November Rain

Mist Wraiths on the Mainstem

As the rain fell in earnest, the last soft rings vanished with the parade of miniature wings that preceded them. Imagine, a touch of dry fly fishing in November!

The opportunity was brief, and perhaps as preordained, I had left the one fly box containing the sub sized olives in the car. There were my trusty autumn twenties and twenty-twos handy right there in my vest, but they proved as useless as an anvil for tempting those sipping rainbows. Still, it was a wholly unexpected chance to play the game once more.

Brilliant sunshine and otherworldly temperatures have prevailed since then, laughing in the face of a typical November in the Catskills. Yesterday I had to succumb to the lure, standing in the middle of the mighty Delaware in my shirtsleeves. Just your typical November day…

Another like it is on tap today, the sun already blinding me through the curtain covering the window above my tying desk, and though I know I shan’t find any of those tiny olives nor soft dimples in the film, I cannot resist.

I carried the dry fly rod yesterday, my Dennis Menscer Hollowbuilt, strung up for one last chance to loft the dry fly over bright water. I ended up disgracing that sword, swinging weighted soft hackled things beneath the ripples where the run deepened, for such a weapon is destined for grander things. I simply had to enjoy the pleasure of casting in the sunshine under those brilliant skies!

Hope tells me there ought to be some remnant band of mayflies, some rouge group still clinging to the stones and ready to hatch now as Nature has raised the water temperatures once more, though my mind tells me otherwise. The winter rod would be the better foil, for it has proved its capabilities when called to deliver tiny dry flies to take advantage of miracles.

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