The Scene: Deer Creek (pronounced “Crick”) in Indianola, Pa. Population: 300 (give or take a few thousand). Trout population: 13 (statistics based on my own observation from Saturday, April 14).
The Main Characters: Myself, Diddy, Rick, and Rick’s step-father Tim. It should be noted that for myself and Diddy, this was our virgin opening day experience.
The Mission: To sit in the woods for 12 hours with a case each of Keystone’s finest amber brew and Rolling Rock in 40 degree weather AND still be able to fish in the morning.
The Prestige: A movie.
The outcome, Part I: Opening day of trout season in Pennsylvania fell on Saturday April 14th this year. However, for myself and three other brave souls, it started in earnest Friday night sometime just after Barry Bonds flipped Pittsburgh fans proverbial double birds by blasting 2 homers in a blowout win. The departure time was set for just after midnight from a secret location (Ricky’s house). This in itself, however, left for a few dilemmas. One – should I try to sleep? Two – How much Red Bull should I take if I don’t sleep? Three – Why, if we can’t fish until 8 a.m., do we need to be there at 1 a.m. when it is 40 degrees outside? The answers came quickly: no, 2, and Man Up. So I started packing my car around 11:20 with Candace Sturgeon (rod’n’reel), a change of clothes, and multiple hats. Multiple hats are important for … well … no apparent reason. I also started to get excited, so I called Diddy to see if I could pick him up a bit early. No answer. Called again. No answer. And again. Still nothing. This was becoming worrisome to me because Diddy is a man who got his first cell phone at 23 and hasn’t checked his voicemail since (3 years worth). Nine text messages later, still nothing. Obviously he was sleeping. Now, we had discussed this at some length throughout the day leading up to the trip, and it was generally decided that we would just stay up. However, Diddy crumbled under the pressure and snored through our estimated time of departure. This was just Diddy doing what Diddy does (for sports fans who don’t know Diddy personally, think Manny being Manny, but Polish).
Finally, as I sat in his driveway, I was able to contact him and we were on our way shortly thereafter. We got to Rick’s house not too long after we intended to, picked up his step-dad Tim and were on our way to Indianola (Rated # 17 on Pittsburgh’s weirdest town name Top 20 list) just after 12:30. As a quick side-bar, if there was a scale to measure each individual’s value to others in terms of entertainment, and this scale ran from 1 through 10, with 1 as the lowest and 10 the highest, Tim would check in somewhere around 804. I have been around this man exactly twice in my life and twice out of those two times I have been more entertained than I can even describe. Seriously. I just sat here and thought about potentially entertaining situations involving being locked in a room with a person or group of people of my choice, and could not come up with anything that matches the shear “wow” factor that Tim creates. Anyways, back to the trip. We stopped at a local Exxon to pickup some ice and other necessities and just minutes later, we parked not 100 yards from Deer Creek. We had just over 2,300 lbs. of gear to get to the camp site, which was across the creek and through the woods, make a left near the Blair Witch house and you’re there.
Approximately 10 minutes, three failed, and one successful attempt at tying my hip waders later this Fellowship of the Trout was ready to embark across a swift moving creek (which, in your head should make you picture the Amazon moving like rapids, but in reality was nothing more than a creek with a current – for entertainment purposes go with the Amazon thought). Going with us across the creek was some just under a ton of firewood, chairs, coolers, two cases of beer, food, and a life sized cardboard cut-out of Pat Sajak. We made our way down towards the creek with the intention of crossing. Just to recap, it is approximately 1 a.m. at this point and very dark. The creek is probably about 40 feet across and we are carrying our bodyweight in gear. I, at this point, have ZERO idea how deep the creek is. So Tim, who I just decided will be known now as the Human Highlight Reel, or HHR, went first into the water. Tim seemed to be none too concerned when his second step took him chest deep in water, apparently happy that he had chest waders on. However, Rick, Diddy and I all had hip waders that really only made it about mid-thigh so HHR’s route was not going to work for us. Rick set across next and then it was my turn. I gingerly walked into the creek – which I’d done before, just never with this much on the line. I had important camping goods in my arms, a 12-15 hour period of time in freezing temperatures ahead of me, and potential eternal ridicule should I have fallen. The creek bed was really soft if you don’t count the bricks, boulders, and various other bottom dwelling materials. I slipped a few times, but kept the water below the top of my waders and made it across safely.
