Twenty-four days now until I can walk the riverbanks with purpose again, and still we seem to be dodging Nature’s attempts to elongate the wait. Storm Sage brought a great deal of wind and, I had thought, the winter’s heaviest fall of snow. Out to clear the porch and driveway of her gift, I measured seven inches in a flat area that appeared sans drifts, and ten in another where though windblown, there seemed to be a larger area of constant depth. Cold wind continued amid bright sunshine the day after, and yesterday grew positively balmy with lots of melting.
I feared the worst for our rivers, expecting more snow up high and the resultant high, cold, muddy flows that do nothing good for our wild trout or their environs. With showers this morning, I looked at the river gages with clenched teeth, happily finding a stable situation here on the east side of the Catskills, a bonus with spring just three days away.
Ordering a couple of old books yesterday afternoon I asked my favorite New Hampshire bookseller of his fate. “Thirty-six to forty inches” he replied, “we’re still digging out”. So once again, the Catskills has dodged a calamity ridden storm system, and I give thanks for both the replenishment of our aquifers and the absence of a springtime disaster.
I don’t know if there is another storm brewing on the west coast, frigid air from Canada whipping it’s moisture into the next blizzard. I am honestly afraid to look this close to the season’s opener.
We have been fortunate this winter, the snow and rain received having generally maintained the historical average. The trout redds and the insects will benefit from the lack of floods and anchor ice that have marked the past couple of winters, and I have hope for a good season.
It is easy to sit back and dream of warm sunshine on my back and shoulders, a subtle bulge out in front, shimmering like all magic things do, as I lengthen my line and drop the dry fly smoothly above the center of the whirl. Will he take?
Bright Waters Catskill 