My friend called this morning to see if I was loose to go fishing. He said the flows had dropped significantly, and the river was fishable for the first time in weeks. We talked and set a time to meet. On the way he asked where I wanted to fish. I said, “How about that section on the lower river, where we just obtained permission?
Ramblings of a Catskill Flyfisher
There is a magical place, high in the eastern Catskills, where crystalline waters flow to form the “Blue Hole.” It is part of the upper Rondout watershed in the Town of Denning and is fed by Rondout Creek, which flows along Peekamoose Road.
I’ve always wished there was enough free time and adequate resources to take the month of May off and just go fishing. Most of us can’t do that, but we can fantasize.
Opening Day. The words opening day mean different things to different people. For example if you’re a Yankees fan, it means opening day at the ball park. But if you are a trout fisherman, fly fisher, or otherwise, it means only one thing: winter is over, and it’s time to load the car and head to the river.
It’s early March, soft snow falling, a fire in the wood stove. Molly is snoring at the hearth. It’s been an abnormally cold winter here in the Catskills, with below zero nights and brisk, windy days. There is a lot of snow too, much more than normal.
In 2015, the New York State Department of Environmental Conservation (DEC) issued permits to two corporations that own portions of New York’s upper Beaverkill River. Those permits allowed contractors to place multiple structures in the river.
As far back as the 1800s, private fishing clubs began to buy sections of Catskill rivers to protect their fisheries, because indiscriminate logging and overfishing were taking their toll on native trout populations.
For anglers living in central and western New York, fall is the time to fish tributaries of the Finger Lakes and the Great Lakes. This is the time of year when runs a pacific salmon, brown trout and land-locked Atlantic salmon begin their spawning migrations.
It seems like just the other day that we were grumbling about a late spring, cold water temperatures, high flows and lack of rising trout, and here we are, in September. One has to wonder where May, June, July and August went.
The Old Man phoned that day. He called me “ToTo.” I don’t know why, but hope it was out of some semblance of affection. He could be warm and charming at times, more often, short tempered and difficult. Probably related to his constant hip pain, medicated with various whiskies.