Drawn to the porch by the cloudless sky, I found the bright ball of the sun already low o’er the top of Point Mountain. That last glow urged the thermometer to an unbelievable sixty-five degrees on this fifteenth of December.

I sat for those last few minutes, the last full rays of that sunshine warming my chest, and nary a cough escaped my lips.

There is still crusty snow on the shady side of my little clapboard house, but oh the pleasures of those brief moments of porch sitting!

The sun shines brightly in the winter sky, threatening to warm our mountain air enough to flirt with fifty degrees. Oh, how I wish I could slip away and swing a fly for a couple of hours! Alas, an old enemy – bronchitis – has me coughing and retching horribly with even a short walk in the winter air. I am a prisoner of memories…

There has been a great deal of observation and fly tying experimentation these past few seasons, committed as I have become to hunting the great wild trout of the rivers of my heart. If I let my mind wander a bit, the patterns that worked exceptional magic bring a smile, brightened by the memory of the moments that crystallized my resolve to continue my quest.

Tied first as a Poster, she produced some mesmerizing moments during a lull in the seasonal hatches. I was angling on a favorite reach of bright water on such a day. There were barely enough flies to bring a few soft rises intermittently, and the timing and location made me feel certain they were sulfurs. None of my tried-and-true sulfurs drew any interest from a trout, and then I remembered that Delaware morning. I set to work on one devilishly inviting riseform and the ensuing battle left me breathless when I brought a heavily muscled two-foot brownie to the net!

That was not to be the end of my day, for the fly I have come to call the Lady H fooled another leviathan of like proportions come early afternoon. The lady has since earned her own fly box, which harbors an assortment of Posters, parachutes, CDC Duns and 100-Year Duns! She makes magic between the earlier Hendricksons and the March Browns, when long days on the river sometimes reveal few risers, thus the little Lady H has stolen this angler’s heart!

I recall showing some early 100-Year Duns to a friend who asked me why the wing was “pushed down like that”. I continually pay homage to the father, Theodore Gordon, for the inspiration to begin my journey tying the single canted wood duck wing. Though my signature fly began with the Green Drakes all those years ago, the expansion into all of the other primary Catskill hatches has revealed just how effective this style of fly can be. In particular, the small flies have been revolutionary.

Last year, late October, and my season finale proved to be perfection. I had tied three little 100-Year Duns on size 18 hooks, dubbed with my old favorite olive muskrat fur, and winged with widgeon. Late in the afternoon I stalked a low, clear flat and discovered a gentle dimple near a fallen branch in the edge of the shade. The fly was cast short, one time to assess the float, then offered to the full soft ring before me. Oh, she spun the Hardy LRH madly as she streaked to mid-river, my coveted T&T Hendrickson bowed mercilessly! Captured, she was a gorgeous apparition of gold and bronze, my final trophy for the dry fly season.

In April, I live and breathe for the Hendricksons, but even with a good hatch on the water, Nature can weave a mystery of deceit. It was not one of those days to find multiple risers, and when I finally found one good fish in a difficult lie, I gave my full attention. It took me some time to realize that, though there were plenty of plump Hendrickson duns dancing on the broken currents above that trout, I had failed to see even one vanish in the soft rings that betrayed my fish’s lie. There had been little flurries of smaller flies earlier in the day, but I was seeing only Hendricksons out there on that run.

My eyes fell upon the last of those little widgeon-winged olives tied last fall, and I smiled as I plucked it from my fly box. All hail the little 100-Year Duns!

I missed last week’s Zoom gathering of the Catskill Fly Tyers Guild, not by intent certainly, but as a result of battling the end of a nasty head cold and the onslaught of the bronchitis that used to plague me during my working years. To avoid another misstep due to weariness, I have been playing with some hackles and dubbing this morning, preparing for tomorrow eveningof .

Though our tying sessions are intended to be casual, our President likes to have some attention brought to a classic Catskill fly to begin these meetings and looks to someone to volunteer to pick a fly and demonstrate it. This opening interlude does help to keep our group aware of our mission and appreciation of the history of Catskill fly tying, and it does help make members aware of some of the lesser known patterns. I am a fan of this week’s fly myself, none other than the late John Atherton’s No. 4 dry fly.

Some may think of the No. 4 as the artist/angler’s Hendrickson, for his blend of natural and dyed red seal fur, muskrat and hare’s ear was mixed to produce a “grayed, mixed pink” coloration. In truth, he intended it to be fished when a variety of pinkish, reddish hued flies were on the water, including some of the spinners. My initial blend from a winter or two ago proved to be darker than I believe Atherton intended, so this morning’s first task was to lighten it up a bit. I have a piece of beaver pelt dyed pink, so I cut a little in various shades, adding that and a bit more silvery gray muskrat underfur. It looks better to me now, more like the color his words conveyed, so I will see how the trout like it.

Jack Atheron’s ideas of color in nature fit with my own concepts, borne of decades of observation. Natural things are not cast in plain solid colors, there are mixed shades of blended and primary colors and iridescence mingled in Nature’s hues. I unknowingly agreed with Atherton’s impressionistic theories of fly color long before I secured a copy of his only angling book; “The Fly and the Fish”. Becoming well acquainted with his ideas in recent years, I now count him as an influence in my own tying and fly design.

I tied an initial pair of Number Fours in my 100-Year Dun style during my preparation for tomorrow evening’s meeting. I experimented with a mix of Cree and barred medium dun hackles on the first fly, then turned back to Atherton’s recipe, using Cree and medium dun for the second. This style of tie is less suited to the use of two individual hackles than a Catskill fly, so I expect that my final version will be tied with a beautifully barred Dun Cree Collins cape. I will see how I like that choice when I tie some during the Zoom meeting.

