In a past life, fly fishing was something important. It's an interesting sport - centuries of heritage, conducted in solitude, a small commuinity that today survives on old-school internet forums (word to paflyfish.com) and in parking lots. It bridges age and background. In the stream, you're unified with your peers by pretending to be English aristocrats regardless of what you actually do.

I've come to notice this isn't a sport people get into on their own. Fathers introduce their sons, who in turn theirs. I was brought to it by a friend in high school. We'd fish local waters after school; our stomping grounds were the Loyalhanna and its tributaries. On the weekends, we'd wake up before the sun and go to the Laurel Highlands. Meadow Run in Ohiopyle was a favorite of ours. The music for the drive was always George Strait, lunch was always a Sheetz italian shoved into my bag. I liked when he'd drive as it meant I got to ride in his father's 90s burgundy-on-burgdy Suburban with 150,000 miles. We'd never really catch anything.

Western Pennsylvania is a weird region to do this in. There's plenty of streams on the map, but the variation in elevation ends up concentrating those that can sustain trout to a few locales. Living in Latrobe, being near one of these, let this be a casual part of my lifestyle. The closest streams from Pittsburgh require a 30 minute drive one-way. Going is now an event for me.

Trout like to eat in the mornings, and the sport is best enjoyed by waking up early. For a 22 year-old, at least for myself, the value proposition of waking up at 6 AM and driving myself an hour to stand in a river was poor at best. Now that I'm old, 26 and wise, I get it. I'm packing the night before, my pourover goes in the thermos, I grab a Boston cream on the way out. I'm still not catching anything.

The escape from polite society that fly fishing offers you is unparalled, and that's what has has me hooked at the end of the day. I don't really care that I'm not catching anything. Nobodies awake yet when you're leaving to do this. Often, the streams are miles outside of cell phone service. Technicalities of casting and wading dominate your thoughts. The roar of the water is all you can hear. Actually catching something lights up this primal drive deep within you.

"But where are you going, John?" you might be asking yourself. The annoying answer to that question is Around, as long as its either north or southeast of the big city. I'm finding spots with a (literal) couple of methods - a) my favorite activity, playing on the map, of which the PA Game Comission maintains a very good one, and b) the old-fashioned way, using my observant eye and scouting backroads. Although I strongly prefer hiking-in, you're allowed to fish nearly anything that borders a road in Pennsylvania, and it's foolish to not take advantage of that.

Laurel Hill Creek is in Laurel Hill State Park and flows through an old growth hemlock stand. It has a fly fish only section (DHALO) due north of the park's lake. It doesn't hold native trout, but it's a place of beauty in a remote setting. I would come here in high school; beginning my Return to Tradition on these waters felt only natrual. It's far enough away I took off work and made a day out of it.

Pine Creek begins in North Park and flows into the Allegheny. There's a DHALO alongside Campbell Road, found via the map and confirmed via recon on my bicycle, the closest thing to Pittsburgh I could find that seemed worth my time. This section is wide and easily wadeable, but, in my professional opinion, too shallow to maintain a proper trout population. I'd call it blade sharpening water. There's litter everywhere.

Hell Run is a tributary to Slippery Rock Creek that holds native brook trout. A Saturday morning trip was a bust. The water was too low and I couldn't really find a hole worth fishing in after an hour's worth of wading. This stream becomes otherwordly once you get deep in its ravine. Steep, eroded walls frame a hemlock- and boulder-dotted landscape. The air is cool and lets you briefly forget pretend you're in some form of PNW high country.

The Slippery Rock Creek is north of Pittsburgh, wide, and holds a vareity of species beyond trout. I went here twice in my season. It's gorgeous and secluded, and the section I found best has a historic steel bridge for your viewing pleasure. The creek is aptly named and wading here can be a little precarious, especially after it rains; it's surrounded by ag land which runs off and makes the water rather opague.

That's all for now - with June came some early 90 degree days, and any Pennsylvania water is now much too warm to ethically fish. I'll be back in the fall. I'd really like to visit some of Central PA's heralded streams. Penn Creek is calling my name.