Its been years since we had the twins at Penns Creek when they were just 11 months old. Prior to then, Penns was an annual tradition that Spence and I would do every year with Cooper. But, with a growing family and busy work schedules, we just haven’t had the time to get back. For this year, we made a commitment to make it happen at some point again.
I was super excited to take the family back out, but also a little anxious about camping on my favorite spring creek in the world and knowing that I would be skipping stones versus casting flies. I hadn’t fished yet all season, but it helped that I had a fishing trip coming up with some buddies down in Tennessee.
The decision to go back to Penns was sort of last minute and we lucked out with getting the last camp site. The big kids made a campground friend and if we didn’t have 1.5 yr old Declan, we could actually see the potential of camping being relaxing again. This year was also the first year without Cooper, who we just put down about a couple weeks ago. I knew going back here without him would be heartbreaking, so part of the driver to get back this weekend was to celebrate life in a place filled with so many of our memories. We had so many good times with him and I remember standing on the banks of that stream with both my Father and Cooper and now both were gone. But the amazing thing about Poe Valley and Penns Creek is that though life seems to change so fast, that river and valley does not. It’s like you are stuck in time and the only thing that’s changed in 20 years has been that tressel bridge and the tunnel. Hopefully one day, my kids will look at this stories and pictures and say the same thing.
And I was able to do some fishing in the morning and exceeded my expectation, which was zero fishing. We didn’t see a single Green Drake, but I caught a couple on the evening sulphur spinner fall. One morning I snuck down to some pristine streamer water with Hunter and hooked into a really big Brown on a big headbanger sculpin. The water was high and i tossed it directly upstream and stripped down a seam about a foto off the bank. I saw the trout swim from the weed bank and annihilate my fly head first in about 6” of water. It was a sick grab. I stuck him and he peeled to the center of the stream and start head shaking in the current. He was hooked good and my only thought was letting my 4 year old land a Penns brown toad, so I went downstream and handed him the rod.
He fought him really well and that picture of him holding that 10’ rod on that rock with a look of terror and excitement will never be lost. But, that fish turned and bolted straight at Hunter and though he did a nice job keeping the rod tip up, stripping line on a 10’ rod and keeping tension was just not something we had covered yet. I lunged at the line and quickly stripped to save what I knew already happened and almost knocked Hunter off his rock.
In a flash that fish was gone, but at that exact moment a fisherman was born. I had to break the news to him, because he had no idea and he was immediately crushed and even held back some tears. But, by the time we got back to the camp site, Hunter was telling a world-class fish story that sounded like a 30-year veteran. He told the story to Mom, Jack and then Clara and every time that trout got bigger to a point where his arms where as wide as his 30 lb frame would allow.
It was a great trip and as soon as we got home we booked our campsite a year out in the same place where cell reception doesn’t exist and life slows down a bit.
