Wild trout are fascinating creatures. They are the source of our passion, rivals for our best in imitation, approach, casting and all the skills of angling, yet like us, they have their impulsive moments. There are days when I thank them for that.
Yesterday dispensed with the calm autumn beauty and bountiful sunshine featured recently and performed far more seasonably. That is to say, the wind buffeted me, turned the water into froth just downstream, and combined with the cold water to give me one of those permanent chills I have not felt since spring. Even when the water I was trying to fish sat relatively serene before me, wind through the mountains played it’s tricks just a long cast downstream. There it found a path between ridges and forest and drove the water across the breadth of the river, circling back upstream at the far shore. I mentioned to a passing drift boat that it looked like the tide was coming in.
I had not spotted any flies between the hundreds of bright leaves drifting downstream, and the chance for a rise grew ever less likely as the chill penetrated my core. All at once I saw a splash just beyond casting range, right in the wash of that incoming tide of windblown current. I concentrated upon the drift of the current and finally saw a pair of wings. The first grew into half a dozen, and I took my little Cahill from the frame of my stripping guide and pulled a length of fly line through the guides, stripping more onto the surface, just in case.
There was one smart rise in casting range, and my cast came automatically. Splash, pause, lift and hold on! I was fast to a very energetic brown trout, swirling and darting maniacally in his efforts to escape. He brought a smile to my face and laughter into my throat.
This wasn’t one of your sometimes suicidal 9-inch NYS issue stocked trout, this was a wild brownie some seventeen inches long. He was skinny for his length, and perhaps that is clue to why he alone suddenly tried to go on an impromptu feeding spree with just the barest trace of mayflies on the water. Whatever his reasons, I thank him for his service and the laughter he induced.
The wind did calm down later, the vacant river became crowded, and I walked slowly out trying to warm myself with the exertion. A few small olives brought an occasional rise here and there about the wide expanse of the pool, and there seemed to be a fisher parked on each of them. I can report that these trout failed to demonstrate the exuberance of my friend from earlier in the afternoon. They were doing a fine job of ignoring everyone’s flies!
Bright Waters Catskill 