Larry A. Smail's Blog

Continuing northeast I went through the little community of Driftwood before turning left at Sinnemahoning. I enjoyed the  contrasts between the deep shadows and fog and/or smoke still in the hollows.   The artistic nature of myself sees such things as beautiful. I was heading due north towards Austin, Pennsylvania to pick the stones with art prints applied to them. However, I had a few stops before reaching that destiny. One place I stopped at the George B. Stevenson Dam to walk about. Lots of Canada Geese were visible.

  The water level behind the dam has been dropped due to construction work up creek from the dam. That fact alone pushed  me farther north on the Sinnemahoning. I wanted to fish in the area of construction for bass, bluegills and pickerel.  The area of this dam and watershed is part of the Sinnemahoning State park. The roads to this area were closed, too.

Native Indians called this area “Achsinnimahoni”. This meant “stony lick”. The 1800 era saw massive logging operations. In less than a century the mountains became denuded causing erosion and allowing for wildfires.

Wood Ducks

The  dam was built in the early 1950 time frame.

I arrived along the First Fork of the Sinnemahoning around 9:30 A.M. the eastern sun was just beginning to peak over the mountains on my right as I traveled north. The mountains on my left were in sun. Later, in the day, as I began my trip south the opposite was the case. Heavy frost was present at any areas where the sun’s presence was yet to be felt.                

I stopped and picked up the stones around 9:45 and, now, I had the rest of the day for myself. I drove up a road that ran alongside of Bailey Run. I had mixed feelings of traveling back this road. Thirty years ago later this month four of us stayed at a camp to hunt bear. The four were Allen Smail (My father.) my brother-in-law, Bob Hudson and a friend David Olinger, and myself.  We had a great time. The mixed feelings came about because in two months from our hunt, Bob would die in a work-related accident. The owner of the camp and a fellow friend would die in August  of 1987 while mowing around the camp. (Just a note my Uncle Carl Smail died forty years ago on November 4th, 1976. he would hunt these hills with my dad and uncles. He passed away while hunting ducks.) This memories were permeating my thoughts as well. I could still feel the happiness, as well as, the grief over this venture.                                                                                 

Beech leaves

I hiked a trail that paralleled  the stream course. I, eventually, walked through head high goldenrods and such taking photos of this beautiful waterways. I saw a Golden Eagle and Wood Ducks. later, I stumbled upon a wetland area seeing Red-Spotted

Winterberry

Newts.

Finally, around 1:00 I worked down to the Sinnemahoning to try my luck fishing. The water was fast in this area and snagging became an issue. However, I took a fall on slippery rocks along the shore. My aging knees were having trouble negotiating on these stones. The rocks, while wading, we worse. I fished about half-an-hour and decided to explore and take photos.

Native Brook Trout

Later, I headed up Brooks Run to fish for Native brook trout. I had a blast fishing for these  beauties.

Brooks Run

They never attain any great size in such small waterways, but I always enjoy catching them. Around three o’clock I began heading towards Quehanna to search out a trail a friend told me about. As stated a lot of the road heading south was covered in shadow by this time. The sun was already dropping behind these high peaks.

  The early morning trek up the hill was noticeably colder with a heavy frost visible. The frost was present everywhere the upper leaf   canopy was slight. Also, a dense fog engulfed everything. The sights were quite impressive never-the-less.

I, immediately, noticed yesterday’s turkey scratchings upon reaching the hill top.  I turned left and walk along the back side of this hill and the turkey sign was everywhere. I couldn’t walk thirty yards without seeing scratchings.                                                                               

I continued walking the side of the ridge amazed at the amount of sign. I was seeing squirrels all about gathering acorns.Chipmunks, too! It seems the acorns were being utilized by all wildlife.

Hickory leaves

I reached the point of this ridgeline when I heard sounds every turkey chaser wants to hear. That sound was the sound of

Sassafras Leaf

turkey’s scratching in the leaves. Up and over I went and I immediately saw some turkeys running down the slope. A few went airborne as they all went down the hill. I sat for awhile to see if any began yelping. I heard none, but I didn’t stay put for more than fifteen minutes.

Immature Bald eagle

I turned to drift along back towards the hollow I just circumvented when I notice a buck standing in the fog. he had a very nice  rack, but fled just as I was ready to snap a shot with my camera. I would see him again.

The leaves didn’t seem to be as colorful this year unless one was along bottomland country near water sources. They seemed as brilliant as ever.

Teasel

I walked along about a good half mile and went up and over another hill. Turkey sign was not as numerous on this side. I

Hornbeam

spotted a buck moving away from me before stopping at about eighty yards. I started grunting to him. I could see his head looking back over his back. I started scrutinizing the brush and I saw another deer. When the deer turned I could see a very nice rack on him. The first buck turned and began circling me. He showed up about fifteen yards from me. I managed one good shot. the vegetation made focusing very difficult. The big buck didn’t come to me.

I would see some does here and there. I saw an immature Bald Eagle setting in a tree. I couldn’t believe the bird was so far from any major body of water.