This is your non-typical fishing story that started out with
breakfast at Glendorn.

The well-known country resort near Bradford has gotten a lot of
publicity lately after being rescued from the auction block by J.
Clifford Forrest, a mining business owner from the Pittsburgh area,
who had been a regular guest at the resort.

I had the pleasure of dining at the facility under its previous
owners and was well aware of its reputation, but didn’t realize
that it had run into difficult times and was at risk of being
broken up and sold off in parcels.

The anemities that have always been offered to its guests are
legendary. Its purchase by Forrest and then the article in The Era
that the sport of curling was also on the list, made it even that
much more interesting.

While all of that was going on, my son, Alan, and his wife,
Rachael, decided that it had been far too long since their family
had visited Bradford. Actually, I think the grand kids, Aaron and
Olivia, were driving them crazy to visit Nana and Papa.

Deciding where to stay for two nights was discussed and out of
the blue the name Glendorn popped up. Before you could blink an
eye, the reservations were made.

I should point out that they were for mom and dad, but not the
kids. They were bunking with Nana and Papa both nights. Pretty
slick way to get free babysitters!

However, we and that includes my wife, mother-in-law and other
granddaughter, Jordan, were all invited to breakfast on Saturday to
make up for the crafty maneuver.

The food was superb and our server Natalia did an excellent job
of taking care of all eight of us.

Then it was out to the game/recreation room to make plans for
the remainder of the afternoon. Staying right on the grounds was
the decision.

First came a walk around the area near the main lodge while the
kids kept busy in a full-size playhouse. The entire facility is
amazing. All of the grounds cover nearly 1,300 acres. During the
walk I discovered a small pond that was ice free and thought how
much I would love to do a little fishing there.

Glendorn has always had a reputation for stocking its ponds,
lakes and the main creek, which flows through the secluded valley,
with trophy-size trout.

I also knew that there was an Orvis flyfishing shop on the
grounds. I’m not a fly fisherman, but I was willing to become one
for an hour or two, if for no better reason than to make my friend
Jim Schwab jealous. Jim’s a devoted fly fisherman, but it was going
to be me fishing at Glendorn.

I stopped at the shop and just outside the doorway were four fly
rods. Three were rigged and ready to go. The fourth was missing its
fly. I guessed it was probably hanging in a tree somewhere near one
of the ponds or the creek.

A pleasant young lady named Amanda was at the counter and I
sheepishly asked if the fly rods could be used by visitors. She
made my afternoon by responding with a “yes.”

Shortly afterward I was talking with the new manager of the
resort, Christopher Hampton. We touched on a number of topics, but
I was curious about how long the rods would be available, thinking
they may be taken inside when the shop closed. His answer gave me
my second surprise of the day. Normally they aren’t brought in and
are always available for use by guests.

Around 5 o’clock the grand kids wanted to return to grandma’s
and grandpa’s house to ride their bikes. While the gang was getting
buckled in, I talked my son into doing a little fishing. I really
wanted to try that pond.

We headed off to the small impoundment. I didn’t want to walk
all the way around to the head of the pond, so I opted to crawl up
the bank at the lower end.

In my excitement to get that fly in the water, I noticed one of
my sneakers had started to slip off, but what the heck, I just
wanted to fish.

Everyone who knows me is aware that I walk with canes which is
also one of the reasons why I don’t fly fish. It’s pretty difficult
for me to work a fly rod and stand up at the same time.

My decision was to sit on the bank and try casting the rod from
that position. It wasn’t pretty and I’m sure Jim would have moved
to the other side of the lake, had he been there.

I was managing to get the job done for about 10 minutes when the
little fly found a low-hanging tree branch which it delighted
itself in wrapping around several times.

When I attempted to stand up to retrieve it, I discovered I was
getting no traction from my right foot. A glance down revealed the
answer why. No sneaker!

It was the one that was coming off as I climbed the bank, but
where was it? I looked around on my right side and nothing. I
quickly swung around to the left and there it was, my size 14
sneaker upright and gently bobbing along on the pond like a small
boat.

Trying to remain calm and hoping my son hadn’t noticed, I had to
come up with a plan to retrieve it and quickly. It wasn’t that far
out, yet. I grabbed my one cane, snagged it with the handle and
brought in my catch.

To my dismay, my son had been watching the show and was just
waiting for me to ask for help. I got the sneaker, but couldn’t
dislodge the fly from the tree branch.

He came over to get the fly loose – something I had done for
years when he and his brother Brian were youngsters – and now it
was payback time. I could tell he was really enjoying the
moment.

And that was just the beginning.

Alan has never been a fishing aficionado. I think he did it when
he was young just to keep me happy. His mother encouraged him then,
but now his kids are into it.

Anyway, after everything had returned to normal we both heard a
noisy splash off to my left. We looked over to see a large trout
slip back into the pond and water rings begin radiating out from
the leap.

I promptly told him to head to the area. Too many trees for
me.

On about his fourth cast he let out a whoop and suddenly his rod
bowed and the big trout shot out of the water. It made several
leaps, but he skillfully – I must admit – worked it into shore. A
beautiful rainbow about 15-17 inches long laid on the bank.

As he brought it to me, guests staying in a cabin overlooking
the pond, gave him a round of applause. That’s not how it was
supposed to be. I was the one who wanted to fish in the pond.

There was some consolation, however. He still isn’t too keen on
taking fish off a hook, so old dad did have to do that. Then we
released the trout back into the murky water to give another angler
the same excitement we had just enjoyed.

It had proven to be an interesting outing at Glendorn, even if
all I caught was my own sneaker and now I also have to turn over
the fishing reigns to the kid!