Apr 24, 2020 5 min read

I was raised to believe that Sunday was a sacred day and there are things that shouldn’t be done on that day. Last week, I told you about my church-like visit to the land of the wildflowers.

While I love looking at the wild things in nature, I love catching trout even more. Today, I am going to tell you about that half of the tale.

As we drove down Route 18, I kept thinking I should be in church but remembered that Peter was a fisherman. I decided that I was but emulating Peter on this lovely spring day. The family, at least part of it, was behind me in their SUV and Kathy was driving her Jeep. Our destination was Templeton Run. I don’t consider Templeton Run to be the greatest of Western Pennsylvania’s trout waters but it has some advantages when taking older citizens and children. The scenery is spectacular also and makes for a pleasant ride.

Though the stream itself is not very big and not as heavily stocked as some local waters, we always come back. The road meanders along the creek without a single house along the way. This means there are parking spots by big holes, where one can easily fish or park and walk alongside the creek safely.

My granddaughter, Jen, her husband, Nick, and their two children, Teagan and Max, both under 8, were trying to learn to trout fish. Teagan wanted to catch a trout and eat it. Kathy had also brought along her dog, who has been on many fishing trips with us. Maybe not the ideal trout fishing arrangement but they have to learn and demonstrating how an experienced trout fisherman catches trout is key.

We first parked by Jackson Road Bridge and started fishing. I was the first to escape the confines of the car, followed by 3-year old Max in his boots, fishing vest and hat. He was the best-dressed angler of the crew and ready for action.

After a bit of quibbling, Kathy and Jenna, with the kids and the dog, went about 50 yards from the road to a big hole while Nick and I fished close to the vehicles. Things were kind of dead and I didn’t even have a hit on my spinner. After 45 minutes, the kids started getting restless and it was time for a break. The girls and the kids went on a wildflower walk and looked at trilliums. We had a little picnic and decided to try again. Jen kept saying she and Teagan saw a big fish in the spot they were fishing.

I moved to the spot the girls had been at and cast out my spinner. You guessed it. On about the third cast, I found myself hooked to a submarine. Only this submarine had an overall copper color and red spots that was amazing to see. The big brown trout came up and tail walked across the hole, jumping five or six times. He put on quite a display for the kids.

I knew I had a problem as I was using my usual light tackle and I was on a bank about two feet above the water. I realized that this fish couldn’t be lifted up over that bank without breaking the line. The net was back in the car, of course.

I eased him up close to the shoreline while Kathy mustered up some courage and stepped in at the edge of a very deep hole. She reached out and grabbed the line to hike it over the bank with tension. After all, she is no rookie to trout fishing and we have done this before. The fish fought one last time and the hook flew straight into her coat. She staggered and away went Mr. Trout.

If you fish at all, you know how the group felt as we watched that beautiful trout swim away. Kathy swore the Brownie was 20 inches long. Well, I thought at least the young ones who were now almost crying got to see the old man latch onto a trout.

I was disgusted but you know how the game goes. I threw that spinner back in to the same spot. I really didn’t have time to feel sorry for myself. That’s when it happened again. This time, we did a better job of landing what appeared to be the same trout. It didn’t fight quite as hard but submarine dived and showed us its big spots in a second show.

It was another huge Brownie or was it the same one? We will never know for sure.

When we successfully landed it the second time using the same method but maybe a little quicker, we all started laughing. Max carried it away from the water and helped put it in the fish bag. A discussion ensued. I thought the first one was a male and this one was surely a female. My daughter thought it was the same fish. We taped it in at 19 inches and decided it will remain an unsolved mystery.

Also a nice little fish story – the day I caught a big brownie twice.

Maybe.

George Block writes a weekly outdoors column for the Observer-Reporter.