Walt Young

Next Saturday will usher in that annual rite of spring throughout Pennsylvania known as the first day of trout season.

Few trout anglers will need to be reminded of this season opener, especially after the ample dose of harsh winter weather we just experienced. The prospect of being on a trout stream and bringing that first fish to the net is undoubtedly an experience so many have been awaiting for weeks now.

Of course, many fellow anglers share that same pent-up desire to go fishing again after the long winter hiatus, resulting in many popular trout spots being wildly crowded during the opening weekend. Some intrepid anglers will arrive several hours before the 8 a.m. start time or even camp streamside overnight to ensure they have place at their desired starting spot.

I must confess that I haven’t been on the water for the opening hour of trout season more than two or three times in the past 40 years. One of those times was to help my 5-year-old niece (she’s a freshman in college now) catch and release a dozen trout in about an hour and a half. After she was done fishing, I finally picked up a rod and caught a few fish myself.

In my younger days, however, the first day of trout season was a major day for me every year. My father wasn’t a fisherman, but I had no problem learning and teaching myself as much as possible about fishing. I would spend weeks planning where to go and what to fish with, then buying all the stuff I needed (or thought I needed) before the first day.

In my early teens, the biggest piece of the plan was to persuade my mother to give me a ride to the stream early on the first day.

She was generally supportive of my fishing obsession, but my transportation usually came with one condition: I must take my little brother with me. That was never a problem. He was two years younger than me, but we were always close, and he seemed to enjoy being a part of his big brother’s many adolescent adventures.

Coming home with him after a long day of fishing together are some of my best childhood memories. That was also the time when I first developed my lifelong love for fly-fishing, an interest my brother never embraced.

When I was 17, I had my own car and a part-time job, which gave me the freedom to expand my trout-fishing horizons greatly. Now I was able to travel to fish some of Pennsylvania’s best trout water. I also had the opportunity to meet and learn from older, more experienced anglers, especially regarding fly-fishing.

By the time I reached my mid-20s, my skills had improved considerably, and fly-fishing had become my method of choice for trout — except for opening day.

Fly-fishing generally was not a lot of fun in the crowded conditions of the first day. I rarely keep any trout, so my first-day strategy was always to catch and release as many fish as possible. The best way to do that among the throngs of first-day anglers was to use spinning tackle and a variety of bait and lures.

After the opening weekend, I rarely picked up my spinning gear for trout fishing and returned to fly-fishing. On some years when water conditions were low and clear, the fly rod also became a viable option even on the first day.

After lunch when much of the crowd had dissipated, I would rig up a fly rod and work some pocket water or deeper riffles with some wet flies and nymphs. After a morning of evading all sorts of garish baits and lures, the trout often responded well to more natural presentation of fly-fishing.

Then one spring in the early 1980s, it was early April and trout season was only a week or so away when I realized my interest and enthusiasm for the first day of trout season just wasn’t there. My devotion to trout fishing was stronger than ever, but the idea of negotiating the crowds just to catch a bunch of gullible stocked fish had really lost its appeal to me. So for the first time since I started fishing, I slept in on the first day of trout season.

I will confess I wasn’t able to avoid fishing altogether that day. Early in the afternoon, I drove to a small stream I would fish once or twice a year back then, but never on opening day. I found one usually popular pool completely deserted, so I pulled on my boots and strung up a fly rod. Plenty of boot tracks along the water’s edge revealed it had received a good workout that morning. Despite that earlier competition, I managed to catch four or five trout in an hour and a half while having a lovely pool all to myself. Not a bad way to spend a sunny April afternoon.

I’m not sure why, but over the past couple of weeks, I’ve been reminiscing about some of those first days from years past. I’ve even been thinking about joining the party next Saturday morning, maybe in time for the 8 a.m. opening bell, just for old time’s sake.

And to see if those stockies are still as easy to catch as they used to be.