Five AM on a Sunday and sulfurs are taking shape here at my bench. There are more to come, some biot cripples and then there will be some olives in the crippled, dead and dying modes. Hard to figure that, with so few mayflies this season, our wild trout would ignore the sparse numbers of drifting duns on a heavily chilled and misty afternoon and sip here and there for some drowned, crippled or otherwise mangled mayflies. Such are the wages of fishing pressure and evolution. The better we become as predators, the better they become as prey!
Summer is still new at this point, somewhat uncomfortable I suspect with it’s new role as bringer of warmth and plenty. We have already endured a short, serious heat wave, and on my last fishing day my hands were so cold I found myself unable to tie on a new tippet. Perhaps the weather will come around once the land and rivers get used to the idea. The glory of a Catskill Summer is something special: golden sun dappled days in the seventies caressed by gentle breezes.
I have begun to find a few hunters on the prowl. Battles have been won and battles have been lost of late, but it is good to take up a fine bamboo rod and stalk the rivers after so many missed days. The breadth of summer lies in wait. Pray that it will be as lovely as memory and as bright and fresh as this sunlit morning!
Bright Waters Catskill 