Solitude Is A Winter River

Nature winked at our Catskill Mountains just yesterday. With a pair of winter storms working their frigid ways across the country, our temperature soared to fifty-eight degrees for the afternoon despite mostly dark and dampish conditions. I knew it was coming, and how could I fail to have faith in such a forecast? There was no question that I would wander a favorite reach of river to celebrate this day.

It was fishing, but then again it wasn’t. Not that excited “I’m going to catch some” kind of fishing, not that springtime sort of energy, but still; fishing.

I truly had no expectations of catching a trout, not even one of seeing a trout to be honest, but I was going to take this single day and get something beneficial out of it nevertheless.

Today will be twenty degrees colder than yesterday, and the thirties look to be the norm for a long run of days. If nothing else, that fueled my desire to spend my time along bright water.

My soul sought another moment of solitude, my legs one more walk against currents, and my spirit the spark of another chance to dabble in the game which enthralls the angler. I found all of that, and more.

The Kiley bamboo cast smoothly and far with little effort, as I followed each cast down and across the clear gray mirror of the river. Flows are better now, still low, but improved over the last weeks of the dry fly season. The rain received had come on the edge of the warmer air and the river gages showed rising temperatures through the night. Though my flies touched nothing save the jutting river rocks, there were sporadic signs of life.

I saw two or three rises clearly during the afternoon, strong rises, though singular and far beyond casting range. There were a few glimpses of nervous water as well, and I drifted a soft hackled fly through those areas a time or two. Whatever attracted those signs of life, my flies failed to imitate, but I still felt that little charge for a couple of casts.

I appreciated the reprieve from winter, even though just a handful of fishless hours, they were spent where I wanted doing what I needed.