I am hunkered here at my tying desk, entombed in fleece and down as the wind howls between my outside wall and the tent protecting the drift boat, thinking about floating that boat down the rush of bright water visible above.
It would seem like a good year to take an early, solo float, something I have done a number of times in retirement. Perhaps the most enjoyable of these sojourns came during those early months of the pandemic. Imagine ten miles upon the West Branch of the Delaware without sight of another soul?
Solitude is not something you find along the most popular trout river in the East, not even when you venture forth before the vaunted spring hatches have begun!
An early season wind can make that boat a cold place to spend the day, but the truth is it is many times warmer than wading a forty-degree river. Will the trout rise? No, of course they will not, but I always have a rod rigged beside me. Such trips are something besides simply fishing. They are a moment of reverence paid to Nature and her Red Gods; grateful thanks for many precious days upon bright water.
Once the sun has grown strong enough to bring the rivers past the mid-forties, I can almost convince myself there is a chance for an insect to flutter upon the surface, a prayer for a trout to rise. I am smiling as I think of that, remembering so many days when forty-eight has broken my heart.
My calendar says fifty-three days of waiting remain, though this one is closer now to evening than to morning. That weekend warming trend still lies ahead, despite today’s swirling snowflakes and the chill I am feeling in my bones efforts to erode my anticipation.
Bright Waters Catskill 