The lake effect squalls are visiting once more, and the swirling flakes mirror the chaos in my mind. Mid-winter, a stalemate season between those last gloriously fishless moments of autumn and a spring that seems still so very far away.
It is well past the time to get down to serious fly design, exploring new concepts and tinkering with past successes. In truth this becomes ever more difficult, for the breadth of my experimentation has created many possibilities, some which have yet to find their way to the water.
It is the nature of a tactical angler to strive toward the best choice of fly for each situation, and I work to that same formula when ensconced in the flow of bright water with sweet opportunity on the fin. So many fly boxes, with so very many patterns tied in a moment of inspiration, waiting for their own chance to meet the challenge of the trout.
It has become necessary these past few seasons to assign some priority to a new idea, a fresh design. Too many times have I turned to a proven favorite when the solution designed for this specific moment lies hidden from view in one of too many fly boxes. Decades of experience has taught many lessons, and one that is paramount is the fleeting nature of true opportunity. A stocked trout may rise happily for the duration of a hatch, but the champions of the evolved wild races of our Catskill browns and rainbows are oft as ephemeral as the mayflies themselves. A subtle bulge, a slight swirl in the edge of a current can be easy to miss when the main run before us displays half a dozen riseforms. Chances are we will get just one look, one moment to notice the signs of a trophy fish, scrutinize the currents at play, and make the cast.
There are exceptions to every rule, and once in a while we encounter a prime specimen quietly feeding off by itself. If we angle flawlessly, and the availability of the food form remains constant, we may fish to that rare specimen for a significant time. These are the rare chances to try new flies and fresh ideas, but with the full knowledge that the game may cease at any moment. That ticking clock plays upon our thoughts and inhibits our choices.
The sages of our sport have taught us the rule: that trout will select the most abundant, easily available bite of food to the exclusion of all others in the drift. That seems logical at first, at least until years of experience begin to erode one’s confidence in simple answers. There are thousands of anglers fishing our best rivers and streams, and the wild trout have developed genetically to this grand assault. Many individuals, often the longest lived and largest specimens, waive the rules of the sages, following their own very specialized instincts. These are precisely the fish that will best test our new ideas, but they rarely offer themselves for inspection for any significant amount of time, or in the readily apparent times and places.
I have taken to improving my organization, arming my Wheatleys with my prime patterns for solving the spring hatches, then keeping another simple compartment box in my vest for the experimental flies. Still, some new perchance even revolutionary ideas have remained untried. My hunter’s instinct gets in the way despite the wisdom of preparation.
Since retirement, I have enjoyed the luxury of angling one hundred days or more each season. It is not enough. Dangerously high flows, winds of thirty miles per hour or more, and violent spring cold fronts all rob me of precious days afield while the desire burns bright! These are all part of the grand challenge of angling. It is truly the difficulties that make the brighter moments all the more precious in our memories.
Bright Waters Catskill 