In his lovely work on the history of America’s most famous trout river, The Beaverkill, Ed Van Put documented various non-fishing recreational activities popular during the growth of the region’s tourism reputation. Porch sitting was one of those enjoyed by visitors to the fresh air, bright waters and mountains of New York’s Catskills.

When I founded Anglers Rest here in 2018, the first order of business was the reconstruction of the front porch. I labored alone, in a summer far too wet for fishing, and have since regularly enjoyed that historic activity. An ice cold craft beer typically accompanies me.

During the past decade or so, the Catskills have become a craft beer destination! The Roscoe Beer Company was the first microbrewery of my association, inaugurating a serious movement. Catskill Brewery in Livingston Manor followed in 2014 and now has a new neighbor there in the name of Upward Brewing Company. There are many more across the region today, including Hidden Springs Brewhouse, one of my favorites near Chenango Lake in Norwich, NY. These fine establishments add a shine to my evening porch sitting, already flavored by the sunlight, fresh air and view of eagles circling Point Mountain.

I find that kicking back and enjoying the late afternoon sunshine to be the perfect relaxation to reflect upon the day’s angling. Such moments are most poignant now as these last precious days of summer carry hints of autumn on the breeze!

I stole three hours of fishing from other responsibilities yesterday, as the seasons’ first cascade of yellow leaves wafted down to kiss the river. It made for a lovely time there, but did little for fishing success, as every other cast hooked a leaf when I picked up my spent line for another cast.

Alas, the seasons’ turning comes with the realization that Catskill autumns are as brief as they are beautiful. I have not known the dry fly season to survive October! Autumn arrives just two days hence, and I am not ready to surrender my fishing days. The new rods, the Friendship Rod and my Anglers Rest Special compete for my attentions against the whiles of the classics, each wishing for one more day upon these bright waters.

September slips past me, and at last summer comes to it’s inevitable end. The days are shorter now, the morning chill lasts on into early afternoon, and the rivers keep no secrets beneath the thinning curtain of their depleted flows. A rise is an event on days like these.

Season’s end perennially comes too quickly, and autumn, sweet autumn, is brief in these Catskill Mountains.

I struggle to keep thoughts of winter from intruding, from taking my thoughts away from the simple beauty of these last weeks of the dry fly season.

I drove along the Beaver Kill Saturday morning, my somber visage reflecting my deep concern for the health of the great river. Flows have dropped even lower than last summers’ base flow conditions, and I fear for the onset of winter without Nature fully bolstering our meager rainfall throughout the last kiss of autumn. The torrents of May gave hope for the replenishment of the highland’s springs that give birth to all rivers, but September tells the tale… false hope!

My routine beckons: check the river gages, choose a battle plan and select my tackle for the day. Drive the melancholy thoughts from my head and look to savor the last hours of Catskill Summer!

It seems another very dry September has settled upon the Catskill Mountains. The ten-day forecast shows not a drop of rainfall in the offing, and rivers are already shriveled.

The weather has been beautiful, save for the drought, with pleasant sun-filled afternoons and chilly nights. These are perfect days for fishing.

I spent a little time with friends last evening, wading in the shadows of evening in search of a good rise of trout. My friends had enjoyed good action the night before, and we anticipated a similar outing, but the Red Gods kept the mayflies’ numbers sparse as to awaken a rise just here and there. The company was pleasant, the scenery sublime on a clear West Branch evening; as we anglers often say, the fishing was lovely, it was only the catching that was somewhat lacking.

It has been a number of years since I faithfully haunted these rivers at sunset. With the luxury of retirement, I fish in daylight, enjoying all the beauty and wonder of the Catskills – mountains, rivers and sky! In my traveling days I would often fish through each day unto night. Well, at least during my younger traveling days.

Summer evenings are beautiful, though a wealth of my recollections of bygone days reveals many when it was the catching that paled amidst the vast wonder of the outdoor experience.

