Friday Flashback – August 15, 2001

One more visit to the creek for today’s Friday Flashback post as it was a regular summer haunt for a lot of years. An earlier flashback post from the creek was chock full of what I like to think was some practical advice for wading those flowing waters. Today’s post is chock full of the names of areas on what we called “Pat’s Creek.”


The family that farmed the area where we camped, trapped, hunted, and fished were the Wilson’s. The father was Earl who lived a couple miles from the creek. His son, Pat, lived off the gravel road on a lane that was our access to the creek. Thus, it was Pat’s Creek, and the general area was called Wilson’s and included spots like The Waterfall, The Blue Gate, Old Faithful, Eagle’s Point and many more.

To get to Pat’s Creek we had to drive across the cattle guard, up the lane to Pat’s house, past the sheds and grain bins, turn right at the corner post, continue past the trashpile, and stop where the lane ended at the cornfield just west of The Pond. From there it was a fair walk down to Buffalo Head Tree before taking a slight left through the bull nettles and poison ivy before entering the creek.

Where We Get In was a slippery slope that witnessed a tumble or two over the years. First casts were generally in the vicinity of The Brushpile before heading downstream to The Tree Roots. From there it was a walk past The German Torpedo and The Riffle to hit The Culvert and The Deep Hole. As the wade made its way to Where We Get Out there was also a stop at The Bridge (which was gone in my days on the creek).

Of course, each of those spots has a story behind the name. Some are rather self-explanatory; some require a little imagination. Each spot also has a story or two from experiences over the years. Experiences for quite a collection of family and friends who were along for a wade throughout the course of close to 40 years of outdoor fun.

Per my records, this August 2011 trip was the next to last time Dad and I hit the creek together as the land would change hands and we would lose access. The photo album for this outing contains my two carp catches and Dad’s catfish. Since I’m writing this story and I cannot track down a fishing log entry, I guess I’ll offer up that this may represent the only time I outfished Dad in his element. Talk to you later. Troy

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