There’s an old 1940’s St. George waiting on the ottoman, it’s line freshly polished and a brand-new leader and tippet attached, snugged into the sheepskin liner of it’s leather case. The ferrules on the five weight Leonard were cleaned just the other day, and it waits too right beside that ottoman. I can feel the old magic now, that tingle at the first blush of morning on the spring skyline; I’m going fishing!
A best friend will join me, and he’ll bring polished cane and dry flies just as I do. We know what it is we seek, to touch that magic of the past and pull it with us into our own futures.
The rivers are freshened with a long spring rain. Hope says they have cleared just enough, and the mayflies that have proven more than ephemeral for these past two weeks will make full appearance and greet the season with their own ritual of life and renewal.
Mr. Brown will consent to join us too, for he’s as hungry for those flies as we are for his company!
We are both old men, but this morning we feel as giddy as boys, comparing flies tied just yesterday, vaunting their merits as the be all and end all patterns no trout may resist. Aye, we go a-fishing!
Bright Waters Catskill 