My buddy Mark and I have been talking for the past year about taking a trip up to a small native stream in the ANF he used to fish as a kid with his father. Well, after being at turkey camp last weekend, we decided spur of the moment that we would head up the next weekend. We watched the weather all week, and it looked like it was going to be a beautiful weekend to go except for a chance of rain on Friday. As we picked up our friend Rich in Meadville on Friday, the downpour began. As we made the almost 3 hour trek up to the forest, the rain seemed to be just on our heels. When we got outside of Warren, we made a quick rest stop at the dam, and could see that there was a large black mass of clouds headed our way. Not being deterred, we kept driving and then the downpour started again as we arrived at where we planned to start the hike. Not wanting to get soaked, we decided to drive up to the top of the mountain at the head of the creek and check out the countryside. As we were driving back down to our starting place, the rain subsided and we stopped at a gas well above where we planned on hiking in. As we were checking out the country, we heard a gobbler off on top of the hill in the distance, which was a great sign since we had planned on getting up and hunting in the morning. We drove down, parked the truck, and began the hike of a little more than a mile back into the forest. We managed to find a fairly level area beside the stream, got a fire started with all of the wet wood that was around, set up camp, and proceeded to cut loose.
Woke up bright and early at 6am the next day with hopes of finding the gobbler that we had heard the evening before. At about 6:05 we heard a shot ring out from the mountain top where we had planned on heading. Figured that flock would be skittish after that, and as we were planning to head up the mountain on the other side of us we heard another shot ring out on the far side of that mountain top. With all of the shooting around us, we figured we would wait till a little later in the morning to go and hunt. Instead we began trekking our way down the stream and fished the small pools in the mountain stream for natives. Sorry fly guys, no orvis, simms, or dry fly pics here. Just some knuckle dragging, minnow drifting rednecks out for a little fun in the woods.
Around 10 Mark and Rich decided they were gonna head up the mountain to see if they coud find any birds. I opted out of hunting, and wanderd my way upstream slowly, taking in all that nature had to offer. The grouse mating season was apparently in full swing. Most of the day you could hear the males drumming away in the distance, and I bumped a half dozen or so as I trekked through the valley. About 150 yds. above our campsite I came upon a fresh pile of bear scat, and figured that we must have had a visitor close by that morning or the evening before. The walk up the mountain stream was absolutly beautiful, and I could not help but lose myself in it all.
We met back up a few hours later and swapped stories of the day. Mark and Rich told of a hen and a jake that came in silent on them, but never got a good look at a kill shot on the jake. I told them of the visitor we had not far from the camp, and all of the small brookies that I had caught. As we sat around the fire that afternoon we could hear the gobble of a turkey off in the distance, and as the sun began to set we had a visit from one of the local owls. We sat around the fire late into the night drinking, laughing, and having a great time out in nature.
The next morning we woke early, packed up camp, and made the hike back to the truck. It was a much quiter ride on the way home as everyone drifted into thoughts of a great weekend had. When I arrived home there was much to be done at the house that had been neglected over the weekend. After tending to everything, I sat back on the porch with an ice cold beverage and watched the sunset, all the while drifting into thoughts of the of the solitude of the forest, far away from the hustle and bustle.