Apr 9, 2016 4 min read

Trout season is just around the corner, and I can’t help it if my mind drifts to a few of my favorite waters fished long ago. Perhaps it is memories that make life worthwhile and one must excuse the elderly as they remember what is and was good.

As an avid outdoorsman, it seems life goes through phases. Each are special and a little different, yet in some ways similar. One phase would be when a young boy made trips with friends to the slate dump and shot rats with a .22 rimfire.

But just as important were trips made afield to a local farm. We were either shooting groundhogs or fishing for some aquatic critter. I remember a trip to Somerset County with Chester Osiesky, Don Stevens and our guide, Dave George like it was yesterday.

At that time, the season began, I believe, at 9 a.m., and we planned on getting to our destination early. But our guide wasn’t sure which road would lead to great trout fishing.

I watched from the backseat as the guide shined a flashlight from a secluded bridge trying to determine where we were. Finally, Dave figured it out and off we went to a spot he fished once before and long ago, the creek that tried to evade us.

The sun came up well before we wanted, and we were still searching, although the light made it easier. We finally reached our goal. Since starting time had now come and gone, it was natural that there were a couple of anglers fishing the large hole below the waterfall and covered bridge.

Dave was the first one out of the car, and while we were fiddling around with equipment, he was wading out in the lower part of the beautiful fishing hole.

“Have you guys caught anything?” he politely asked.

“Nothing yet,” was their reply.

I don’t think they had even had a nibble. They no sooner said that when Dave yelled he caught one.

He always said, “come in out of the wet,” when he caught a fish.

Again, he cast in and, again, he was fast to a fish. He made six casts and caught six trout.

The fellows who were there without a bite brought in their lines and went to their cars and left. The rest of us didn’t come close to Dave’s final count that day, but he sure did catch trout and it was fun watching him reel them in with that accompanying, “come in out of the wet.”

The creek was Wills Creek, a tributary of Brush Creek. Dave is gone but in memory of him there is another angler mimicking his catch phrase. So if you hear someone cry out “come in out of the wet,” it is probably me!

I realize I am not normal but when I think of trout fishing, I think of moving water, not a pond or a lake. Along that line, there are some streams and there are special streams.

Remember, seldom do I write about my favorite stream.

It is obvious why, but since I am grey of hair and short on wisdom I will let everyone in on a secret. If I were to pick one stream it wouldn’t be Potato Creek, where I had some great days. Nor would it be any of the small brook trout streams where we had so many great times.

It would be another stream that flows through farm country in Venango County. This stream has three branches that meet at the village of Cooperstown, Sugar Creek.

It is a stream that is aptly named. There was the day I reeled three trout over 18 inches and still lost the pool to my fishing partner.

Then, there was the trip when it rained all the way up. When we got there, the stream was coffee colored and very high. I slept in the car but my partner insisted on going fishing.

I chuckled under my breath knowing he was wasting his time. There were even tree limbs floating down stream, making wading dangerous. Oh well, I took a nap.

I was awakened by a tap on the window and it was my partner, Ed. He had something to show me. In fact, it was two somethings! It was a magnificent pair of brown trout, one 24 inches long and the other stretching the tape to 22 inches. I should have gone fishing. Sugar Creek certainly is a sweet creek.

George H. Block writes a Sunday Outdoors column for the Observer-Reporter.