SRS Email and post followers: I apologize for doing this to you (re-publishing these same two “How Did We Get Here” posts). I had forgotten how to organize a new post category and thus started to put them all in one post. This is NOT the way to properly do this. So, I’m creating a “How Did We Get Here” category which will group all these submissions under the BLOG. But what this will do is send out a duplicate email notification to you about the same two submissions this one time. After I reorganize these two initial submissions, you will not get duplicate emails notifying you of a new entry into the category. Sorry for the inconvenience. Sorry for the intrusion.
Walt’s story follows:
Here’s a comment and submission from SRS member Walt Franklin. Walt writes the Blog Rivertop Rambles and has a great catalogue of stories over there!
Enjoyed your personal SR beginnings. I like the idea of SR “old-timers” sharing their history on how they came to the Pine Creek Valley. If you want to add mine to the forthcoming catalogue, here’s one to consider…
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I first became acquainted with the Slate Run area in the early 1980s. Making an occasional run between Virginia and western New York, I would sometimes stop at an alluring place like Pat Reeder’s Tavern on Route 44, locations I’d eventually link to an ancient Chinese drinking song– “In all these details there are secret truths; but when I try to speak of them, everything slips away.”
I bought my first PA, out-of-state, fishing license in 1987. I’ve returned to the wonderful trout streams of the Pine Creek Valley ever since. I even published a book of poetry called The Wild Trout in response to the first two seasons of listening to the call of the Pennsylvania wilds.
In May of ’87 I participated in the first of many long hikes taken near Slate Run. To connect with my hiking pals, I had to drive my brother’s rusting and dilapidated car, stopping in Germania for directions on how to take a short cut over to Pine. Late for my appointment at the trail-head, I drove frantically down Germania Branch then up over the ridges, fearing that the car would die, choking on dust that mushroomed through the floor boards, in one of the most adventurous 24-mile drives I’d ever taken.
Difficulty aside, I found that mountains were inviting. The Francis Branch looked good for fly-fishing; the Golden Eagle and Black Forest trails could lead me away, and the Slate Run general store, hotel, and tackle shop would be there to sell me anything else required for salvation.
There I was. And it’s been upstream and down, ever since.