My first hatch, and the first to capture my heart was the sulfur hatch. These small yellow and orange mayflies were the premier hatch on the Pennsylvania limestone springs, and they entranced us most often at twilight. As the skies neared full darkness, the hatch reached it’s peak and fishing became a frenzy. Time is short, and the time is now!

Those nights are the province of memory now, for my twilight fishing is rare in my later years. I feel that same excitement in daylight now, stalking a soft, barely noticeable dimple in the shade…

The 31st Catskill Rodmakers Gathering convened on September fifth at the Catskill Fly Fishing Center & Museum with enthusiasm high! As always, there were a variety of rods to cast and admire, tapers and techniques to discuss, and old friendships to renew.

This was just my second Gathering, having attended in 2022 as an aficionado, then peeking in last year to enjoy Dr. Peer Doering-Arges’ presentation on Lo o bamboo. This year I qualified, having completed my first hand-made split bamboo fly rod just a week earlier. I enjoyed the chance to have several of my mentors cast my rod and offer their impressions.

My long time Pennsylvania friends and influences, the guys I have referred to as the two Toms, Tom Smithwick and Tom Whittle, both bestowed their approval upon inspection and casting. I met both of these gentlemen in the early 1990’s at Falling Spring Outfitters, my small fly shop in Pennsylvania’s iconic Cumberland Valley. Each has influenced and supported my immersion in the world of split bamboo. My rod was made to a taper designed by Tom Whittle, and he was interested to experience the result of combining his design with the new Vietnamese Lo o bamboo, which has different physical characteristics than the time-honored Tonkin cane.

My dear friend John Apgar, the Steward of the Catskill Rodmakers Workshop as chosen heir to the legacy of the late Mike Canazon, was my primary guide and instructor during the eight months I worked on my rod. Our friendship traces back to Falling Spring Outfitters as well, and this was his first chance to see the finished rod and give it a cast. He offered full approval as I spoke of the magic of that first trout taken on a rod born in my own hands.

We were treated to a number of presentations, both historic and practical. Virginia classic tackle dealer Paul Kearney of Thornton River Fly Tackle gave a thought-provoking talk centered upon the year 1915, making a substantial case for the events of that year marking the birth of the modern fly rod. Angler’s tastes were changing, and rodmakers such as H. L. Leonard and F.E. Thomas were responding with shorter, lighter and faster cane fly rods to meet their demands. The fever for the dry fly was spreading!

Legendary rodmaker and author Hoagy Carmichael delighted us with reminiscences of his time with Everett Garrison, and spoke about his experiences with several of the other masters of the craft. Mr. Carmichael remains one of the most knowledgeable collectors of classic tackle, and displayed an array of gems including a pair of $10,000.00 Garrison rods!

Several of us enjoyed good fun by participating in the casting contest sponsored by the Bellinger Company. I borrowed a unique vintage Leonard Model 66ACM eight-footer and took my shot as the winds blew. I set no records for distance, but chided the scorer that there should be extra points awarded for consistency, as my four scored efforts landed side by side within inches of 66 feet. He told me he had never seen that before, but I replied that I am a fishing caster, a discipline where consistency counts more than maximum reach!

The Catskills seem caught in a cycle of cold nights, and warm dry days, looking and feeling like both summer and autumn. A little rain teased us during the Gathering weekend but worked no magic for our trickling rivers. The magic in the air was all provided by comradery and a deep interest and passion for the craft of split bamboo rod making. Can’t wait until next year!

I seem always to be drawn back to the Delaware River come September. This year the water temperatures are cool with the weather moderating over the last half of August, and the flows low enough for very comfortable wading, yet sufficient to allow the trout to enjoy the great rivers’ variety of habitats.

After an easy, extended morning of tying flies, sneaking that fourteenth belated coat of Tru-Oil onto my second rod tip and catching up on some errands, I headed out early on a beautiful afternoon.

