Pennsylvania Angler & Boater - March/April 2021 - 15

A view from atop Irish Rock.

bank, offering shady cover for Smallmouth Bass and Rainbow
Trout. It is surrounded by plenty of fishable boulders and
covered in lush vegetation.
The legend of the rock remains a family mystery to this day.
However, it did not stop my boyish curiosity from conceiving
all sorts of mythic explanations, most of which involved
leprechauns, as I sat waiting for my rod tip to come alive. The
simplest explanation, given by my father, is probably the most
accurate- " It is called Irish Rock, because it looks like a big
green island. " Regardless of its origin story, the rock certainly
feels lucky.
I recall a year when the Clarion River flooded so badly at
the end of May, the campground closed. Only a handful of
people, including my family, were allowed to enter the park on
the condition we camped up the hill in a cabin.
There are many things to do at Clear Creek State Park,
but my favorite will always be fishing. I could not go home
without dipping my line at least once. Bound to make my
singular attempt successful, I donned hip waders, strung
my line, and set off for the old Emerald Isle. Many family
members wrote me off as crazed for attempting to lure a fish
in such conditions. Careful to avoid the slick bank, I made the
trek to my favorite fishing spot anyway.
Anyone who has fished for some time knows the success
of a trip often depends on the conditions of the water and
weather. When the water level is unprecedentedly high and
brown, it is exponentially harder to attract a fish. I tied on the
shiniest object in my tackle box, a chartreuse rooster tail, and
cast out into the abyss. My imagination ran wild as I stared
into the murky mystique. The familiar feeling of disparaging
hope entered my mind-something all anglers wrestle with
when Mother Nature is under the weather.
Maybe it was boyish optimism; maybe it was stubbornness;
maybe it was my indolence toward the mile hike back to
camp. Maybe it was a combination of all three, but I kept
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casting for hours. Despite a young
man's resolute determination, there
is only so much light in a day and
mine was rapidly fading. I made the
proverbial " last cast " decision in my
head about a dozen times, but my
hands kept overriding my brain.
The Irish Rock had never let me
down before, and I was not about to
rewrite history.
In a desperate attempt at some
last second magic, I tied on a tried
and true trout magnet. The Rebel
Crawdad sliced through the dusk
sky, landing just beside some swifter
moving water. I kept tension on
the line, letting the plastic crayfish
dance in the mild current. In three
seconds, it gave me what three hours
could not produce: a bite. Call it
perseverance if you would like, but I
will always believe it was the luck o'
the Irish Rock.
A decade later and I am back at the same lucky rock with
my wife and baby boy. The sun smiles off the Clarion River up
at my family. In a few years, we will have rods, but for now, we
cast our eyes toward the resplendent river. No catch compares
to the joy of being with family in a beautiful place.
I realize fishing is no longer my top priority at the
campground. It will take the backburner for awhile as I instill
a deep love and admiration for Clear Creek State Park in my
son. One day, when he is old enough, I will take him out and
share stories about how dad caught a fish in the worst flood
of this century. As my little boy grows into a man, I can only
hope he makes some stories of his own. Of course, a little bit
of luck always helps.

The author and his son, Campbell, looking for fish.

Pennsylvania Angler & Boater * March/April 2021

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Pennsylvania Angler & Boater - March/April 2021

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