I began re-reading “The Fly and the Fish” yesterday, eager to refresh my memory. I’m about halfway through, just coming to the patterns and his discussions concerning their creation and use. Winter is my reading season after all.

The dust upon the rod racks lies undisturbed, and the vise sits idly amid the clutter of my bench. The unrequited fervor of a season closed too soon has passed, and I have settled in for winter.

A dusting of snow greeted my first vision from Angler’s Rest this morning, bringing surprise later on as I learned of school delays throughout the region. While the snow didn’t amount to much, there must have been some icing on the roadways to elicit such panic over a dusting. Hopefully, all are safe.

I turned to my angling library this morning, choosing a little book from 1965; R. Palmer Baker’s “The Sweet of the Year”. Winter always finds me turning my thoughts to the Golden Age of which Mr. Baker writes.

There are many fine writers and anglers who chronicled those years, favorites like Dana Lamb and Sparse Gray Hackle, and world traveled Ernest Schwiebert. Their works provide my sustenance of the soul during the long months of a Catskill winter.

My fly tying has entered it’s annual lull, since there is no fishing on the horizon. Talk of Catskill patterns and history during our Thursday evening Guild meetings will spur my fingers into action soon enough. We will pass mid-December this week, leaving roughly four months of waiting for that first flutter of gray mayfly wings upon the leaden surface of a river still shivering from long days and nights of ice and snow.

Four months still feels like an eternity to the dry fly angler; but four is better than six, eh?

Ah, the “first” American dry fly! Theordore Gordon’s peacock quill bodied mayfly imitation enjoys that historic distinction, although it cannot be proved to be so. Certainly, this is the creation most associated with the enigmatic Mr. Gordon, and undoubtedly his most famous pattern, though no one can say it was positively his first attempt at imitating American Catskill river mayflies. Still beautiful and effective well more than a century after his death, the fly stands on it’s own merit.

This is the fly I chose to begin my 2023 season on the hallowed Beaver Kill. Lashed to the leader adorning my classic Leonard flyrod, Gordon’s Quill produced two much better than average size brown trout on day zero of my personal calendar countdown, a perfect beginning to my Catskill dry fly season! Could that be anything but magic?

I owe much to Mr. Gordon and his Quill. One preserved from his own vise has long been an inspiration to me.

Gordon’s canted wing style intrigued me, particularly as his followers who popularized the Catskill school of fly tying remained steadfast with the upright divided wing style. Gordon tied dry flies both ways, though he wrote that he thought the single canted wing produced the best imitation of the naturals. After nearly twenty years of experimenting with the single canted wing, I am convinced he was correct in his opinion.

Indeed, Mr. Gordon has been a major influence on many of us enthralled by the magic of a trout and a mayfly, fueling our own best efforts to intercede in their dance. Tying a half dozen classic Gordon Quills is my transition from this season unto the next. I welcome December and the commencement of my winter fly tying, the long months of study and thought, hoped to bring me to a greater understanding of that magic ballet, new insights which we all seek as spring brings warmer days and warmer waters!

Welcome to December, where winter shall officially begin, if November’s snow squalls and twenty-something lows managed not to convince anyone.

Last night some 39 members of the Catskill Fly Tyers Guild met via Zoom to tie the late Jimmy Deren’s early season Catskill fly known as the 50 Degrees. The evening featured a variety of good-natured banter as usual, while any attendees who wished tied a few flies in the comforts of their own benches. I tied one of the Deren patterns myself, before wandering down another path of Catskill history.

While talking about the specified dubbing mixture of “muskrat, with a little brown” Seth Cavaretta mentioned the fly was similar to the Dark Hendrickson, which got me to thinking about sage tyer Harry Darbee’s version of same. Harry specified the fur as “brown and gray fox” and I had made myself a supply during a previous winter, taking the brown fur from the legs of a Red Fox pelt with it’s medium gray underfur for a ride in the coffee grinder. I had used a bit of that same brown fox leg fur to mix for my 50 Degrees stash. Thus the mind wanders in winter and the fingers follow. For the rest of the meeting, my vise was turning out Darbee Dark Hendricksons.

Thinking about Harry’s pattern, I recalled the little brownish alternative Hendricksons I collected and matched a few Aprils ago. These flies appeared after the expected tannish size fourteen flies had been on for a few days, copied on a size 16 hook, and displayed a delightful lightly creamed coffee brown color. I matched them with quill bodied CDC Duns and 100-Year Duns, taking some magnificent trout!

At one point in the evening’s conversation, one member hailed a newcomer whom it appeared was joining from a cabin somewhere in or very near these Catskill Mountains. It was suggested he stay and fish over the weekend, citing a 52-degree forecast. I observed that there would be no bugs and the trout would not rise. This morning the Beaver Kill flows at an ideal 543 cfs, lovely for wading and fishing if one ignores the sub-35 degree water temperature. Yes, dry fly season is over. The time has come to let our trout rest until recovered from the spawn. From my own decades of personal experience, there is no cold so numbing to both body and soul as a fifty-degree rainy day on the water can produce.

December, and it is better we sit back and enjoy the soothing effects of warmed Catskill bourbon and honey and wind the threads of next spring’s Gordon’s Quills and Hendricksons. We can dream a bit, beyond the months of ice and wind, on to blissful spring sunshine upon bright water!