Istared at my phone and what I saw didn’t make me happy. The forecast showed heavy rains predicted for the early morning hours of April 5, the first day of Pennsylvania trout season.

Really? It rained last year on the first morning, too. Radar showed storm cells headed directly at us.

The downpours were scheduled to start around 3 a.m. and last until noon. The streams were already high and slightly discolored.

Additional heavy rains would certainly raise and muddy them further, making fishing impossible.

Since the rains started at 3 there was little doubt things would get ugly quick. If they held off until 8 a.m. things would have been fine, but it seemed as if the weather gods were carefully planning to make things as difficult as possible.

I stuck out my jaw.

Rain or no rain, I was going fishing; the first day only comes around once a year.

I’d checked out several streams and made my decision where to begin.

Who would be crazy enough to go with me in such lousy weather? Well, that wasn’t too difficult.

Scott Neely loves to fish, wasn’t averse to cold, snow, rain, wind, fatigue, discouragement or other pains of varying intensities.

Naturally, he accepted, and I was thrilled. It’s always better to suffer with a buddy than by yourself.

The alarm was set for 5:15 and I woke up at 5:13. The old brain clock had kicked in. Glad something is still working up there! I dressed warmly — boots and rain bibs — grabbed the small ice chest and a frozen bottle of water, worms, mealworms, PowerBait, nightcrawlers, plastic bread bag and red worms — plus my many small tackle boxes. My vest weighs close to 15 pounds with all the gear I’ve stuffed into it.

Since we wished to secure our spot on the stream we agreed to get an early start. At 5:45 I headed out and at the first stop sign a big black and white skunk ambled across the road.

What in the world was she doing out in a downpour like this?

Well, all outdoors people are slightly superstitious and a thought immediately came to mind: was this an omen?

Were we about to be skunked today, never catch a fish, or was this a mere coincidence?

The vaguely uneasy feeling sighting the skunk caused lasted for a few minutes, then was set aside. The mere sight of a skunk wasn’t about to stop me.

At Scott’s the lights were on and he straggled out of the house looking far from enthusiastic.

“What in the world are we doing going out in weather like this?” he asked, a questioning look on his face.

“Scott, it’s the first day! Brighten up, my boy, the world awaits!”

Outside the rain drummed down with increasing force, the drops striking my vehicle, the shattered water droplets jumping high in the air.

Streams of water rushed down his driveway, the blackness was impenetrable. Scott seemed slightly offended by my bright outlook but nevertheless grudgingly grabbed his equipment and we were on our way.

After a half-hour drive, we crossed a bridge and parked. It was 6:30, the rain pouring down unceasingly. Not surprisingly, we were the only car there. I jumped out and set my cooler and fishing rods where I wished to fish from and hurriedly climbed back inside.

Slowly it grew lighter, another car pulled up but the occupants wisely remained inside. Good.

We did also. We yacked until 7:45 when another vehicle pulled in and the fishermen climbed out.

With a sigh we zipped up our rain gear and walked to the creek, the rain drumming on our hoods.

I started out with a small spoon at 8 a.m. The water was rising rapidly and clouding up. You could see about a foot or so into it. The first cast my lure reached shore, I looked away to say something to Scott when the water exploded and a rainbow grabbed my spoon as it lifted from the water.

Wow and wow again!

The spunky trout was strong and averse to the net, putting up a spirited battle. Nice — one cast, one trout.

A few minutes later another ‘bow smacked the spoon to join its brother on the bank. Then nothing.

Switching to salmon eggs, several drifts produced light hits. Scott battled a nice rainbow on a mealworm and I scooped it in for him, then he nailed another.

My next drift, a trout tapped the egg, then a foot later grabbed it, leaping out of the water at the hookset. What a beautiful sight.

Further drifts were fruitless so I switched to a bright PowerBait to be better seen in the increasingly murky water. Bam! An immediate strike.

Scott’s rod bent over; he’d switched to PowerBait as well. Setting my rod down I grabbed the net. Another nice rainbow about 13 inches long. Scott’s gloomy face was long gone; he was grinning all over despite the rain finding its way through his aged, now porous raincoat.

Setting the net down, I picked up my rod and a trout was on! Yes, the limit on a real nasty morning! Then Scott hooked his fifth trout.

Never did a dry car with the heater blasting feel better.

The ominous skunk?

Just out for a stroll, I reckon.

Wade Robertson