The Potomac is a big river. Flowing from  the steep hollows of western Maryland and West Virginia down into the tidal portions of Washington, DC, it is big. There are diverse sections of river, each with it’s own composition and angling opportunities. Downstream of historic Harpers Ferry, there are bass and musky hiding in waving grass and sitting along sharp rock ledges. The grass beds go on for hundreds of yards and there are countless rock ledges. As a young angler, that bigness was intimidating. I usually just drove over the Potomac, heading towards the more manageable trout creeks of Maryland and Pennsylvania.

That intimidation and perception of greener fly fishing grass was ultimately why we usually drove past the creek. Countless times I passed by the creek. It was always just scenery. It was never an object of curiosity, much less a destination.

As the years went on I became more adventurous. Surprising fish in surprising places reoriented the lenses used when viewing fishing. Convenience also played a significant role. As life became busier, driving two hours for trout every time I wanted to fish became less alluring. I had fished enough to know there were bass nearby; suburban ponds and ditches running behind strip malls held very good fish. In different, but in similarly compelling ways, there was more adventure in finding these fish than in fooling finicky spring creek trout. That realization came with time. It was about instant gratification, but it was more about authenticity.

The mouth of the creek is obscured by dense foliage. It is invisible driving past at 50 miles per hour on the highway. It was a serendipitous wrong turn that took me west and over the bridge.  There was water. There were also NO TRESPASSING signs. There was no harm in asking.

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