Trout Club Crashers

We’re back in farm country, and I spent most of the morning trying to figure out what I was going to photography and write about that wasn’t just a rehash of the material from the Massachusetts, New York, and Pennsylvania agricultural periods of the pilgrimage.

Train Graffiti - Sandusky, OH

We did get stopped by a train for about ten minutes, and there was some pretty cool graffiti.  Could that be the big story of the day? I was skeptical.

Unusual Stream in the Middle of Nowhere Full of Trout

Don't know what this is?  Well we didn't either, so what are a couple of hot and thirsty hikers to do? Probably not what we did....as it turns out.

First I tried the back door to the building that was overlooking this festive little brook.  It was open, so I walked in. I looked around and quickly surmised that it had every appearance of an industrial kitchen.

"It's a kitchen," I announced out the door to Dad.    The retort came back from outside the door. "Good....it's probably a good place to get water."

I glanced around again.  No one had seen me yet, but still...."I don't think so.  Let's go around front."

The gate was open, and the path led up to the second story deck overlooking this stream.  This time I made Dad go first. He opened the first door and started to walk into what looked like some sort of banquet or meeting facility.

"I don't like the looks of this.  Maybe we should try another door," I warned.

He walked out again, and we noticed there was someone behind what looked a little like a set of French doors.  Dad walked up and gave one side a mighty tug. Turns out they weren't French doors. They were sliding doors.

"I think they're sliding doors," I offered helpfully.

"I don't think so," came the reply.

"No I'm pretty sure...."

A man previously unnoticed slid the door open.

"Well, I guess they are sliding doors," Dad quipped as he stuck his head into the opening.

"Can a couple of weary hikers get some water?"

I had a bad feeling about this.  I edged around the balcony and looked down on the stream.  It was full of trout, and toward what appeared to be the actual front of the building, the little creek seemed to wind around in big loops.  The grounds were immaculately kept. The grass was mowed and the willows overhanging the stream provided shade on the water but were trimmed in a way that provided easy access to the banks. There were fifteen fishermen all decked out in their fly fishing best. Wooden hoop nets, split bamboo fly rods, wicker fish creels, and golf carts to move them along the stream.

I turned around just in time to see a young lady come out with two styrofoam cups of water.

"What is this place anyway?" I inquired.

"It's a trout club.  A MEMBERS ONLY trout club.  I brought you some waters, but I really can't let you hang out here.  I don't want to lose my job."

Now in addition to prospectors, we've been mistaken for trout club crashers, only this time, the accusation was completely in keeping with the facts.

Yet Another Red Barn and Some Crops

This little encounter saved you all from yet another picture of a red barn surrounded by fields of newly germinating crops.  It probably won't play out that way again, so stand by for some agriculture.