s. And yet as the day came to an end, I had the feeling that the friendship we shared was one that had been created a very long time ago. It was also the single most successful day I have ever had on a steel crick of which resulted in a sore arm. As I told you, many thanks for a great time Deetzy. We also were joined by another board member who’s enthusiasm for being on the stream was addictive. Impressive with the center pin also. Hope to see ya once again on the crick PaPinner. And after I left this friendship that was shared to take the Rt. 90 back to the hotel, I remembered something my father told me a long time ago when I was just a young lad.
On the day prior to the first day of trout season he would load up the ‘67 Volkswagon with firewood, sleeping bags, fishing equip, and the canvass pup tent, and we would make the 7 hour drive to Young Womens Creek in Clinton Co. There he would drive up the dirt road, past where they stocked , to the Shingle Branch. Here we would camp and fish for natives for three days. It was an annual event for us, until I got into the teen years and suddenly parents didn’t mean that much to me anymore. One year, I can remember quite well, when we were laying in our bags after another day of fishing, I told him that in the morning, I wanted to head downstream where they stocked. Said the fish were heavier there. I remember him hesitating a bit - then he told me: “ Little buddy - someday you’ll realize that it ain’t always about the catchin.”
Pops - As you look down and read this, and I know you are, I gotta tell you that although I’ve always kind of realized this - it really came to light this weekend. Shared friendship, the scenery, it was all good. But one thing - and I know you’ll understand - every now and then it is an awesome thing to feel the tug of steel.
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Erie Steelheading - so much water to fish - so little time left in life.
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