It started just like any other opening day trout season of recent memory – I was out drinking to the wee hours of the morn and got to bed late thus facilitating my by now traditional post noon walk to the stream to match wits with my finny prey. For this years first day I opted for a gorgeous 8 foot split bamboo fly rod (given to me Jim Crowley) and my fathers ancient Shakespear Automatic reel suited up with 6 Lb test tip and # 8 weight forward floating line. My magic bag of tricks included a couple dozen fathead minnows, a dozen meal worms and some night crawlers as well as my favorite spinners and flys. Big Run was below summer water level due to a small dry spell and was gin clear (sorta made me thirsty just looking at it!) and pretty cold. The day was clear as a bell and the sun was toasty warm with just a little breeze – in short the conditions were good. Since the day was so beautiful there were more people fishing than normal but I saw no caught fish in evidence and didn’t see any swimmers! The fisherman that I queried about “are they bitin?” merely grunted in apparent disgust or because he was an inarticulate Republican dupe? Hmm, either way I continued to my starting point – a seemingly insignificant pool below the bridge riffle. But I was stymied – NO FISH! I thought – this was going to be a tough day! So I ventured down stream by-passing the vaunted Sucker hole down to Hendy’s Pool (Don’t be no foo go swimmin in Hendy’s Poo!) I spotted no fish, but I am more familiar with this piece of water than any other on earth so I knew where they would be. I cast the minnow to the tail race of the small rapid and was rewarded with a savage hit! The fish was a good sized brown and fought like a scalded mink! He ran around the pool, worked the current against me and upon realizing that I had his number went over the pool breastworks, through thin water, to the fast water down stream and resumed the fight at long distance. But I had him hooked fast and it was only a matter of time till this lumbering bebooted overweight fisherman made his way over slick as owl snot wet bed rock arrived to the brown’s newly chosen venue. So we began again and and it was nip and tuck around the rock into the current and back under the falls but once again this stocked trout had only been acquainted with the stream for a few weeks and I have known it for 40 some years, so as long as my hook held his ass was mine. That was the way it ended, him on my stringer and my hands shaking like I had just landed a 50 lb marlin! Ah, the first fish of the first day, lacking sexual references I regretfully can’t explain the thrill to non-fishermen. I quickly caught 8 more fish going down to Woodsy’s bridge and back up to the riffle below Monkey Balls. I didn’t get to fish Monkeys because it was surrounded by a bunch of littering philistines. I only kept my limit and used barb pinched hooks for the rest of the afternoon.
After trudging back up the hill to Starbase Bryson I presented my catch to a skeptical and critical pair of Tibetan Terrors. Baxter was unimpressed and Bart wondered aloud why I had put bait on my stringer! Lil devil!
I had a bite to eat cleaned my hefty catch (please do not re-peruse the previous two blogs!) and planned my next adventure. I was going to the finest native brown trout stream in western Pennsylvania. So I packed my paraphernalia and perambulated to Hell Run trail head. I suited up, adjusted my Irish linen fishing hat and resolutely headed straight away into Hells Hollow! I walked about3/4 mile to below the falls and began fishing with ninja like stealth and grace – I only fell twice! After several invective laced duels and losing about 6 threaded minnows to the denizens of Hells Run I made hard contact. The bugger had more experience than me with this stream – being born and raised there and worked me over like a quick welterweight pounding a punching bag – down the riffle around the rock under the ledge threatening to break me off on the bare rock and then shooting out into the swift current again but I had my small graphite rod with me here and put the ass to him when he endeavoured to run the next set of riffles. He was mine and was then treated with kid gloves like the precious jewel that he was. Fifteen inches plus of incandescent piscine glory – breathtaking and delightful to see him swimming back in the pool where I hooked him. I caught two more on that long trek down but it was all just icing on the cake of a beautiful day of wildflowers and twilight as I stumbled with catlike grace back to my car in near darkness.
Is this heaven? No, its Hells Hollow!
