I was sitting and watching Stephanie Abrams on the Weather Channel the other morning talk about a first taste of winter. It was not the news I wished to hear.
Yes, my dry fly season has ended, and the classic cane rods are racked for their long sleep, but I am not at all ready for daily scenes like the photo above!
The weather as November enters the mountains has been on the plus side of seasonal, mostly sunny afternoons in the fifties and chilly nights. Some mornings, like this one, bring heavy frosts. Had my good knee not begun aching these past few weeks, I would be somewhere on a mountain every day that I could. It is fine upland weather, and it need not be sullied by stormy winds and early snow.
With another bit of rainfall, our flow starved rivers picked up a touch, and I ventured back to the Beaver Kill with one of the old Orvis bamboo rods I reserve for swinging flies. No activity save a chub I’m afraid, as the trout have not shown themselves all season in the runs and pools I haunt. Memories still draw me back to those familiar reaches, despite the blatant truth of current conditions. Extended drought is no friend to freestone streams, and accordingly, rivers are cyclic. When trout are forced to flee from low flows and skyrocketing temperatures, a good dose of real stability is necessary for them to return, a stability I have not seen since spring last year.
It is time to dream of springtime and hope for Mother Nature’s kindness. A warmer, wetter winter would be a blessing, though dreary. Snow on the mountains is photogenic, quite lovely in the morning sunshine, but the fascination pales as the months pass.
Bright Waters Catskill 