Winter Winds

It seems that winter’s winds must find the Catskills to their liking, for they always stay behind to welcome spring. Many times I have sat the riverbank or waited waist deep in the river as those visiting winds blew whitecaps upstream.

I do believe that the Red Gods are behind it. They cultivate those howling wintry winds, teasing them to linger past their season for the benefit of their devilment!

One spring day I dropped the boat into the West Branch, smiling at the forecast for light and variable winds and a warm overcast. I was set to begin counting the Hendricksons with such perfect conditions. Ah, best laid plans…

The Red Gods had other ideas, courting one of those leftover February winds from their hiding place and unleashing it upon me as I anchored along the one bank to reveal a handful of rising trout. Back casts do not fare too well when necessity directs them into the teeth of a steady 20 mph blow.

Wading doesn’t fare such better during such hijinks. Countless days I have endured where the only trout to show occupied some difficult back-eddied lie along the windward bank.

There are times though when blind perseverance has defeated such evil magic. I can recall a wild, windswept day on the Beaver Kill when a rise of trout seemed hopeless. To add to my frustration, a pair of fishermen decided that despite miles of open water they simply had to wade in right on top of me. The interlopers paid their penance that day, for their casting proved to be as lacking as their courtesy. One good fish took a Hendrickson fifty feet out and my Menscer hollowbuilt fired my fly through the gusts, taking the lone trout that pool surrendered, a beautiful twenty-inch brown!

It is funny how many fine tales I have read of wondrous spring hatches bringing great fishing under the worst conditions. I have huddled against winds, hooded and hunkered to keep the sleet from biting my cheeks, and shivered in countless chilling spring rains, and on none of those days can I recall so much as a threat of fishing.

And so, the winds rattle my little house and bring fond memories of suffering the wrath of the Red Gods. Of course, as winter continues to defy the calendar, I’d welcome some time on the river to enjoy that sweet torture. These last two weeks of March seem endless…