November Chill

                                                                November Chill

11/20/25

You’ll forget all about your problems, how cold you are and how uncomfortable you are when you’re either dead or hook up to a steelhead!  

It was 34º, at 6:00am, when I left home and headed for Erie to steelhead fish. I figured once daylight hit and by the time I got to Erie, a two-hour drive, the temperature should rise. Wrong! When I pulled in the lot my truck read 28º. I haven’t fished for steelhead below 32º since I don’t know when. I got up to Erie early to be the first one at the place where we finally found a good pod of fish the day before. Brian pulled in about 10 minutes after I did. One thing for sure we were the only vehicles off the road. I figured we’d be the first there? Not!

 We got our waders on and gear and headed to where we wanted to fish. Brian showed me the trout beads he was planning on using. I figured he bought them in Alaska when he was up there in September fishing. I heard that’s what the guides and fishermen use. The box full of beads he showed me looked like colored pearls all the same size. I would imagine if they don’t work he could always sell them to some jewelry maker? The 10 minute or so walk along the path warmed us up. When we were in vision of where we wanted to fish there were already 2 guys fishing, one on each side of the creek. There was enough room for all four of us so that wasn’t a problem. By the time we started to cast a line it didn’t seem to be below 32º and we managed after that.

 The guy on the other side caught a steelhead so the guy on our side crossed the creek, with their net, to help him net the fish. He ended up staying on the far side so Brian and I had our creek side all to ourselves. Brian started off with his trout beads and I started off with a streamer. 

 The day before we fished in a section with a few fish, Brian was the only one to hook a steelhead. We went elsewhere after noon. Brian ended up leaving and my bud Kevin, who came up with me, drove further upstream where I figured that the steelhead would be holding in a deeper run. Sure enough we found them along with only one guy fishing the hole. The steelhead were pretty particular or not hungry at all. I hooked only one steelhead for a second or two. Kevin said he had a couple taps. He wasn’t using an indicator. We left without hooking up. At least I knew where they were though. I planned on coming back up Thursday. Brian said he’d meet me at the same place I found where the steelhead were holding.

 For a while it was like the steelhead were picky. I finally got a hook up with a light shaded sucker spawn. The heaviness of the fish bowed the 7 weight rod into the lower mid section. As the steelhead took off the tip pointed to where the fly line entered the water but the fish was beyond heading up and across creek. I lifted the rod to keep as much line out of the water as the steelhead started head shaking like a lead guitarist, in a hair band, playing a familiar hard rock riff. I could feel my forearm muscles tighten under the constant tugging and pulling of the steelhead and my heart was beating like a drum solo in excitement. 

I knew I had a fair hook. We battled. The whole fight continued with him head shaking trying to get the hook out. He wasn’t making it easy and I wasn’t making it easy on him. Brian grabbed the net as I was backing up to the bank. I wouldn’t let the fish take any more line unless he had a burst of energy. Brian got down creek from him as I raised the rod bringing the steelhead higher in the water column. He scooped up the fat steelhead and I had a big grin on my face. After the past two visits up here fishing for them I had my first steelhead, this season, in the net. 

  Brian hooked up next, soon after, on one of his light colored beads. The fish put up a good fight. After the tough battle I netted the steelhead. It too was a fat one.

 My next hookup was as if the steelhead was in a race to grab it before others in the same race. My indicator took off up creek in a hurry. I tightened the line quickly within my grip to set the hook and then let go, as the line shot through the eyes towards the swift swimming steelhead. I held the rod butt in my gut like an honor guard, trying to hold the flag pole steady, in a windy and gusty parade. The steelhead swam wildly is the big pool like the front man in a rock band on a circular stage! I thought at first it was foul hooked but during the battle I saw the steelhead swimming up creek with the line tightened towards its mouth. He wasn’t giving up easily and It took longer to get him into the net than the last. Once Brian netted him I could see why he wasn’t giving up. He was a big fatty!! 

