I took my first riverwalk of the season just now, the same path I tread throughout the winter. It is a bright afternoon, clear blue skies above and a chill to the air. I had toyed with the idea of driving out to the river to swing a few flies for an hour or two, to make the most of the 55-degree sunshine, but the passion simply isn’t there. The end of the dry fly season feels hopeless and uninspired when I finally must accept that the end has truly come.
Transitions can be difficult for those impassioned by bright water. Life has been bright and vivid for seven months, always with a new challenge, some new source of excitement, and then, suddenly, the light of bright water goes out for a time. I know it will not last, that acceptance of the change will come after some time upon the mountainsides, but now the loss burns deeply.
Bright Waters Catskill 