Come February, three months into the season I recognize as the Angler’s Winter, I seek signs of hope. Throughout my life, February has been the month when the first taste of relief graces the landscape, the time when some flurry of warmer air brings a handful of days hinting of spring! The February warmup has been very real the further south I have resided, but here in the glory of these Catskill Mountains it is all but a false hope.
Rare certainly, but not impossible, a true February warmup has graced these Catskills once in my half dozen winters here. It was glorious, with temperatures flirting with fifty degrees over three days, ice-free rivers, and the chance to angle. No, the glory of a rise did not appear, but a limber cane rod and a slow swinging presentation brought a grand reward. So, I look forward with some trace of hope.
Ice secures all of my rivers, and there are no rumors of change. Flows are low once more, and I fear the specter of anchor ice. Our snowpack remains light, but it is lasting, and that bodes well for the river sources, mountain springs and tiny brooklets where the bright waters are born. Hope, with fear of despair.
Tomorrow will mark the sixty-day threshold, and if there is to be no opportune awakening during February, hope must endure onward to March!
Bright Waters Catskill 