Catfish. What else do you need to say?

I guess you could say a lot more actually. Something about the stench. Something about the bugs that cover every inch of your body when you're on the river until 2 a.m. Something about the one that got away. And something about all the good memories you and gramps had.

Catfish. Fishing on the bottom just happens at a different pace, even if it is those flat-headed felines you're after.

It's certainly not flyfishing--scouring every hole with a nymph or landing a dry over a bread-line of browns; of course it's not bass fishing, which feels a lot like rock and role; and it's obviously nothing like ice fishing, which these days seems like you need to bring a computer science major along to understand all of the electronics.

It's just three-way-swiveled rigs and heavy-actioned rods and three-day-old-chicken liver and some comfy chairs. That is, until that big whiskered channel chum decides he's hungry. Then the pace always seems to change a bit.


And for all that easy-chair fishing, it's funny how not much is ever said as the sun drops down behind the mountain and the bull-frogs start with their heckling and the mesquitos start with their torturing. Because waiting into the wee hours of the night for that pole tip to bend next to some good ole' fishing buddies says it all.

Peterson Mountain.

Some go this way, some go that way--we just follow them. Wherever they lead us is where we end up. We get lost, but somehow we always find our way back. They're the trails on Peterson Mountain--a lot like life.

This is a photo essay I did the last time my friends and I road our atvs on Peterson Mountain, the mountain I grew up on in northeast Pennsylvania. There's about 9 or 10 miles of ridable trails for atvs through mostly private land. Luckily, I own 7 acres on the mountain, which is what we use as our gateway in. The rest is just not getting caught. And to have one heck of a good time.


And take plenty of breaks. Mike, Chris and Jay give their engines a rest in a hollow just after summiting the back side of the mountain.


Mike gettin' squirly on a straight shot, as he usually does.


Rooster Party on a gravel flat.


Rooster.


Roosted.


Mike gettin' not so squirly on a straight shot--with good reason.


Mike gettin' way too squirly close to my camera.


Tippittee Top. This peek on the east side of the mountain overlooks the valley down below, through which flows the north branch of the Susquehanna River. Mike, Chris and Jay take a peek.


And just as Peterson Mountain can pass by at close to 50 mph on the wide open terrain, again, so to can life. But at least it's one heck of a good time.