 For some time after that the steelhead evidently kept their mouths shut. I watched over and over again as Brian drifted his beads, under his float, into a pod of steelhead. They must have had their jaws clamped shut like a bunch of clams. In time Brian gave up and said he had things to do at home and left. After that there was a lull in the action like the next band was late to be present. I accidentally snagged a couple fish but the hook came out during a short melee. 

 A young guy joined me and the guy across the creek. He fished downstream from me in shallower water.  Maybe a little over knee deep but the steelhead were easier to notice. Neither of us were hooking up. I started to cast out sucker spawn in just about every color I had without a strike. I’m not sure what the others were using but the fish just didn’t appear to want any of it. I decided to show them some of my old nymph collection like presenting old, one of a kind, rock and roll memorabilia. I thought I had a bump on one of my depth ray stoneflies but missed. I continued with it for a few more drifts until I got snagged up and lost it. I then knotted on a copper john. On my third drift through the run my indicator went straight under. I lifted the rod for the hook set and the line tightened with a heavy load. The steelhead fought with head shakes and quick turns throughout the pool. Once he quit his energetic maneuvers, like a lead singer starting to perform a slow song, he settled down to holding in the oncoming current. I kept side pressure on him to tire him out forcing him to come my way. The young man, down creek from me, grabbed his net to help net him. I got the steelhead turned downstream and safely got him towards the net and into it. 

 Maybe that’s what they wanted all along? I hooked 2 more steelhead on the copper johns as the sun was setting. 

 I lit up my last cigar and fished for about another hour before taking off. I wanted to get home before it got dark.  

~doubletaper

MK, Wine and a Lunker!

Mary Kay, Wine and a Lunker!

11/15/25 

 The kitchen counter was filled with snacks and finger food. The dining room table, china closet and book shelf was filled with Mary Kay products with a Christmassy theme. The GF’s Mary Kay open house was from 11am to 6pm so I had to get out of the house and find something to do.  

 I decided to go trout fishing. I loaded up my truck with my gear and headed to Volant to fish Neshannock Creek. The state had stocked the Artificial lure only project area of the creek back in early October and the fly shop float stocked their Lunker trout fund with Lunker size trout. Like a women using MK cosmetics, and was coming to the open house, wanting to see and buy the new products, I was going down to get me a Lunker!

 In the parking lot my buddy, Kevin, was already getting his gear on. I gave him some Triple Threat streamers I had tied for him and he gave me a bottle of his home made wine. I thought that was a fair trade.  

 Down at the creek there were already a few fishermen casting out into the stained water under the gray cloudy sky. It was already in the upper 40’s with the weather people predicting 50º and higher. There wasn’t as many fishermen as I expected so there was plenty of room to find a place to move in.

 Kevin connected first with one of the triple threats. I wasn’t near him but I saw he had a decent size trout. He said it was a brown. Just after that I hooked up to a trout but got off in a matter of seconds with a triple threat. That’s when I realized I didn’t have my hemostats or split shots. I suppose it’s like a women at the open house looking in her purse and finding out she left her checkbook in the car. I waded out and went back to the truck and got my hemostats and split shots.

 Back at the creek, the guy between Kevin and I took my spot. No matter, I told him, there was plenty of other places to fish. It was a long and slow process, without a bite, trying to get another trout. Out of the 5 other fishermen, nymph fishing, I only saw one guy catch a trout. Kevin and I didn’t move too far from the deep hole by the shop to very far down stream and still couldn’t find a hungry trout. For the rest of the morning and into the afternoon us or the other fishermen were having a tough time finding a hungry trout. Just after noon Kevin had his friend call him and he took off to go sight their guns in. I fished a bit from where we started with triple threats and woolly buggers before I decided to fish wading down creek quite a ways. 

 I hooked up to two trout on a triple threats but they found their way to get themselves unstuck before I got them near me. I caught one nice rainbow in the rough water downstream with a Woolly Bugger. It looked like he was having a bad day. He could have used some make up for the picture. 

  After him I fished the rough wavy water for some time trying to catch another. I even tried nymph fishing the rough water but didn’t come up with anything. I looked at the time and it was only a little past 2:00. I still had a lot of time to kill so I decided to go back up creek to where I started in the morning. I lit another cigar and headed up.