I found the Big D quiet with two anglers alone barely in sight downriver. I was looking forward to the afternoon, with that “winds, light and variable” forecast urging me on to wade out and take a closer look at a few bright specks drifting on the surface. Ah, baited! Those specks were not insects it seems, and no sooner did I arrive within reach of mid-river than the wind rose. It blew more than hard enough, and straight upstream, bringing a laugh. Indeed, the Red Gods got me again!

I waded in after a short recon of the rise-less and windswept river, with other realms in mind. A bend or two in the big river’s course can make all the difference when it comes to fishability. On the Delaware’s mainstem, a bend or two takes up a few miles, so wading is not the best way to find a quiet reach.

I noted just two cars when I donned my vest for the second time, meeting one of those fishermen on my walk in. “Shift change” I remarked as we passed and paused to talk. He was young, perhaps college age, and had been hard at it since morning he said. His efforts had been rewarded by a pair of rainbows, “on trico’s, this morning”, and I expressed surprise that he found enough of the tiny little spinners to bring a trout to the surface. He said the wind was still early and, though there weren’t many trikes, he found a couple of fish working once the spinners came down. I wished him well on his intended stop at the West Branch, and continued toward the river.

I plucked Mondays afternoon’s Translucence Isonychia from my fly patch and knotted it to four feet of fresh tippet, figuring that there just might be one or two around during the afternoon, and smiling at the memory of the Delaware rainbows’ fondness for them.

I took a good long walk along the riverbank, stopping along the way to search the surface for signs of life. The first one I saw was a rise too close as I waded in to very shallow water. I offered a few casts half-heartedly, expecting my entry had sent him on his way.

Killing time there, I watched for something to draw my fire. Downstream, in a little flat area between two threads of bouncier current, I finally spotted a single little white wink, the call sign of the Delaware bow.

I took care in my approach with a target in sight, working out enough to clear the shoreline trees and bushes with a long back cast. Leaving myself a long, down and across stream shot, I pulled out line and let the big pent go to work. The canted wood duck wing of the 100-Year Dun was visible in the sunlight, and I mended and followed it down with the rod tip each time. I had a pretty good spot on the rise that had drawn me down there, but rainbows like to move around in this river, so I worked the area with successive drifts, working further with each pass. I didn’t get that little white wink, but the fly simply vanished in the middle of a perfect float, and the long shaft of flamed bamboo bowed heavily as I raised the rod to strike.

I had chosen a different line for the pent this time, one of my Airflo Tacticals mounted on a classic 1946 Hardy St. George. It proved to be the perfect choice. This was clearly a big rainbow, and he charged about wringing bright music out of that old English reel. Run after run after run, there was no quit in him.

When I released him, I planned to hold him into the current a bit after such a long hard fight, but he shot away like he was ready for more!

It was Labor Day, and I do tend not to fish on Holidays and weekends, but after eight months of crafting a bamboo fly rod I could not wait to take it where it was meant to be. I enjoyed my solitude for most of the day, celebrating the craft I now have so much more personal an appreciation for.

The rod casts beautifully near and far, smoothly turning over fifteen feet of leader and my choice of dry fly. Indeed, combining a strong fast taper design with the milder properties of the Lo o bamboo has given me the ideal I imagined!

It was a gorgeous day, one to wade as slowly and cautiously as possible, as the river flows continue to drop. For several hours, there was little sign of activity, though I delighted in the casting, searching for a hidden ghost. Come afternoon though, I found early signs of trout stirring.

There seemed to be several, as their activity moved from simply finning near the surface to actually rising periodically. They seemed to cruise in one protected area. From distance, I could not make out what they might be taking, and there seemed nothing on the surface in mid-river. I had tied a pair of my Translucence Isonychia 100-Year Duns on Sunday afternoon, and I selected one to give these cruising trout a try.

The cruisers frustrated me, showing no interest in the dun, and I deduced they must be after something just beneath. There was no sign of an emergence, though I spotted a very few duns at a distance which may have been the Isonychia I expected.

One trout finally took a station along the riverbank, and one cast was enough to take him! He fought the powerful arch of the bamboo with diligence and vigor, but the cane wins such battles. The first trout brought to hand with my Angler’s Rest Special posed reluctantly before release.

