No bites, but not a bad day
An important truth about the outdoors is that it accommodates a wide range of ability and invites diverse objectives. Paddling through rapids or presenting a fly to trout in low water, for example, take exacting skill, while other outings might indulge quirky impulse. This column explores the latter.
It began with the impulse to traverse the newest section of the Indian Creek Bike Trail, completed recently by the Mountain Watershed Association. The trail features a smooth crushed-stone-dust surface and descends along Indian Creek for about five miles from Indian Creek Reservoir to the Youghiogheny River. The trip begins at a nice parking area with map and interpretive signage reached on the west side of Rte. 381 at the access road to Camp Christian, just north of Mill Run. Riders will enjoy impressive views of Indian Creek as it churns through its ecologically significant gorge to join the river. Be prepared for an uphill return, which most modern bikes with their efficient gears will handle with relative ease.
As the trail nears the parking lot, it skirts the west shore of the lake. On my return, a glance across the water revealed an adult bald eagle perched on a snag in plain view. I parked the bike and walked to the nicely maintained (by the Westmoreland County Municipal Authority) shoreline for a better look. The eagle eventually flew and soared lazy loops over the water, an inspiring sight.
As the eagle disappeared toward Laurel Ridge, a pod of 鈥淰鈥� wakes disturbed the lake蘑菇视频 calm surface, approaching along the shoreline. I shielded my eyes against the glare and saw that a school of big carp produced the wakes, maybe a dozen, some close to six or eight pounds.
At the parking lot I texted my friend Ron: 鈥淚 know where we could catch a big carp.鈥�
鈥淕ood, I鈥檓 ready whenever,鈥� came his reply.
I envisioned us stationing ourselves along that same shoreline and waiting for the wakes, like I鈥檇 seen on the day of my bike ride. Then, we鈥檇 simply plop a hook-full of corn or dough-bait out ahead of the school, wait for the take and hold on.
Carp are one of our original invasive species. They were introduced here from Asia in the late 19th century to replace some native game fish that declined due to pollution, and that transplant was a big 鈥渟uccess.鈥� Carp are now found in most warm, sluggish North American waters but are mostly viewed with disdain. It蘑菇视频 true that carp are prized as high-grade table fare in some parts of the world, but even though I鈥檓 adventurous with wild foods, I wasn鈥檛 thinking of carp fillets when I texted Ron. My quirky impulse was for the thrill of battling one of those muscular brutes on tackle we otherwise use for trout and panfish.
Big carp are brawlers when hooked, and I did make some modifications. I took down an old warrior spinning rod and rigged it with 12-pound test line, about the heaviest gear I deem practical around here. And I found a bag of processed mulberry-flavored dough-bait in the bargain bin of one of our big outdoor retailers. Ron brought some canned corn. We were set to combat big carp.
On the day we both had a chance to go, black clouds were scudding out of the west and the air carried that 鈥渕ountain chill.鈥� We parked at the same trailhead, then hiked the short distance to where I鈥檇 seen the carp, where a different kind of lake greeted us.
Where I鈥檇 scanned a mirror-surface that revealed roving fish, a tortured washboard of gray waves rose before the wind. And as we rigged our tackle, the first in a procession of rain squalls battered us before passing on.
We cast our baits and watched the bobbers ride the waves, but there was no way to boost the odds by observing and intercepting carp schools, as I鈥檇 imagined. We did see the eagle, though. It flushed from a tree and winged along a nearby island, its white head and tail unmistakable in the gloom of threatening storm. As it winged away, a blackbird launched skyward and harassed it, diving at the eagle蘑菇视频 back. 鈥淎 blackbird harassing a bald eagle; never know what you鈥檒l see outdoors,鈥� I mused.
Ron is my primary ice-fishing buddy, and our carp adventure felt a little like one of those wintry outings鈥揾uddled against the wind waiting for a bite, which never came.
We were lucky in one sense. As we reached the parking lot to leave, rain drummed hard on the windshields of our separate pickups (We鈥檇 driven separately as a Covid precaution. Social-distancing was not a concern at the lake itself. We had the place to ourselves amid the chilly rain and wind).
Later, enjoying some refreshments under the roofed pavilion at my place, I advised Ron, 鈥淣ext time I text you one of my bright ideas, just delete me.鈥�
He sipped his beverage and replied, 鈥淣ever a bad day outdoors.鈥�
Ben Moyer is a member of the Pennsylvania Outdoor Writers Association and the Outdoor Writers Association of America.