 I was within vision of the shop and saw only two guys fishing. I fished down creek from them and it wasn’t long before they gave up and headed out. Looking up and down the creek I had the whole creek to myself to explore once more. The way things were going though, if it wasn’t for the MK open house I would have left. Yes, I hooked a couple trout already but not as often as I would have liked.

 Up where I started I knotted on my favorite Woolly Bugger, puffed on the cigar and decided to just fish till I felt it was time to go. That would take an hour or so, to drive home around 6:00.

I casted out towards the far bank and let the bugger swing down creek. On one occasion I felt a tap and noticed the arc in my floating fly line pull a bit. I reared back the rod and sure enough a trout was on the other end. It was as if he just picked up the bugger, like a women picking up a bottle not sure if she really wanted it or not. The take was so subtle that if it wasn’t for me seeing the slight pull on the floating fly line I would have never noticed the take until it may had been too late. The trout fought like a lazy fish without much vigor. Maybe he had been caught before and didn’t feel like wasting too much energy? Any how it gave me a little hope in these later hours. 

 I continued wading down stream slowly casting out the Wooly Bugger. I added weight when I was fishing the deeper water and took the weight off when it started to hang up some in shallower water. I was taking my good old time trying to waste time casting out as I wadded down creek. One long cast dropped my bugger towards the far bank and I watched the floating line as the bugger swung down creek. All of a sudden, before the line straightened out, I felt a good grab and watched the floating line sink. I reared back the rod instantly over my left shoulder and felt the fly rod arc almost in the butt section with a tight line. A trout rose immediately, half out of the water, twisting and turning splashing water in all directions trying to shake loose. I tightened my grip on the cork and waited for his next move. He went under with ferocious tugs and pulls as he began to swim up creek. It wasn’t long before he surfaced again, half out of the water, with more ungraceful twisting and turning. I saw I had one of those lunkers. He went back under and swam down creek. I only had 4 pound test tippet so I wasn’t going to try to horse him in. Downstream he turned and swam up creek still tugging the line. I could feel the rod sections fluctuate with each tug and pull. Once he got across from me I moved the rod to put side pressure on him. He evidently didn’t like it and rose one last time in disagreement. He went deep again and headed down creek. After a time I could tell by the way he was swimming he was tiring out, so I thought, and clicked the drag a notch tighter. Down creek I started to force him my way, holding the arced rod tightly and reeling in some line. He followed momentarily until he got within his sight of me. It was like I had a disgusting cologne on and he forcefully turned away and down creek and took off like a heavy truck load of logs straight on a down hill run. There was no holding him back. Again line peeled off the spool and slid through each section eye. The drag kept tension on him and with the arced rod resistance he didn’t go very far before turning my way. Twice I had him near me but twice more he avoided getting any closer with powerful heavy turns. I was in shin deep water and moved the rod to get him towards the bank but he had no intentions on getting beached and swam in the opposite direction. Twice more I had him within net distance but upon seeing the net he turned and finned himself away. 

 This was taking too long. Once near me I was able to see my bugger in the crook in his jaw so I knew I had a good hook set but playing so much I wasn’t sure it was going to hold much longer. Swimming near me I raised the rod with the fly line pinched between my finger and the cork handle. I had my net ready so scoop him up. He was just under the surface when I reached out and was able to get most of his body in the net as he flopped around, his tail outside the brim of the wooden net frame. I carried it to the bank knowing that I wouldn’t be able to handle the heaviness of him in the net to get a picture or even trying getting the hook out of his jaw. On the bank I got a quick picture and got the hook out without much problem. I laid him in the water for one last picture. I then grabbed him by the neck of his tail and faced him into the slow current until I felt his tail swipe and I let him swim free. I wasn’t sure he was about his wits yet as it looked like he wasn’t sure which way to go. I slowly started to follow him and in the deeper bank-side water he finally took off healthfully towards the main body of water. 

 After grabbing my rod I casted out a few more times before calling it quits.

