I am plotting a grand finale to the dry fly season, warm, bright afternoons with occasional showers interspersed with the blessings of the forests. For this is the season of plenty!
October, the word springs from my lips with the ebullience of youth, memories of wonderful days afield with my father, and later years crouching intent upon the flickering movement of a whitetail picking his way silently through a carpet of dry leaves. These days, the greatest store of memories are found along the rivers of my heart.
A recent one was captured by a friend, an old Hardy spinning away the raindrops clustered upon it’s rim, my classic Leonard rod arched with strain as a great brown that had thrice bested me rushed for freedom. Ah, the chances and changes autumn brings!
I feel the urgency of the season most upon the rivers, though the morning chill on forested ridges brings forth the same emotions: catch it before it’s gone!
A tiny wink of light a hundred yards off along the riverbank draws me there. Low water demands the stealthiest approach imaginable, and those yards seem like miles as anticipation builds. At last, I am within range, though the short wand in my hand seems woefully insufficient. The cast, the drift, and yes, the take follows! That little rod bends double as the old Hardy protests vehemently… off to the races!
In the shallows the game ends, and the tired fish is shepherded into the chilled, October current.
The urgency within builds each day, yes, yes… catch it before it is gone!
Bright Waters Catskill 