Dry Again

Last week’s rain was a blessing, though the relief it provided was short lived. Driving through Chenango County yesterday, an area that received more rain than Hancock’s environs, the landscape looked dry. We expected more autumn color there than we have begun to enjoy here at home and were surprised when we didn’t find it. We did find great music, food and great craft beer at Hidden Springs Brewhouse on a very beautiful early autumn day. This morning, the reality of another Catskill drought has taken center stage.

I am here writing down my thoughts just after sunrise, with foggy skies and a touch of chill in the air. Summer is wholly behind us, though this morning reminds of many spent through August and September. Yes, of course I am thinking of fishing…

October sidles in on Wednesday, and there are thoughts of tracking grouse through these Catskill forests. It looks to be a cool day, flanked by more summerlike temperatures, a welcome to one of the sportsman’s favorite months. How many times have I dreamed of an entire year of Mays and Octobers!

Even though I am far more than well-stocked for any form of trout fishing, I tied more than two dozen dry flies yesterday morning. The Catskill Fly Tyers Guild was contacted several weeks ago by a group hosting the fly fishing equivalent of the Army/Navy Game, the Army/Navy Fly Fishing Championship. The commandants of the two military academies hand select their best fly fishers among their cadres of exceptional cadets to compete on the water it seems, and the organizers look to equip each competitor with a box of hand tied flies. I tied two-dozen, 8 each of three of my own patterns. I like to think those flies will help make a memory for those fine young men committed to serving America.

My vise is idle this morning, as I will soon set about the daily task of selecting the bamboo rod to accompany me today. Perhaps a fly line will require cleaning, or a leader may need a new tippet – the preparation is a major part of the ritual. With a look at once more dwindling river flows, a light touch will be welcomed, and my Menscer 3 weight is calling to me from the rod rack…

That rod battled a two-foot wild brown trout to hand just over a month ago, and I hear it’s eager whispers from the rack behind me. Finding another trout like that in skinny water with the autumn spawning season approaching would be a tall order. Favorite pools have appeared rather barren, and I avoid the river’s riffles as September wanes. Our trout have no chance to ascend spawning tributaries that are nearly dry, so Nature’s call must bring them to mid-river riffles, where anglers must leave them alone.

I watched a recent YouTube video while eating breakfast the other day, with some thoughtless guy catching tiny rainbows in skinny water on the Beaver Kill and whooping it up rattling on about the “nice trout”. He thought himself to be quite the fisherman. It looked to be summer, and in or very close to a protected reach that is closed to angling from July to September. I hope some DEC officer sees that clip and comes knocking on that guy’s door.

Extended droughts are survival time for our trout. We must put their welfare above our own joy for fishing. It is simple really: stay out of the riffles, pay attention to the river bottom where you do wade, and don’t fish for any trout you see crowded together in one location. Trout crowd near spring seeps when they are stressed, not to provide a fishing bonanza for some thoughtless plunderer.

Three years ago, I took my last dry fly trout of the season on a beautiful afternoon in late October. That hen fish rose daintily to a perfectly presented size 18 olive in a glassy pool. When I removed the fly I noted her worn and healed tail, clearly advertising her post-spawn condition. She was in fine shape, strong and gorgeously colored. It was another dry autumn, and she had clearly spawned in a mid-river riffle. Droughts seem to come more often this decade, and I felt that valiant fish was a sign of the times: adapt, survive and flourish!