Another side note: this should clearly be a new sport – Creek Crossing. Give contestants similar length waders, a cache of items to carry, and a pre-set creek condition. The person who makes it across the fastest with the smallest amount of dampened or dropped goods and/or clothing is the winner. Contestants would be segmented by height so you could never have a 6’5” contestant squaring off against a guy who is 5’7”. I smell an ESPN special event and Teva sponsorship. But I digress.
After fording the quick moving creek, the Fellowship of the Trout regrouped along the banks in preparation of moving off to the camp-site. It was at this time when HHR quipped that creek crossing, and fishing in general, is, “… always funner at night.” Truer words have never been grunted. Next came gathering time, because though we had lugged a large amount of firewood to our camp-site, we needed the fire to stay going for 15 hours. So off we went flashlights in hand, through the forest ripping dry wood from anywhere we could find it. With the fire crackling, we were able to relax and have a few drinks. This brings me to my next observation. Anytime a group of people have been drinking, and a camp-fire is involved, 65% of the conversation is centered on the fire itself. You get a lot of the “Wow, what a fire,” comments and the, “Seriously… this fire is just. Wow. It’s incredible. And I would tell you that anytime, not just because I’ve been drinking.” Not to mention the inevitable period of time when there is a lull in the action and you find yourself completely mesmerized by the fire – watching the embers fire off sky-ward mumbling incoherent nothings to yourself about the fire until you spill the Keystone Light you’ve been nursing onto your crotch and then jump up and run over to the fire to dry off, but get just a little bit too close only for your delayed reactions to cause a 5 second lapse between singe and jump back which causes you to stand there in amazement, again, at exactly how hot the fire is. Seriously. It always happens EXACTLY like that. But anyways, the fire is up and approaching out of control…..and now……………….we break. Tune in for It’s Funner in the Dark: Part II tomorrow. And try to guess what Tim the HHR has been hiding in his waders. Go.
The Main Characters: Myself, Diddy, Rick, and Rick’s step-father Tim. It should be noted that for myself and Diddy, this was our virgin opening day experience.
The Mission: To sit in the woods for 12 hours with a case each of Keystone’s finest amber brew and Rolling Rock in 40 degree weather AND still be able to fish in the morning.
The Prestige: A movie.
The outcome, Part I: Opening day of trout season in Pennsylvania fell on Saturday April 14th this year. However, for myself and three other brave souls, it started in earnest Friday night sometime just after Barry Bonds flipped Pittsburgh fans proverbial double birds by blasting 2 homers in a blowout win. The departure time was set for just after midnight from a secret location (Ricky’s house). This in itself, however, left for a few dilemmas. One – should I try to sleep? Two – How much Red Bull should I take if I don’t sleep? Three – Why, if we can’t fish until 8 a.m., do we need to be there at 1 a.m. when it is 40 degrees outside? The answers came quickly: no, 2, and Man Up. So I started packing my car around 11:20 with Candace Sturgeon (rod’n’reel), a change of clothes, and multiple hats. Multiple hats are important for … well … no apparent reason. I also started to get excited, so I called Diddy to see if I could pick him up a bit early. No answer. Called again. No answer. And again. Still nothing. This was becoming worrisome to me because Diddy is a man who got his first cell phone at 23 and hasn’t checked his voicemail since (3 years worth). Nine text messages later, still nothing. Obviously he was sleeping. Now, we had discussed this at some length throughout the day leading up to the trip, and it was generally decided that we would just stay up. However, Diddy crumbled under the pressure and snored through our estimated time of departure. This was just Diddy doing what Diddy does (for sports fans who don’t know Diddy personally, think Manny being Manny, but Polish).
