Friday was a particularly gorgeous summer day on the West Branch Delaware River. With plenty of sunshine and cotillions of windswept clouds passing, the light conditions changed continuously, offering a comfortable challenge to spot the odd trout sipping little sulfur mayflies in the moving currents. I had prepared for the challenge, opting for my five weight T&T Paradigm rather than a customary summer four weight.
Yes, a good eight-foot four will handle breezy conditions in the hands of a good fly caster, but experience leaves me forewarned when forecasts predict “winds 10 to 15 mph”. Here among the Catskill Mountains, that hopeful little euphemism most often means sustained winds of at least twenty mph, with higher gusts! I enjoyed the better end of that proposition though, the forecast being accurate for a rare afternoon.
The West Branch browns were on their game, as they typically are in this hard fished river. I spotted a soft swirl in the film here and there, the hints offered by wild trout moving restlessly, and taking the occasional mayfly while doing their best to avoid detection. For a while, none offered a trace of their existence in the same location more than once, feeding surreptitiously and moving. Eventually though, one made the mistake of taking a second time within inches of his previous rise, and the Paradigm placed my 100-year Dun a foot above the swirl.
That brown must have realized his mistake a split second too late. He took the fly, but not in a traditional sipping rise. My eyes were glued to the bobbing dun and then it simply wasn’t there. I tightened gently, almost tentatively, and the rod tip bounced down hard as the trout shot away toward mid-river, flying out of the shallow water fifty feet away. The sight of that first aerial burst, and the music of my vintage Perfect told me I had found the end to my dry spell.
My friend sought the safety of the clouds thrice more, shedding some of the accumulated green slime from my leader with each leap, and thus giving me a better chance of bringing him finally to the net. A solid, nineteen inch aerialist makes a fine slump buster!
I found no more subtle swirls in the aftermath of that battle, and only one soft, testing little rise as I wandered down river. I worked on that fellow as the wind turned to gusts, and I though I had him when one tiny ring seemed to envelop the fly. Hooked, he came out from the bank with a heavy feel, but something was off. He headed downstream steadily, though not at all rapidly, taking my line and half of the scant fifty yards of backing my classic reel provided. Eventually netted by the guide anchored in his drift boat more than fifty yards downstream, that fish displayed my fly in his dorsal fin, not his mouth. I laughed along with my impromptu net man as I pulled a few pounds of green slime from my leader in search of the treasonous fly.
Yesterday I made a trip back in time. It has been thirty years since I first visited Manchester, Vermont while working toward the opening of my Cumberland Valley fly shop, Falling Spring Outfitters. JA joined me for a visit to the American Museum of Fly Fishing to enjoy their Summer Festival.
Driving through the village, there wasn’t anything I recognized. The old Orvis store is gone, replaced by a beautiful structure that looks more like a major angling or ski lodge than a fly fishing shop. Inside it is more clothing store than anything else. We found no trace of an Orvis bamboo rod within, despite the company’s recent press heralding the history of Orvis rod making and their new commitment to the future of Orvis bamboo. The clerk we asked responded wistfully, as if he had a vague memory that bamboo rods once existed, though wasn’t really certain they still did.
The museum too has changed, housing a great deal of paintings amid the absence of the rows of historic cane fly rods and reels I remembered. Much of their space now pays homage to the late Orvis magnate Leigh Perkins. The displays are interesting and tastefully presented, though I feel it pales in comparison to our own Catskill Fly Fishing Center and Museum.
The Festival itself was enjoyable, though unexpectedly smaller than our CFFCM Summerfest. We both talked to a number of folks including neighbor John Shaner who drove up from Stilesville on the West Branch. We found him browsing sporting books at the booth of my favorite booksellers, the fine folks of Callahan & Company from Peterborough, New Hampshire. I enjoyed meeting Ken and Diane after many telephone conversations about the classic sporting books I have sought and ordered. JA seemed to meet someone he knew at every turn, beginning before we reached the first exhibitor’s table!
We carried a few books home, though neither of us found any bits of vintage tackle which proved to be beyond our resistance. I came close when I encountered a near mint Orvis 99 fly rod offered at a very reasonable price. Local vendors catered to our thirst and hunger pangs with a smooth craft beer and excellent pulled pork barbeque. I can offer high marks to the Straight Bourbon crafted by the folks at Smuggler’s Notch Distillery as well. Somehow, I managed to head home without a fifth of that spirit in tow, a regrettable lapse of memory on my part.
Wandering about Manchester brought back memories of my own history. Thirty years ago, I was ignited by the beauty and challenge of fly fishing and enjoyed sharing that fire with others through Falling Spring Outfitters. If anything, my passion has grown through the passing decades!
Bright Waters Catskill 