Hopeful

A blur of color and motion… life? Indeed, I hope to encounter a trout as tired of waiting as I am, one to pose that question and find his answer in the drift of the fly.

And so begins week two, it’s predecessor’s hopeful arrival having succumbed to cold air and colder water. Once again, we failed to receive the coveted rainfall we were promised. To my eyes, last year’s drought cycle continues. Rivers are low here in mid-April, and reservoirs remain unreplenished from the City’s ill-timed drawdown of 2024.

The sun has appeared once more, and I hope it stays. Low flowing rivers warm faster than those flush with runoff!

A classic Catskill dry fly rod lies ready, a pair of freshly tied 100-Year Duns await. Experience says no, but I have been fooled by cold water before. The rivers must be visited, not simply considered, and no, I shall not dredge the bottom in want. It is the grandest of sport that I seek, the magic of the dry fly! Nature and her Red Gods decide when that sport begins.