It was Saturday, the first day of Pennsylvania trout season. It was finally here at last.
I was up at 5 a.m. and met Scott Neely before 6. When we pulled off the road and parked it was 6:40 a.m. and black as the inside of the proverbial hat outside. The hilltops were covered with a thin coating of snow, but here in the valley only patches of snow appeared here and there. The headlights shone through alternating mixes of rain, snow and sleet, the moody weather seemingly unable to make up its mind on what type of misery to hurl at us.
Slowly dawn filtered the thick, low cloud cover but at least the snow and sleet stopped though a steady drizzle persisted. When another truck pulled over and parked, we hustled to the areas of stream we felt most promising. Fortunately, there was a thin seat cushion in the trunk. After struggling into my 10 pound fishing vest and grabbing the cushion, it was necessary to carefully navigate my seven-foot ultra-light through the trees and saplings, then climb through a fallen tree top before reaching the stream.
It was a damp, chilly, 34 degrees. I’d dressed appropriately: long johns, warm pants and thick socks, a fleece shirt, vest, hooded rain jacket and warm hat with ear flaps. Luckily, the fallen hemlock trunk provided a seat with a convenient limb behind for a backrest. Comfortably seated on my cushion, with the limb behind was heaven.
Scott was across the creek and, though only 50 feet away, the rushing rapids were so loud we had to shout to hear each other. Scott beckoned and pointed behind me. A couple were already fishing. I hollered over and told them the season began at 8 a.m.
It’s funny, as a youth, the waiting was torture, now I find the waiting, to be actually enjoyable. Time slows down, you’re outside, surrounded by Mother Nature, beside a gorgeous stream filled with trout, the world around you peaceful and calming. Waiting takes on a new meaning, the upcoming event surrounding and sweeping you up an anticipatory glow.
Still, 80 minutes is a long time. Around 7:40 I began playing games on my cell phone. Sudoku demands the utmost concentration and solving the puzzle put a smile on my face, was this a good omen?
Just before 8, I stood and crimped on a third sinker. The water was very high and fast. Glancing at Scott and pointing at my wrist, he double checked his watch and nodded. A little thrill shot through me; the long-awaited moment was here. Three attempts were necessary to determine where to cast in the rushing current. If my bait wasn’t placed in exactly the right spot it was immediately swept out of the hole.
The fourth cast was perfect, the bait disappearing in a swirl of icy water. Leaving the line slack for a few seconds, I gently lifted the rod tip, felt the sinkers tapping the bottom and maintained just enough tension to feel a hit. Then, the tap, tap and gentle tug of a hit. I set the hook and saw that beautiful silver flash deep in the hole. My rod came alive in my hand, dancing to the fish’s power, singing to my soul.
The 13-inch rainbow put up a long, spirited battle for its size, the current’s speed prolonging the fight. Soon after another nice rainbow hit. He was just as stubborn to land. The next drift I risked going further underneath the logs. A hit, the trout came at me feeling no larger than the previous two, but when I increased the pressure the fish didn’t move. Suddenly, the trout took off, crossing the current in a flash and bending my UL double. This trout had weight and power. Back and forth the trout shot while all I could do was hold on and hope to keep her from heading downstream and tangling me in the log jam. Then she shot across the current and rolled right in front of Scott across the creek.
Five minutes passed and the trout still was uncontrollable, staying deep and using the swift current to its advantage. Doubts crept into my mind. Was she well hooked, could the hook possibly be steadily tearing out, were her small but sharp teeth gradually cutting through my four-pound line?
Finally, she tired and I worked her to shore getting my first good look at her. She was a dandy, bright silver sides, a beautiful red streak down her wide, high side. Five times I had her to the net before finally leading her into the meshes. What a feeling of relief.
Holding her up for Scott to see, he flashed me a delighted smile and a thumbs up, as excited as I.
Sitting down and admiring the gorgeous rainbow elicited a sincere thank you to the Man upstairs. A precious, indelible moment that will never grow old with time.
