Ramblings of a Catskill fly fisher

Jamie’s parachute Hendrickson nymph

By TONY BONAVIST
Posted 5/16/23

When Jamie called and invited me to meet him on the river, at first I declined—there were several projects that needed attention.

But during our conversation, especially when he explained …

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Ramblings of a Catskill fly fisher

Jamie’s parachute Hendrickson nymph

Posted

When Jamie called and invited me to meet him on the river, at first I declined—there were several projects that needed attention.

But during our conversation, especially when he explained that the Hendricksons were on and he had landed two large trout the day before, I quickly asked, “What time?”

Since I had not fished this reach of river in several years, access was a concern. When Hurricane Irene ravaged the Catskills in 2011, the path we used to reach the river was eroded away. As a result, getting to the river required navigation around several large, flat boulders.

Those boulders had been put in place years before, to act as rip rap and protect the bank from floods. Irene had no mercy, because the land behind those very large boulders was gone.

When I made my way down the bank, I realized that wading around the boulders would be a challenge for my very old legs. So I very slowly,  maneuvered through the area and to the river.

Jamie had already arrived and was sitting on the bank, watching, waiting for the first duns to appear.  

It was about 2:30 p.m. when the first Hendrickson duns fluttered off.

About 15 minutes later, the hatch increased and the first rise appeared slightly upstream from where I was standing.

A few minutes later, another fish rose about two feet below the first. Both trout were feeding next to a downed limb that was in the river, just off the far bank.

At the end of last season, based on the observations I made about trout feeding, I decided to forgo the use of traditional Catskill dry flies in favor of parachute nymphs.

Over the last several years, I found that wild trout were rarely taking duns, feeding instead on nymphs and emerging flies. So I tied up a few parachute Hendrickson nymphs in size 14, and added them to my fly box.

While watching those two trout feed, I tied a parachute Hendrickson nymph to my tippet and moved a few feet upstream, to get a better angle to make a cast.

I almost always cast down and across from feeding trout, instead of casting upstream on an angle. By casting in this manner, my fly line is never close to a feeding trout. More importantly, the fly is the first thing a trout sees, not the line or leader.

I rose the first trout on my second cast, but did not hook it. Then I cast to the second fish, rose that one, and missed that one, too.

I could tell by the way these fish were feeding that they were of decent size, and was surprised that I didn’t hook either one. So I changed flies, tying on a rusty spinner nymph, cast to the first fish, and missed it again.

Now, I was 0 for 3.

Odd, I thought. When a good-size trout takes a fly, it is usually hooked. After missing those two trout, I decided to rest them for a while and look for other feeders.

It didn’t take long for me to find another rising trout. It was sporadically feeding about 50 feet downstream from where I was wading. Rather than try for that fish, I yelled down to Jamie, who was still watching, “Go for that fish!”

Jamie responded, “You go for it.”

So that’s what I did. I moved downstream a bit so I could drift my fly to where the trout was feeding, and made the cast. The fish took and I missed it too.

So then I was 0 for 4, scratching my head, wondering why I was failing to hook those trout.

So far, I’d tried three different parachute nymphs and moved fish on each one, without a hookup.

While I was pondering all of this, I saw a rise about 75 feet upstream, along the far bank under an overhanging branch.

I moved up and made a cast; that fish also came to the fly—and I was 0 for 5.

That’s when Jamie called to me, suggesting that I try one of his flies. When I agreed, he waded up and gave me one of his parachute Hendrickson nymphs, which in comparison was not all that different from the flies I’d been using.

After tying his fly to my tippers, Jamie waded back downriver. That’s when the fish I missed a short time ago rose again. Jamie was in casting range, and hooked and landed that trout on his second cast. Jamie was 1 for 1.

With Jamie’s fly attached to my tippet, I found the trout I missed upstream, under the branch and feeding again. I moved into position, got my fly under the branch, rose that fish and finally got a hook-up. When landed, it turned out to be a very nice brown, very lightly hooked. So even with Jamie’s fly, I barely hooked this trout, and I wondered if these trout were “coming short,” or I was late.    

But that’s what happens when we cast our flies. And that is why our sport is called fishing, not catching. Any time an angler can be on a river, after a long winter, with Hendricksons hatching, he or she has to feel both lucky and blessed. And thanks to Jamie and his parachute Hendrickson nymph, I finally netted one nice brown, even though I was 1 for 6.

Hendricksons, trout, parachute nymnphs

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