Finally, as I sat in his driveway, I was able to contact him and we were on our way shortly thereafter. We got to Rick’s house not too long after we intended to, picked up his step-dad Tim and were on our way to Indianola (Rated # 17 on Pittsburgh’s weirdest town name Top 20 list) just after 12:30. As a quick side-bar, if there was a scale to measure each individual’s value to others in terms of entertainment, and this scale ran from 1 through 10, with 1 as the lowest and 10 the highest, Tim would check in somewhere around 804. I have been around this man exactly twice in my life and twice out of those two times I have been more entertained than I can even describe. Seriously. I just sat here and thought about potentially entertaining situations involving being locked in a room with a person or group of people of my choice, and could not come up with anything that matches the shear “wow” factor that Tim creates. Anyways, back to the trip. We stopped at a local Exxon to pickup some ice and other necessities and just minutes later, we parked not 100 yards from Deer Creek. We had just over 2,300 lbs. of gear to get to the camp site, which was across the creek and through the woods, make a left near the Blair Witch house and you’re there.
Approximately 10 minutes, three failed, and one successful attempt at tying my hip waders later this Fellowship of the Trout was ready to embark across a swift moving creek (which, in your head should make you picture the Amazon moving like rapids, but in reality was nothing more than a creek with a current – for entertainment purposes go with the Amazon thought). Going with us across the creek was some just under a ton of firewood, chairs, coolers, two cases of beer, food, and a life sized cardboard cut-out of Pat Sajak. We made our way down towards the creek with the intention of crossing. Just to recap, it is approximately 1 a.m. at this point and very dark. The creek is probably about 40 feet across and we are carrying our bodyweight in gear. I, at this point, have ZERO idea how deep the creek is. So Tim, who I just decided will be known now as the Human Highlight Reel, or HHR, went first into the water. Tim seemed to be none too concerned when his second step took him chest deep in water, apparently happy that he had chest waders on. However, Rick, Diddy and I all had hip waders that really only made it about mid-thigh so HHR’s route was not going to work for us. Rick set across next and then it was my turn. I gingerly walked into the creek – which I’d done before, just never with this much on the line. I had important camping goods in my arms, a 12-15 hour period of time in freezing temperatures ahead of me, and potential eternal ridicule should I have fallen. The creek bed was really soft if you don’t count the bricks, boulders, and various other bottom dwelling materials. I slipped a few times, but kept the water below the top of my waders and made it across safely.
Another side note: this should clearly be a new sport – Creek Crossing. Give contestants similar length waders, a cache of items to carry, and a pre-set creek condition. The person who makes it across the fastest with the smallest amount of dampened or dropped goods and/or clothing is the winner. Contestants would be segmented by height so you could never have a 6’5” contestant squaring off against a guy who is 5’7”. I smell an ESPN special event and Teva sponsorship. But I digress.
After fording the quick moving creek, the Fellowship of the Trout regrouped along the banks in preparation of moving off to the camp-site. It was at this time when HHR quipped that creek crossing, and fishing in general, is, “… always funner at night.” Truer words have never been grunted. Next came gathering time, because though we had lugged a large amount of firewood to our camp-site, we needed the fire to stay going for 15 hours. So off we went flashlights in hand, through the forest ripping dry wood from anywhere we could find it. With the fire crackling, we were able to relax and have a few drinks. This brings me to my next observation. Anytime a group of people have been drinking, and a camp-fire is involved, 65% of the conversation is centered on the fire itself. You get a lot of the “Wow, what a fire,” comments and the, “Seriously… this fire is just. Wow. It’s incredible. And I would tell you that anytime, not just because I’ve been drinking.” Not to mention the inevitable period of time when there is a lull in the action and you find yourself completely mesmerized by the fire – watching the embers fire off sky-ward mumbling incoherent nothings to yourself about the fire until you spill the Keystone Light you’ve been nursing onto your crotch and then jump up and run over to the fire to dry off, but get just a little bit too close only for your delayed reactions to cause a 5 second lapse between singe and jump back which causes you to stand there in amazement, again, at exactly how hot the fire is. Seriously. It always happens EXACTLY like that. But anyways, the fire is up and approaching out of control…..and now……………….we break. Tune in for It’s Funner in the Dark: Part II tomorrow. And try to guess what Tim the HHR has been hiding in his waders. Go.
1 comment:
Fun was had by all, but I am worried about what was in his pants and how many times he showed it to you.
Post a Comment