Place Post # 2: Why a Lost Creek?

When I first moved to Juniata County Pennsylvania, I was a little disheartened. While there was plenty of warm water fishing on the Juniata River ten minutes away, I had no quick access to a good trout stream.

My passion for the previous decade had been fly fishing. Each of the places I had lived in for those ten years were near good trout waters. I had lived in my hometown of Halifax for two years before this move, which was near an oasis in the midst of Harrisburg’s suburban sprawl: Clark’s Creek. Clark’s, in Dauphin, was a trout haven because of man’s encroachment; the small reservoir formed by Dehart Dam stayed chilled in its lower strata, and then the bottom-released effluent kept the creek a consistent 50-55 degrees for a couple of miles downstream, in the hottest summer months or the during the coldest winter freeze.

Before that, when I lived in Clinton County, I was 15 to 30 minutes away from the best limestone streams in the state. Fishing Creek and Spring Creek both bounded out of the ground from springs in the spongy limestone topography. Limestone was formed from the shells of ancient crustaceans that swam in the shallow sea that covered much of the eastern US before the Appalachians were formed from the slamming of our continent into Africa, Spain, and the British Isles. Ironically, this rock born from the sea is water solvent. So in a landscape of limestone, streams often disappear into sinkholes only to reappear out of springs or caves at full force. This water is also kept at a consistent 50-55 degrees because it is insulated by the earth, much like the artificial “spring” made by Dehart Dam and the insulation of the top strata of water.

So during my time in Lock Haven and Halifax, I learned that these cold water ecosystems are the best environment for trout, and consequently the best environment for fly fishing. The consistent temperatures that didn’t fluctuate allowed microscopic plants to thrive, which feeds the aquatic invertebrates like mayflies, stoneflies, and caddisflies, as well as small minnows and crayfish: i.e. trout food! Also, these types of environments seemed to be free of pollution because limestone often negates the effects of acidity and nutrient super-saturation (the worst pollutants of PA), or because we humans don’t want pollution in our drinking water supply. Truly, I was in trout heaven for the past ten years.

So when I moved to Juniata County, I repeat, I was disheartened. Again, there was bass fishing, and a number of stocked trout streams, but stocked streams are stocked for a reason: fish can’t survive in those streams year round. This is usually because of temperature flux, which means that there are fewer flies native to the streams, which means that even what trout fishing I could find would not be good fly fishing. But I held on to hope, which lay within a thin green line of a Class A Wild Trout Stream on the Fish and Boat online county map: Lost Creek.

As soon as I moved to McAlisterville, the town nearest Lost Creek, I became fascinated with the possibility of a “Lost Creek”. Why was it “lost”? I wondered. Could it be limestone? Did it duck into some sinkhole as it came out of the mountain, lost to the world until it popped up from some hidden spring? I studied maps, which supported my theory. The Fish and Boat Commission maps highlighted the creek with a broken line. It appeared to skip down off of the side of Shade Mountain, get “lost” around Rt. 235, but again reappear near Mountain Road. Also, a map from the PA Geological Survey showed that my valley was partially formed with limestone bedrock. Potential.

Yet, the few times that I could get out to fish it, Lost Creek lost my interests. I only caught a few small (4 inches or less) wild brown trout and one larger stocked brownie. Other than that it was chub water, and I made a killing on chubs. (For those of you who know nothing about fishing, chubs are a creek minnow of little game value, even for the catch and release fisherman like myself.) Plus, one temperature reading I took in the meadow I fished read near 80 degrees in midsummer. Not really hospitable for trout.

Yet, I still had hope. With the recent cold snap in the northeast, most of our waterways have seized up with ice. Even the mighty Susquehanna had parts frozen from bank to bank. But the fact that I saw moving water in last week’s excursion so far downstream led me to believe that there was some spring influence. All I had to do was follow the length of the creek and find a place where the it flowed free of ice, most likely a deep hole, still and wide, where springs could seep up into the main steam.

So, in my Jeep, I headed out along Mountain Road, along that gap in the map. It was 17 degrees, snow and ice clung to everything. A crust had coagulated on the still fields of white. Here, I don’t even find tracks of animals; every living thing seems to have retired to winter dens. The road doesn’t follow right along the creek, so I have to zig-zag on a couple of side roads to cross over bridges. Unfortunately, what I do find is ice covered currents, even thicker that I saw last week. If there was spring influence, it was below the four mile stretch of creek I pseudo-explored this week by car.

So, I am lost. Still unsure about this creek, my home—wondering where I’ll find a refuge from the stresses of my life. I do have hope, but lies in a stocking truck and the stubby-finned raceway trout. Unless, that is, I find something between Mountain and Ridge Roads that is miraculous.