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

 

Sunshine and Rainbows

                                                          Sunshine and Rainbows

10/05/25 

 It was in the upper 40º range Sunday morning so I wasn’t in a hurry to get out and trout fish. I made myself some coffee and a hearty breakfast of pancakes in the camper before heading out. 

 I got my fishing gear in the truck and headed off to Oil Creek for some trout fishing. The state was supposed to stock the creek on the first of October and I was pretty sure they did.

 In the parking lot I walked down to the water to see the water level. It was sad seeing the creek as low as it was. The once nice knee deep riffles that flowed into a deeper section was now a bunch of rocks strewn about with small streams of water that found its way between the exposed rocks. From a high flying birds eye view it probably looked like a bunch of oversized marbles scattered on a kids play mat. There were two guys fishing a deeper section I presumed? They were 3/4 cross the creek in shin deep water casting out about 25 feet. The fly guy was catching fish but the spin guy wasn’t. I went back to the truck to get my gear on.

 I put on my hip waders as there was no need for chest waders in the shallow creek. When I looked in my vest I noticed I didn’t have my nymph box. I doubt I’d be using nymphs anyhow being the water was really shallow and fresh stocked rainbows like streamers anyway. I did have my wet fly box just in case. I took out my Douglas 4 weight 9 foot fly rod and strung it up with weight forward floating line. I Grabbed a few cigars and headed back to the creek. 

 The sun was near enough to just be rising over the far side trees above the railroad tracks that laid high above the bank. The temperature was increasing some as the sun rose. The predicted temperature was to be in the 80* range though the water felt cool enough not to wet wade in. I started casting out a Woolly Bugger down stream from the rocky riffles and behind the two fishermen. The water was shallow, just about knee deep at the most, and plenty of round and flat rocks so I had to keep stripping the bugger towards me to keep from snagging. 

 The fly guy down creek from me was pretty much catching trout at will. I wasn’t sure what he was using underneath but he must of found a gathering of trout cause he wasn’t moving and was casting in the same small area. The trout he was catching were pretty active when he hooked them and splashed helplessly to his net.

 I made a cast out towards the far bank and slowly strip the bugger towards me as it swung down stream. I felt a grab and had my fist fighting rainbow splashing the surface in the shallow water like an anxious puppy trying to get back to the beach in the ebb tide.  

 I caught one more trout before I was too close to the other fishermen. 

 I waded around the two fishermen and down creek further then where they were casting. I made a cast down and across. I swear the bugger just sunk under the water when I saw a surface splash and swirl. I jerked the rod back more by instinct reaction then actually thinking about it. The line tightened and took off down creek. I held the rod tightly as the trout tugged and carried on. The 4 weight bowed nicely as I fought the trout to the net. 

 By now I felt the sun was shining down from above and brightened all surroundings like a school cafeteria lunch room. I lit a cigar and enjoyed the moment! 

 The water now, under the sunshine, looked as clear as well water that had settled in a glass pitcher with brown sediment laying on the bottom. Normally I wouldn’t think trout would be so active being under the sunshine and clear water. With long casts the trout didn’t mind feeding under such conditions. Once hooked they weren’t all that easy to bring in. They fought wildly from the time I set the hook all the way to the net and then some. Some of the rainbows, once hooked, shot up out of the surface water like a kid on a trampoline. It appeared once the water was stirred up with all the commotion, from the hooked trout, it was more difficult to get one to bite. I slowly waded down creek further and continued to cast into the near knee deep shallows trying to avoid the bigger rocks and flat ledges. Once it got real shallow I started to wade back up to where I started upstream from the two other fishermen.

 By now the fly guy was sitting along the far bank relaxing and verbally coaching the younger guy with the spinning rod. He’d catch a trout now and then but had an awkward time trying to net the trout. Upstream from him I saw a line of trout in knee deep water almost motionless as if waiting in the cafeteria food line. I made a cast up creek from them and further across. When my line hit the water some trout scattered like a bunch of young school kids, in the playground, escaping from who had the cooties. I let the bugger swing down creek with my rod held a little higher than the surface keeping the bugger from bumping the creek bed. Slowly I was stripping line and wham a trout grabbed the bugger on the swing. I wristed the rod up and the line tightened with another nice size fighting trout.  

 The two guys decided to take off and walked up the far bank before crossing to avoid stirring up the trout around me. I caught one more trout before wading down to where the other fishermen were catching trout. Once, within my vision, I stopped and made a stand. There was a school of trout in a small area like children at a school bus stop. I would cast my bugger to the side of them, when I could, and stripped the bugger towards me within their vision. The wind sort of picked up and casting into the cross wind I wasn’t that accurate.

