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Dunbar Creek, Pennsylvania 2000 (See previous chronicle for part 1 of this story.) Sunday, I fished by myself. I hadn’t gotten an opportunity to fish those pools and I was looking forward to some easy, steady action. As I drove up, my hopes where dashed. The pools where as crowded as they were the day before. Again each pool had at least two anglers. Then I arrived at Robert’s pool, it was empty. Thank goodness for small miracles. I managed to fish the pool for a pretty long while before I was interrupted. Two cars drove up, stopped for a short while and continued upstream. I could hear them whooping and hollering up stream. I continued to fish but was having a hard time of it. This particular pool is probably the hardest of them all. It’s deeper and clearer than the others. It has a nasty upstream flow on left most portion and is dead calm towards the middle. It’s a hard place to get a good drift. I had tied up some mealworm imitations the night before thinking I was going to clean up. The fish that Robert had brought home the day before all had mealworms in their stomachs. Unfortunately my mealworms didn’t cut the mustard. While I was fishing two women had driven up. Somehow we struck up a conversation. They were waiting for me to leave so they could swim. I recognized them as part of the group that was whooping it up earlier. I figured I’d been there much to long and told them so. As I was climbing out, the rest of their group drove up. Boy where they loaded! After offering me a beer, one of the fellows stuck up a conversation with me. “These fish aren’t worth fishing for” he says. “They’re tiny, not even worth eating. If they where Northern Pike or something like that they’d be worth fishing for. You should go to…..” Size didn’t matter to me but I couldn’t get that point across. “Yeah, these fish have all them tiny bones, you should fish somewhere else. I don’t want scare you off though”, he said I as I was leaving. “Go ahead and continue to fish.” “ That’s ok, I was already leaving” I tried to convince him as he offered me another beer. No sooner had I left the water when two of the girls got in. I watched to see if the fish reacted. They didn’t seem to. One fellow continued to offer me booze and tell me how poor the fishing was while the other, fresh from French kissing his girlfriend, was trying to convince she and her friend to skinny dip. I was in the Fly Fishing Twilight Zone for sure. “What are you a City Girl or a Mountain Girl” he remarked. “A City Girl” she replied. Unlike him, she wasn’t native to these parts. He laughed, I guess no self respecting Mountain Girl would have any problems skinny dipping. The other girl remained silent. She was a “Mountain Girl” but she wasn’t skinny dipping either. “You ain’t no Mountain Girl” he said. I laughed. We talked some more and I headed down stream, wondering what hijinks were taking place in my absence. The rest of the day was tedious compared in comparison. The fishing was slightly less productive than the day before, perhaps due to the warm showers earlier in the day. The other pools where crowded but between them one could find solitude and fun little brooks and browns.....
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