 Back at the truck I changed into street clothes. Though I already smoked two cigars to pass the time I felt I really deserved one more for the drive home. Before I left the parking lot it was near 4:40. It was a good hour or so drive home. 

 On the drive back towards home I thought that I know I wouldn’t have stayed so long fishing if it weren’t for avoiding the Mary Kay open house.

~doubletaper

Last Call

                                                                   Last Call

                                                                 11/01/2025 

 I parked in the empty camping spot all ready to hunt turkey. Outside the truck I put my hip boots on and grabbed my gear. Under the beam of my flashlight I crossed the shallower section of the creek, under the dim moonlight, to the other side. I could have parked along the road and walked across the bridge to the pipeline gait but that would have took longer. On the other side of the creek I took off my hip boots and put on my hunting boots I carried with me. I put the big flashlight in my folded hip boots and laid them against a big rock along the bank. I took out my smaller, pen like, flashlight and walked up to the pipeline.

 It was the first day of fall turkey season here in Pennsylvania. I was camping along the Clarion River for the past week or so. I’v been hunting the area around the camper but didn’t hear or find any sign of turkey in the area. Upon driving River Road I’d come across small flocks of turkeys but they were always in posted areas except one spot.

 For the past couple of years I would see a few turkeys feeding in the openings of the wide pipeline trail. One day, on the drive back to my camper the past week, I saw a few turkeys crossing the pipeline trail. Without any signs around my camper I decided to hunt the turkeys there.

 I had already checked out where to cross the creek in shallow water. I knew it might be more dangerous, meaning I might slip crossing with rubber soled hip boots, but I thought it would get me to the pipeline quicker and not walk up the pipeline in the morning light from the road.

 On the pipeline I walked into the woods. Being I never hunted on the other side of the pipeline trail I was walking blind. I only went maybe 20 yards into the dark woods, found a tree to sit by, scraped leaves away and sat down to wait out the darkness of the morning. I loaded the over and under double barrel, put on my camo gloves and was hoping the turkeys wouldn’t spot me in my camos I was wearing from head to toe. It was a quiet morning in the darkness. Every once in a while a cool breeze would blow through the tree tops rattling the bare branches and some of the fragile leaves that still hung from their limbs. On occasion I’d hear a vehicle, from the side of the road I parked my truck, drive up the small section of pavement and then upon the gravel road leading along the creek till the sound was unheard. I sat listening to anything that was within ear shot but it was quiet until dawn.

 It was just starting to get light out when the whole hillside erupted in turkey clucks and gobbles. Up to my left it sounded like a bunch of wild turkeys clucking, and yelping noisily like they owned the hillside waiting to get together on the ground. Over to my right, about a hundred yards or more, gobblers would gobble as if letting the cluckers know they are listening. 

 Once it was bright enough I suppose the flock, or two, up to my left flew down from their roost. For about a half hour or so it sounded like an all out riot of name calling by a few rival pirate gangs in a grog shop. While that was going on the gobblers to my right would sound off as if cheering them on. I finally heard them fly down but they were somewhere in the distance beyond vision. For about a half hour after all the riot noise, on occasion, I’d hear a few clucks and gobbles until the woods fell silent. I tried to coax one to come in my direction but they didn’t appear that any of them wanted to do anything with a stray lost turkey caller. I sat till around 10 and then walked deeper in the woods to check out the area. 

 I made it to the top of the hillside and the ground was tore up with turkey scratchings. Both old and fresh leaves were scattered about showing that the turkeys visit the hilltop often. I sat for awhile and watched a few squirrels and chipmunks playing around. I spotted a couple of deer and a buck with a very visible rack a little over a hundred and fifty yards away. With no signs or sounds of turkey I headed back down the hill and back to my truck. I figured to go back to camp, eat lunch, take my senior citizen nap, and come back in the evening. I figured I didn’t walk far enough in the woods in the morning to be within sight of the roosting turkeys. Now that I was more familiar with the area I might have a better chance for locating a flock.

 About 2 pm I got my camos back on and drove down to the pipeline. Instead of crossing the creek I decided to cross on the bridge and slow and quietly walk up the pipeline before walking into the forest. It went as planned. 

