A Kinder, Gentler Winter

There was sunlight on the north mountains this morning, a softly ruddy glow as the early rays filtered through the clouds to welcome another winter day. Alas, that sun brings no promise of warmth, for the Catskills remain in a cycle of deep freezes. It has been a winter without hope of fishing and continues in kind.

Demonstrating a classic Hendrickson last evening for assembled members of the Guild, it was easy to let my concentration wander. A question or two concerning the color of hackle required devolved quickly into a flood of opinions about colors and statements about each tyer’s own choices for their Hendricksons. Of course, I reminded that the exercise requested of me was the classic or one of the original Hendrickson dry flies, in this case, the style tied by the Dettes. We continued into joking and good-natured teasing, which actually awakened me from my winter fog.

Too much time indoors will do that to me, fogging my mind and increasing the aches and pains in my body, and here’s a note from my computer telling me temperatures to plummet next Tuesday. How might they plummet from the morning low of zero forecast for tomorrow?

Though trophy trout had become increasingly rare in my Cumberland Valley waters, there was some tradeoff presented with the mildness of the winters and the steady temperatures of the valley’s limestone springs. There would of course be periods when snow and ice prevailed upon the landscape, but they were quickly followed by milder breezes and sunlight. Four-wheel drive allowed entry to unplowed stream access areas, and the trout fed throughout the winter.

Yes, it was subsurface fishing, drifting shrimp and cressbugs, twitching a Shenk Minnow or sculpin through the deeper pockets where some watercress held out through the colder months. The trout were still difficult, and the right fly and presentation required to tempt them. All of this began to change in March!

Those last few winters I stalked Big Spring with tiny olives whenever the sun warmed the surface slightly. On the clear, springfed currents that meant 6x tippet and a dram of hope, for the big, wild rainbows that populated the stream after the dismantling of the State hatchery above the spring source were thrilling opponents!

Ah, to be lost in such thoughts, while the sun penetrating my window belies the icy world beyond!