It was a moment to reflect on those long winter afternoons, planing the cane from quarter inch sawn and beveled strips to tapered rod sections measured in thousandths of an inch. I am supremely happy that I had the chance to make this rod, and that all the hours of effort have resulted in such pure joy!

It seemed a workable task when the idea was first floated a year ago at the 30th Catskill Rodmakers Gathering: build a rod with this new Lo o bamboo.

I had just enjoyed my new friend Peer’s presentation on the properties and merits of this new material he has studied, and championed, and JA, my best friend in these Catskills, had mentioned some winter projects under his accepted role as steward of the Catskill Fly Fishing Center and Museum’s Catskill Rodmakers Workshop. The ability to build with the Lo o without the endless working with nodes, the weak spot within a culm of bamboo, seemed to mitigate the challenges of age, arthritis and carpal tunnel syndrome… ah the magic of late summer in the Catskills!

The internodes of Lo o were a gift from Dr. Doering-Arges, whose company I enjoyed fishing our drought ravaged Catskill rivers during his stay in Roscoe last September. JA and I had talked, and it was agreed that he would shepherd me through the processes of splitting, beveling, planing, glueing, binding, heat treating, sanding, ferruling and assembling my first hand-made bamboo fly rod. It all seemed quite perfect in the cool morning light of September.

Mother Nature had her way with our simple plans for working through a few winter weekends and producing my first bamboo rod in time for spring fishing. Snow and ice-covered roads made travel difficult, even as winter grudgingly transitioned into spring. Planing strips of bamboo from one-quarter inch triangles down to dimensions between 0.190″ and 0.035″ let me discover new pain centers in my aging hands and joints, and of course, a variety of trials and foibles reared their heads throughout the project. JA remained positive and encouraging throughout. My favorite classic fly reel is Hardy’s St. George, my friend and stalwart teacher should hereafter be known as St. John.

Begun on a snowy fourth of January, my rod lay complete save final hardening of the varnish on the twenty-eighth of August. I counted only the actual working shop time, not the travel back and forth, amassing some eighty hours of work over those eight months. On Friday, August 29th, I carried the rod, and half a dozen fly reels out into my yard at Crooked Eddy to realize what I, and the help and kindness of several good friends, had wrought.

I test cast my rod with double tapered lines made by 406 Fly Lines in Montana, a number four and a five. It liked them both. Two Wulff Bamboo Special fly lines came next, again a four and a five, then an Airflo Tactical Taper 5. The rod handled them all with a smooth, crisp action. The feel of these four familiar lines led me to the last trial, a Scientific Anglers Frequency Boost WF4F, a line made one-half size heavy, thus a four and a half weight line. While all the lines felt good, the half size line felt the best, and yesterday I visited the Dette fly shop and purchased another familiar line, a Cortland Finesse Trout II, a four-and-a-half weight forward with a longer 10-foot front taper that presents dry flies beautifully. That line has been spooled on a special St. George from Colorado’s South Creek Limited, and tomorrow the Angler’s Rest Special will meet bright water upon the rivers of my heart for the first time.

So many long-time friends have guided me as I considered and executed this project. Rodmakers Tom Smithwick and Tom Whittle, my Pennsylvania Two Toms, taught me to understand rod tapers and materials. The taper chosen was Tom Whittle’s 7’9″ three-piece five-weight, a crisp, powerful rod. Discussions with Peer and the Two Toms helped me to conceive how the new bamboo would modify the casting feel of the original taper. This new knowledge was broadened by an ambitious project undertaken by members of IBRA, the Italian Bamboo Rodmakers Association, to quantify the properties of traditional Tonkin cane (Arundinaria amabilis) and Lo o (Bambusa procera). Patient instruction and encouragement from John Apgar and Master Catskill Rodmaker Dennis Menscer lead me through the months of work, pain, setbacks and little triumphs.

