So much for the Alaskan fishing. In an endeavor to secure research material, I flew back to North Carolina and prepared for a trip around New England researching our forebears of angling legend. On my way to Vermont, I stopped in to see an old friend, Lee Michaels, who now resides in Southwestern Penn’s Woods. We overnighted on the Laurel Hill Creek, and to our delight, just as night fell and darkness suspended our fishing exploits, the water began to explode as little rainbows gulped the evening hatch. We didn’t do all that well, but had a killer time hanging out creekside, and fished when we woke up through the afternoon. Pennsylvania holds some of the most classic trout water in the East, and it was a delight just to wet a fly in an area so famous for its angling history. Lee, it was great hanging out, can’t wait to do it again. (Put the driver away, and pick up the rod every chance you get, brother).