I picked my way through the briars toward the sound of a creek about 30 yards ahead, but yet unseen. I knew that the line of hemlocks up ahead would be my salvation from this tangle I was working my way through with a fly rod in hand. It seemed that every time I so much as glanced at the vines around my legs to avoid another puncture through my jeans, I would instantly tangle my fly line again. Yet this entire struggle was worth the trout fishing perfection that lie ahead. I stepped through the last bunch of briars and stood in the shadow of a 100 yard long run of hemlocks. Running through that grove was an 8 foot wide trout stream, known to the locals as Briar Creek. It wound its way through the woods after leaving a pond about a mile upstream. About 1 mile from where I stood, it would join with its sister creek, and then continue a short distance into a county reservoir.