Mar 27, 2020 4 min read

I know that people are dying, and I don’t mean to make light of it, but who would have believed a small microscopic virus bug is preventing me from going fishing?

As I stare out the window, my expression blank, I hear the fish calling my name. I am going bonkers from being confined to my house. Out loud I say, “I’m coming fish,” but then reality sets in as I remember the short blonde (my daughter) and the even smaller bug holding me hostage. I just hunker down and clean my equipment for the 10th time.

Under these circumstances, everything we love to do is at best questionable. Trout season is but a couple of weeks away. Will this be the year when the streambanks are not crowded? Then, just a little later, I hear the woods sound of the Tom turkey hoping to find or attract a mate. Will there be hunters in the woods? I can answer that truthfully with, “At least one.” For I know Mike Weber will be out, regardless of worldly catastrophe.

Of course, I could go out and dig worms so I don’t have to stop anywhere for bait. If you have a fishing license like me, a lifetime license, then you really don’t have to stop anywhere and buy anything. As of today, there is no shortage of gas. But we are supposed to stay inside. Maybe carrying a rod and reel out along the creek bank for sanity will be an exception. That reminds me of a story.

It has been some time since both Pat and Kathy were children. Combs Creek flows through some of the most scenic areas of the state. It flows from a mountain and empties in at Allegheny Portage Creek just south of the town of Port Allegany. On the other side of this mountain flows a small stream named Walcott that empties into Potato Creek. The lower reaches of Combs is fished, although lightly, but Walcott is ignored. I often wondered why and one day just decided to find out. So off we went to explore Walcott. We found it to be very shallow on the lower and easily accessible end, which explained why no one paid it much mind. I have found over my lifetime that many streams can flow shallow in one spot only to have deeper pools further upstream. Down at the foot of the mountain would normally be the place to start a hike but it was someone’s front yard.

Well, I had the answer to that. I drove the car about a half-mile up the mountain on the road and parked. Out we climbed laughing at the new situation we were presented for there was no water anywhere around us that we could see and we were there on the side of the road wearing waders and carrying fishing gear. A fellow from the area stopped and asked us if we were broke down. But we got the last laugh for back in and away from the road was a pristine little brook with tiny waterfalls and deep pockets of water. It was so clean and just full of little native brook trout. I can still picture it to this day with ferns and dark rich soil making that beautiful sound as it ran over the rocks. Brookies are so much fun to catch as you have to sneak up on them and dangle that worm just right. This made for great fun. We were tired as we walked back to the car, but along with that tiredness was accompanying feelings that we had seen the upper reaches of Walcott and were privileged to do so. I don’t think many people had ever fished there. I never met anyone then or now who did fish there.

Speaking of those rewarding hikes in the mountains of our state, keep in mind we are very close to being privileged to see the wildflower time along Enlow Creek. If we are allowed to share in that valley’s bloom then things can’t be too bad. I have been spotting Coltsfoot regularly blooming along the berm of the road for a week now. It’s that yellow flower that looks like a dandelion. The hope of spring is on its way, and most of us have time to see it now if we just hang in there.