Nature has finally offered a small gift under cover of a pleasantly rainy day. Are our rivers out of trouble? Sadly no, but at least the trout can take a breath for the time being. Color has begun to gather along the rivers and the Quickway, and at last, I shall return to the river.
My week began with doctors, chores and writing, and most anything besides fishing, the balance of it spent praying for rain that did not come, crying for the state of the rivers, and finally thanking Mother Nature for that small gift I spoke of. Today I will carry an old Leonard and a box of dry flies to see what she has wrought.
Thus begins the last race of the dry fly season, the race that might end at any moment. Early autumn is quite beautiful in these Catskill Mountains, but it bows to winter at the slightest provocation.
I still have hope for a grand finale, and a wet and wholly replenishing winter; that the mayflies absent this season may reappear for the next, and the hungry, worried trout find abundance and grace.
I tied a few flies this morning, not that I needed any, but more to pass the morning hours in my own way, to keep my own traditions. The summer vest remains well stocked with most anything I might find upon bright water at this time. The sun can be expected come afternoon, but the day seems perfect for a flannel shirt.
The old Hardy wears a freshly cleaned double taper, it’s leader bearing a good tippet, and needs only to be carried to the car. It is a comfortable fit for the old Leonard, both of them more than half a century old, but fit and ready for the rush of a well-hooked brown!
Bright Waters Catskill 