At last, we have enjoyed a few days of Catskill Summer! Cool, misty mornings, with some days steamy and hot while others flirt with that blissful realm of warmth and light. I caught up on some needed rest this holiday morning, as age seems to be catching up with me!
I love my morning hunts in summertime; they are all about my favorite way to fish at our loveliest time of year. The trout still come slowly this season. How could they not after two terrific onslaughts of fishing pressure and high water.
I wade slowly, keeping my presence unknown to the quarry as best I can. Perhaps non-threatening is a better word, for I do not believe even the stealthiest wader may pass without the trout’s awareness. Watch sometime as you simply stand in a quiet pool and cast. Body movements send gentle waves out, even when we may think only our arm is moving!
I stalked along looking for some clue to the sound of a subtle rise I had heard from a distance. I know that hunter may have moved many yards, either upstream or down, while this hunter made a careful approach. Listen, watch, and fish the cover selectively.
Motion caught my eye, it was not a neb that reflected the filtered sunlight though. A little water snake swam along the edge of the riverbank. I watched him for perhaps twenty feet, then a terrific, foamy bomb exploded in his path. Breakfast for hunter number two! I offered my fly anyway, a choice of two as a matter of fact, though they brought no interest. I feel confident his appetite was satisfied. Damn that snake!
Half a mile later I searched for hunter number three, chasing another sound. No serpents here I am thankful. Is hunter number three still haunting this edge? The vintage Leonard lays the Baby tight to the edge, working down in sections defined by the available lanes of drag-free drift. Plop!
His boil reminds me of the snake-eater, and then the LRH’s scream breaks the stillness of the morning! My rod and reel are fifty-five years old, and still young compared to hunter one who wields them. Tackle and angler outlast him, bringing him eventually to the shallows and the waiting mesh. Beautiful!
I keep stalking as the sun warms the last of the mist. It swirls away to join the bright air and vanishes on the way. Morning has passed on.
On some mornings, hunter one meets another. Battles ensue; some won, some lost. Some hunters are known by their movements, even a subtle rise at times, but refuse to play the game. The Red Gods decide the rules.
Bright Waters Catskill 