Thanks and appreciation are due to the Catskill Fly Fishing Center & Museum for welcoming our group of winter rod crafters and allowing us to work surrounded by Catskill history. Should you consider taking this journey, sign up for a class with John at the Museum’s Catskill Rodmakers Workshop, and take a walk through history as we have!

With all that I learned, I believed that my rod would be crisp yet progressive in action and suited to either 4 or 5 lines, and that is exactly what I have. The time has come to fish, to cast a line on bright water and search for a fine wild trout to complete the circle…

There have been hints of it this week, and then last evening I saw it clearly looking out my back window. Since boyhood I have noticed this change, this unique color to the light as afternoon nears evening, and it has always brought me pleasure.

There is no place to witness Nature’s spectrum like her waters, particularly her highland rivers where both that special light and mountain shadows play!

Nearly a month of summer remains, but I can feel the chill at daybreak. Trout have become even harder to find than they have been throughout the bulk of this difficult year. I saw a handful of flies the other day, larger mayflies which appeared grayish in the shadowy air… isonychia? Four or five of them lifted off from the soft, low water as I waded downstream to keep an appointment. No trout rose, though I know there must be a few along that reach… watching.

I had chosen a little rod to fish fine and far off, delighting in how handily seven feet of 50 year-old bamboo would send my fly 60 feet or more to my target. I had great fun with my fishing, amplified by the short rod, though it amplified mistakes in my timing as well! I rose two fine trout, touched neither one, as I tried to adjust my line handling and timing to the short rod.

Back in the Cumberland Valley, a seven-foot four weight was in my hand constantly, but fishing here upon the wide Catskill rivers I have become an eight-foot rod man. Does it make a difference? Why yes, more than you would think. That extra twelve inches moves a lot more slack line with a mend, or a hookset!

The cane rod I have spent the last eight months crafting is in between, at seven feet nine inches, a good length I think. A little more than seven-and-a-half. I have owned two rods of this length, though both have been traded – for eight-footers! This one will stay.

Ed Shenk taught me to love short fly rods. He loved the challenge of fishing with rods from five to seven feet, his favorite a six-foot one-piece bamboo Thomas & Thomas dubbed “The Gnat”. I have rods of 5’6″, 6′, 6’6″ and 7′, all of them up to the challenge of trophy trout, though seven feet is about as short as I will go on a larger river.

Today an eight-footer will get the call. I am leaning toward the three-weight, though there is some wind expected. They are saying five to ten m.p.h., but that’s what they said yesterday. Mother Nature doesn’t heed their predictions. A much cooler day with an afternoon sun to warm the air masses slowly might just bring some gusty shenanigans about the time a few of those gray mayflies could appear. Perhaps I will take the four…

Thinking this morning about seasons and the gradual waning of another Catskill Summer. Just about a month remains until the autumnal equinox arrives on September 22nd. Long range forecasts seem to give us a 50-50 chance as far as September being either wetter or drier than normal with temperatures like to be a little on the warmer side. If the Red Gods gave me a vote, I would favor wetter and cooler for the benefit to our rivers and their wild trout.

During the decades when I haunted Pennsylvania’s Cumberland Valley, late summer was hopper time. On any given afternoon I could tie on a Letort Hopper and wander the meadow of my choice, with my chances of fishing success being pretty good. A warm wind blowing through the meadow raised my expectations!

I recall a shaded nook in the Quarry Meadow on my home water of Falling Spring. I had designed a new hopper pattern, one that I would later send with a friend to Montana for trials during his summer guiding season on the Ruby River, and I knew there was a good fish frequenting that little nook. The approach and casting were difficult as expected. Big limestone spring trout don’t just rise out in the middle of the stream after all. No, fish like that one had to be earned, and I was anxious to try my new hopper on him if I found him at home.

It was a hot, still afternoon, and I didn’t see a rise back up under that old boy’s hidey hole. Picture a collection of fallen tree limbs and rocks deep back under the shade of a leaning old willow, with drooping limbs that demanded a low cast to shoot the fly beneath and far up into the cover, a one cast situation.

