After a genuine stormy day yesterday, our Catskill rivers finally have some relief! I stole a couple of hours on the river until the thunder rolls chased me around Noon. The previous night’s rain had raised the flow only slightly, but the change did awaken a relatively dormant trout or two.
I guess that my actual fishing time clocked in at just about an hour, with the last fifteen minutes heightened by paying close attention to the distant thunder on the back side of the mountains. I quickened my pace when I saw an impromptu explosion downstream, as I was already taking furtive glances at the dark skies and working my way back in the direction of the car.
I was armed with one of my rainy-day rods. The vintage five weight Thomas & Thomas Paradigm earned that moniker for it’s impregnated finish, something offered as an option back in ’79 as one of the great rod companies marked their tenth anniversary. The Paradigm was known as the favorite taper of founder Thomas Dorsey. Some think it qualifies as parabolic, though T&T never described it that way. They called it a caster’s taper. I heartily agree!
Chasing that trout, I appreciated the Paradigm’s ability to reach out effortlessly, as I was trying to avoid wading too far out into the river channel. Half of my attention was focused on a quick getaway should those thunderheads make their way over the mountain.
I was fighting for visibility, wearing polarized glasses under those dark skies, and my low floating fly was difficult to track. I was straining hard to see it tight along the bank when my sixth sense told me it was no longer floating. I quickly tightened into a firm pull.
The trout objected immediately to his lunch biting him back, darting to and froe and turning those little underwater somersaults so effective in leveraging a hook out of the mouth. I had no chance to get him on the reel, instead playing him by hand with lots of fast stripping followed by some measured fingertip line control. Of course, that was the time the Red Gods picked to increase the volume of those now less distant thunder rolls. They were obviously getting closer to my mountain.
I pressured that brown into the net, wiggled him in line with the measurement scale, then let him return to search for a less belligerent meal. I reeled up my line and made tracks downstream, no longer concerned with stealth. The rain came about halfway back, though there was no lightning along for the ride. By the time I stowed my assembled rod in the back and started down the road, the rain beat down with some real ferocity.
Watching the storms come one after another from my nice, dry angler’s den, I felt satisfied. I had stolen an hour and a fine brown trout, and my rivers were finally getting the rainfall they so desperately needed. Can’t help but call that a good day!
Bright Waters Catskill 