 Sometimes a rainbow would grab the bugger hard but other times it wasn’t so easily noticed. Letting the bugger swing into the crowd I watched the tip of my floating line. At the slightest twitch of the line I had to be quick to hook a trout. At times it was as if a rainbow was swiping at the bugger from the side and not grabbing it fully. All the trout I did catch was by their lips. Hardly any were hooked into their jaw and none were hooked inside their mouth. Most of the rainbows were nice size and healthy looking.  

 It got to be slow going from then on. The trout were evidently being cautious with all the commotion but every once in a while I’d get a strike and I had to be ready for the slightest take. 

 I was having fun catching rainbows and not really paying attention to the time. The sun moved above without me noticing. What I did notice was the shadows along the far bank was moving towards me. The wind got a little stronger and it took more energy to cast into the cross wind. The fish appeared to get bored with my offerings anyhow. Sometimes when my line hit the water there were wakes of surface water from scattering trout.

  I decided to call it a day when the last two fish I caught, after a long period of nothing, were small smallmouth. Overall it was fun for the time being catching rainbows under the sunshine.

~doubletaper

Evening Smallmouth

Evening Smallmouth

9/16/25. 

 After dinner I decided to fish for smallmouth. The river water has been very low for lack of rain. I figured the bass may have been staying in the deepest water during the hot sunny days or holding under the canopy of leafy tree limbs that overhung the far bank. I thought maybe, around sundown, the smallmouth might come out of their hiding places and look for crawfish in the shallow water. After dinner I knotted on a brown Woolly Bugger and walked across the road to the river with my 6 weight fly rod.

 At the river I looked around at the evening sky and water. Gray clouds, not rain clouds, filled the sky looking like left over smoke from a passed steam engine. The sun was well hidden but it was easily determined which way the false steam engine was heading. 

 The river water looked like the wrinkled sheets on the king size bed in the camper. Images of the trees, that stood tall along the river, threw dark shadows along the banks. Mid river their was the mirror image of the sky above. The air was much cooler than the hot sunny day temperature earlier. 

 I stood in ankle deep water and was pulling line out of the spool for my first cast. I looped line forward, only about two rods length, getting ready to make an overhand cast out into the river. All of a sudden I felt the line pulling! I looked and saw the straightening line pulling out from the tip top. I tightened my fingers on the line between the reel and first guide and felt the tugging of the line. A fish had grabbed the brown bugger in no more than shin deep water and was struggling to take it out in the main body as if that’s where it will decide to eat its catch. I got the frantic pulling fish under control and brought him to the net. A nice size smallmouth laid in the net. I guess I was right about the smallmouth looking for food in the shallow waters along the banks!  

 After spilling him out of the net I took more line off the spool and casted along the shallow waters up and downriver a bit. I was hoping to hook another smallie that might be in the shallows looking for food. Well, I didn’t get any takers and started casting out out in the main body of water before wading out in deeper waters.

 I happen to be slowly stripping in the Woolly Bugger, after I let it swing down stream, when I felt a bump. The weighted bugger may have tapped a rock beneath the surface in the shallows or a fish missed a full mouthful of the bugger. I casted out the same distance and let the bugger swing as before. Once I felt it swing into the shallow water I raised the rod some to prevent the bugger from dragging the bottom. Instantly, this time, I felt a stronger tug and reared back the 9’ fly rod. I felt the top section bow and the line tightened. My second smallmouth was on the end of the line trying to get loose. He wasn’t all that big but he was a smallmouth. 

 Every once in awhile the slow moving clouds would expose the sun and brighten up the evening. It was if the mirror image, on the river water surface and beneath, took a different presentation. The surface water became more colorful and the riverbed was more visible. 

 Slowly I continued wading down river and out as far as I could wade till I was about thigh high deep. I would cast as far as I could, towards the far bank. Sometimes down and across or straight across the river water. 

 One cast dropped my bugger in a slow pool of water near the far bank. Something grabbed the bugger just after it hit the water and started to sink. I noticed the dropped line pull quickly so I pulled the slack line back and yanked the rod high behind me. The slack line rose up from the water and tightened. I had another fish on the other end. It felt much stronger than the last and swam and fought well. I took my time bringing it to the net. 

 Downriver I was just about going to call it quits. The air turned much cooler. I was in the mood of ‘just one more catch’ and I’d call it quits. Most of the time it never comes to be. 

 I made a cast long and across. The bugger swung down river and I started to slowly strip it towards me. Lo and behold I felt a take a reared the rod back. The line tightened and I had my last smallmouth fish swimming and fighting beneath the surface. I got it to me handily and netted him. 

 The water beyond widened and got shallower. I hooked the bugger to the hook keeper on the butt section and waded to the stoney bank. From there I walked my way to the path, up to the road and to my camper. It turned out to be a successful, short time spent, fishing the evening for smallmouth.

~doubletaper