Rewinterization

Our February warmup has fizzled, leaving the river gages still frozen and a great deal of our last snowfall still on the ground. While temperatures improved markedly over the past five days, the sun failed to make more than a brief, last gasp glow in the western sky.

The Beaver Kill is our larger, undammed watershed, and though the flow rate gage is iced and inoperable, the gage height shows an increase of four tenths of a foot since yesterday, the product of sporadic rainfall and whatever snowmelt that began. Added flow is good flow at this time of year, and that gives me some hope for the early mayflies that deserted my favorite reaches of that iconic river last season.

I tied a trio of my Century Duns to match the Quill Gordons late this morning, more of a subtle plea to the Red Gods than an act toward filling any direct need in my usually overstuffed fly boxes. They are sitting here in front of me now.

I have nearly finished this, my third reading of the father’s Notes and Letters, yet I catch little things, points and mentions memory does not recall. He wrote often of the terrible troubles he had acquiring quality hooks and materials for his flies. Should he appear across the room from me I would put one of Charlie Collins’ gorgeous dun hackle capes in his hand, bid him to take it along back to neverland. I think he would appreciate my own personal tribute, the 100-Year Duns I tie, inspired by his own flies and writings. I hope so.