Happiness

Wake up and start the day,

with the best way to thrive. 

Go get dressed and put on your waders,

swap out your work boots for wading boots. 

Those jobs at work can wait until later,

slow down for a bit get back to your roots. 

Pack up the gear and be on your way,

get in the car and begin to drive. 

The thought of work makes you quiver, 

so the decision was made not to go. 

Instead decide to spend the day on the river,

no one cares if you decide not to show. 

Day in day out you always question why, 

this days been long overdue. 

Before you arrive you've picked out a fly,

tied the night before and completely new. 

Get to the water and breathe in the fresh air,

some things in life are too good not to enjoy. 

You know time away from work is rare,

smile again just like when you were a boy. 

With every cast you patiently wait,

because river time always goes by too fast. 

Finish each cast with a figure eight, 

fish or no fish you still have a blast. 

Months on end you wait for that bite,

you still keep trying with no rhyme or reason. 

Waiting for the moment you feel the fight,

keep on trying it's still early in the season.

Just as you think you can't take anymore, 

a fish latches on and takes you for a ride. 

Fish don't care if you're rich or poor, 

and as you land the fish you're struck with pride. 

Releasing it quickly to swim once more, 

the smile you have won't go away. 

Ask yourself what are you waiting for, 

pack up a rod and go fish for a day. 

Pennsylvania

     September was a month filled with anticipation, new waters, and road trip shenanigans. As August came to an end, we found ourselves pounding our heads waiting for September 12th to come around... we had trout fever. We all live in an area where trout are far and few between, so any opportunity we get to fish for trout, we jump on. 

     On the night of our departure, I did not sleep one minute. Anticipation of what the unknown presented us, ruled my imagination. I stayed awake all night, tying, fly after fly, organizing fly box after fly box, and checking my list making sure everything was packed. I was ready to fish. Watching the time tick away knowing exactly what time it was, I waited to hear my alarms go off. The clock turned from 3:44am TO 3:45am and sounded the alarms... the adventure had begun.  

     Upon arriving at Jeremy's, I noticed that I was late, only by minutes, but I was still late.  We threw everything in the back of the car and headed for stop number two.  Doug was ready and waiting, so we packed the car as tight as we could and sped off to meet Rich and Derek. As soon as we pulled in, Rich informed us we were late. Derek organized all the gear and packed everything neatly into the bed of his truck. Several hours and a few pit stops in between, we arrived at our destination in the Laurel Highlands of Pennsylvania.  While driving up the mountain, we all simultaneously turned to our right drooling over this tiny creek meandering through the countryside. All of us wanted to stop, but we had to hit the big river first. 

     Minutes felt like hours and a few miles seemed like states away. Then through the trees we saw the falls of the mighty Youghiogheny River.... we were here. We pulled in the parking lot, jumped out, geared up and ran to the river like children. The Youghiogheny was the biggest river some of us had ever fished. It's massive size and unknown depth was quite intimidating. Half the morning was spent wading against its strong current and over boulders, only to catch a few small bows, mostly fingerlings. A change of plan was in order, so we headed back to camp to set up and hit another stream nearby... Meadow run.

     Meadow run was exactly what we had been seeking. It was a small stream full of deep pools, waterfalls that cascaded through steep ravines and over car size boulders. It screamed trout. We hiked down the steep winding path to the creek. To say this stream was beautiful would be an understatement. Several fish were caught that evening on foreign water, so needless to say we figured we were doing great! Later that night we all sat around a fire cooking dinner, drinking whiskey, and talking smack to each other. 

     The next day we woke up to the sound of rain drizzling down on the side of our tents. We got up and moving, some of us hung over from the night before and met up with Mike, a local to the area and new found friend. The desired rendezvous happened to also be a diner as well, so we fueled up. Full food and coffee, we headed back to meadow run to try our luck again. When we left it the diner despite our hopes, it was still raining. Once at the meadow, Mike led us down another path that took us to the top of the stream. With six of us now in the group we split up heading upstream and down. The moment a fly hit the water, the skies opened up and it poured till the afternoon. Getting slightly discouraged with the weather, we were having a blast! Fish were slow to start and like the switch of a light, the fishing was on fire...everyone was catching fish. Every pool we came to, we had a fish on. There was even a triple in the one large pool. The day couldn't possibly have gotten any better, until Rich landed the fish of the trip, a 17" brookie! After fishing meadow most of the day, we decided to hit the yough one more time. We walked down a path for an hour looking for a feeder that Mike has told us to throw dries on. Little did we know we had went down the wrong side of the river, but turned out not to be that bad of a mistake. Splitting up yet again, some of us still managed to trick a few Browns into taking dries, as well as loose a couple too. 

     The trip was knowingly coming to an end.  As we sat around the fire one more time eating and drinking, we told the best fish stories trying to out do the other. The following morning we packed up and headed down the road to meadow for one last go. Water was muddy and coming down from the previous rain, but not a single fish was caught. On our way out of the area, we decided to stop at the creek spotted during the drive into camp. Knowing nothing about this creek other than its rather trouty appearance, we fished it anyway. All of us upon examining the creek closer decided we should have stopped on the way in. There were trout everywhere. Browns, bows, and brookies throughout each run and pool. Each of us had several takes but only a few fish were landed due to lack of time. Derek pulled through with last fish of the trip, and a beauty of a brown at that! 

     Hours later we arrived back home in good ol' Ohio. The trip was a great success and much needed time away from everyday life with the best of friends. Bodies tired and beaten up from non stop hiking and fishing, we headed our separate ways back home to our families. We're already planning another trip, not even a month later. 

Trash or treasure?

     Carp fishing is one of the most controversial subjects I've ever heard. Mix carp in with fly fishing and you've started a fire. I've got a lot of friends that are a little more on the "purist" side of fly fishing, and won't be persuaded so easily. Others are extremely intrigued by the idea and get hooked instantly. 

    When I started fly fishing five years ago or so, I never had the idea it was meant only for trout. Since then, I have any kind of fish I could get on the end my line. Living half a mile from the nearest stream has its perks. I knew there were carp in the creek because I had spooked them once before. So one day I decided to target them, and them alone. 

     I had visited the local fly shop the week before and purchased some new flies. After hours of searching for carp and inevitably making them aware of my presence, I finally found one rooting with its tail out of the water. I had lost nearly all my files on snags and had only nymphs left. At that moment, I decided to wing it and tie on a golden Stonefly and try it before I went home. The first cast my fly landed a foot away from the carp's nose as it came out of the mud cloud.... and was immediately sucked up. Instinctively, I set the hook and my rod doubled over. 

     Once I saw that the fly had in fact been eaten, I felt extremely relieved. After a short battle for around 20 minutes, the fish was in my net. Dozens of carp later I still haven't stopped targeting them. They run a long ways, fight hard, and even jump out of water. Some carp are hideous and some are gorgeous, but they all excite me. Today was a good day with five fish landed. One of them even turned out to be a beauty of a mirror carp. 

     

Local waters.

     Meandering through meadows and fields to run down sections of town, is a stream a few of us have come to appreciate for all its secrets. We all have a love of riding children's bikes for enjoyment. As time has progressed and our bodies have started to ache more and more, our other hobby has become stronger than ever. We love to fish, and if we had our way, it would be all day...every day. 

     All of us started out your typical bass fisherman, cranking different lures in on spinning rods, setting hooks like we were in the bass masters classic, and yelling, "there he is!" Slowly, but surely, we all transitioned over to the more elegant side of fishing....fly fishing. This is the telling of our adventures.