I scanned the streambed before entering the water. Scaring an unseen 6″ trout on my approach would be enough to eliminate any chance at the fish I wanted. On the way, a little whisper of breeze passed through the willow, something dropped, and a soft rise appeared way back in there! I took my time and worked my way into position for my one shot. Taking a breath to calm my nerves, I worked out enough line with my 7-foot fly rod and shot that hopper up under the willow limbs and deep into the hot zone. One solid plop later I tightened and immediately laid the rod down close to the surface to extricate that brownie from the rocks and limbs before he knew what was coming.

He found himself out in the sunlight and proceeded to tear up the weed beds while I switched angles to fight him over clean gravel. On this day, the good guy won. That brown was close to 20 inches long when I laid him along the length of my net. I think my grin was at least that wide!

Fishing early in the mornings and late in the evenings was typical during spring, summer and fall during the years I operated Falling Spring Outfitters. Winter was a morning fishing situation as darkness fell before I closed the shop at six each evening. On the edges of darkness, crickets were active, and a Letort Cricket often found itself tied to my leader. One summer evening stands out in memory.

I was working up through an upper meadow, carrying the 6’6″ three-weight rod I had built at Ed Shenk’s urging. A size 16 Letort Cricket was knotted to my 5X tippet. Late in the summer, the water weeds were everywhere, often so thick it was hard to tell the meadow from the stream along the edges trout loved to haunt. The weeds lined the channel except for one place where there was a small pocket of open water about the size of a dinner plate. I spotted a soft rise in that pocket in the twilight and sent my cricket in to do battle. When the soft rise came, I tightened, and the tiny rod doubled over as the water erupted!

I don’t know how I managed it, waist deep in the center of the channel, but I switched the fully loaded rod back and forth rapidly as the brown charged from one bank of weeds to the other, keeping him more or less in the open water of the channel. If you can imagine that channel being no more than ten feet wide and boiling like a cauldron with the trout’s frantic battling, you get the picture. The brown I finally brought to net was touching two feet long!

Twenty-five years along those limestone springs taught me to be a hunter and stalker of trout, and summertime was the perfect time for the game. It is no wonder that I still love stalking the mists of early morning!

Taking a breath yesterday along the river, I realized that the fourth week, the last full week of August is upon us. I could swear it was just a few days ago I thought about August first coming up, remembering a particularly wonderful day when I walked up a pod of large brown trout I had all to myself. The season flows along as the rivers, and such moments do not wait for anglers.

I am about to begin the last sanding of three sections of my bamboo fly rod. These have received twelve coats of Tru-Oil, with two more to go, and then their finishing will be complete. My second tip is lagging behind. Finish application began later as there was a little sweep to be straightened under heat before I began to work the oil into the bamboo. That same finish is being applied to the curly maple reel seat spacer. Next week I will be wrapping silk to mount the snake guides, then varnishing those wraps, again finishing in multiple coats. Diligence, and a little luck, should see the rod completed just in time for the Catskill Gathering.

It was snowy January when this rod project began, the culmination of more than a decade fishing bamboo, reaching back to the beginnings of dry fly angling in America. My original hope was to complete the rod in time for spring fishing, underestimating the time that would be required to learn enough about this craft I have flirted with, and planning for more winter hours to spend in the Catskill Rodmakers Workshop during the first three and a half months of the year.

Of course, fishing has taken up some of my time. I have logged seventy-four days upon the rivers of my heart, fewer than expected five months into the dry fly season. Many days lost to heavy rains and high water this season, particularly during what is taken for granted as the highlight of spring.

I spent some pleasant hours this week, early mornings busying myself with rod work before sunrise, then haunting the rivers in search of the all too hard to find hunters in the mist. With the bright waters so very low and clear, I reached for that special three-weight bamboo rod I cajoled Dennis Menscer into making for me. Two very fine and difficult wild browns succumbed to it’s delicate solicitations, gorgeous trout of twenty-three and twenty-four inches. Their memories may have to last me through this coming week, if I am to complete my rod on time…