 Into the forest I still wanted to be able to see the pipeline so I walked about fifty yards or so into the woods and made a place to sit. It was a long wait while watching squirrels and chipmunks scurrying around before I heard the sound of fallen leaves being rustled on the forest floor behind me. I slowly turned to my left and looked down towards the pipeline. There were at least 5 gobblers, I spotted, rustling and feeding into the crisp leaves. Some of them were long beards. I was able to turn easily to get my shotgun within vision without too much movement or noise. Two of the turkeys were well within my vision feeding but I felt out of distance range of my 3” mags. I must have watched them for about 15 minutes as they fed and unknowingly teased me with a shot. There was a thick diameter log laying upon the ground that at least three turkeys were feeding beyond but two of them continued feeding on my side of the log. They slowly fed getting closer but there was thin short leafless saplings scattered between me and the two. One hopped over the log towards the far side. There was a scattering of thick branches, it looked like beyond the log, of a fallen tree. It appeared that the two of the turkeys on my side were going to head that way which they would disappear from my sight. The one turkey got within my shot gun sight. He was maybe 40 yards but not more than 50. I could only see his neck and head as he stood, head up, as a lookout in the crows nest. I decided to take a shot before he disappeared behind the log. I pulled the trigger and watched as the turkey I aimed at and the others flew back towards and over the pipeline. I evidently didn’t hit the turkey as he flew off without looking to be wounded. I thought I heard a cluck beyond the thickest part of the branches of the dead fallen tree. I waited a bit before slowly walking down to see if there were feathers of the turkey I shot at. There was none.

 Figuring I might of scattered a flock that was nearby I backed up just this side of the log out in front of the thick saplings I shot through. I sat high enough that I was able to see over the fallen log though not through the thick branches of the fallen tree. I had a clear opening, without much interference of the short sapling, for about 50 yards or so. While sitting there for about 20 minutes or so I heard some clucking beyond the thickest part of the fallen tree. Just after that I heard the gobblers on the other side of the road start to answer. I decided to cluck along hoping to get a turkey interested to come out of the thickest part of the woods and into my vision. 

 Slowly, walking with caution, a turkey appeared within my vision. He had his head up and I’m sure looking for any signs of distracting movement. I already had my double barrel up with my elbow resting on my knee. The gobblers on the other side would call out and I’d cluck and purr now and again to get the turkeys attention. On occasion he’d look my way and look back again towards the gobblers as if trying to make a decision of which way he wanted to go. He was within 30 yards I’d say when he was in view and without any interference of brush. I called out for the last time and he stopped and looked my way. I looked down the shotgun rail and put the bead on his neck just under his head and pulled the trigger. The double barrel sounded off, in the quietness of the forest, like a cannon being fired from a pirate frigate on the high seas. He tumbled backwards upon the leafy ground as if he just gotten shot in the chest by a pirates blunderbuss. I listened to him flapping his wings as leaves blew off the forest floor from his frantic flapping. My gun was up for another shot but he was evidently doing a death roll. He disappeared in a divot in the forest floor out of my vision. I heard a few more rustling of leaves before everything turned quiet once more. I waited a short after reloading from the spent shell in the bottom barrel. Quietly I got up and attached my hot seat to my belt and wrapped, and locked, my fanny pack around my waist.  

 Slowly I moved towards where I shot at the turkey. I found him, feet upwards like a passed out drunken swabbie on the main deck of his ship! 

 My last call was the last call he ever heard! My fall turkey season came to an end.

 I looked at my cell phone and it read 6:05 pm. After field dressing the 6” bearded turkey I carried him to the truck and drove towards camp. 

  Before getting to camp I drove up the hill and texted my buddy that I found a hillside of turkeys noting I got one. He texted back and said he’d be up early Sunday morning. (Which he did and got a turkey by 9:00 am.)

 Back at camp I hung the gobbler from a tree limb and went and had supper. After that I got a hot campfire going in the cold chilly night. I lit up a Last Call cigar and opened a can of beer. I sat back and enjoyed the camp life!  

~doubletaper