It was the summer before college. Before the real world started, they said — although college life never proved to be anything like the rest of the world.
I was working for a printing company, spending three hot months in a delivery truck, shuttling press orders to the docks and doorsteps of Western Pennsylvania corporations.
As I drove repetitive miles across the Keystone state, I was most attentive in the valleys. From my tall perch behind the worn-out steering wheel, I peered over each bridge crossing, wondering and dreaming about trout. I knew of Western Pennsylvania’s struggles to harbor wild trout. I knew about its troubled past with acid mine drainage, but I’d seen marked improvement in water quality over my young life. And I’d explored enough to expect surprises — trout can be anywhere . . .