In his book “Cache Country Almanac,” John Roland cites a Cree Indian chief on how the Native American people described the different months of the year. The chief called the month of January, “Moon of the Great Cold.” So when seeking a title for this piece, I decided to follow the chief’s lead and chose, “Moon of the Pumpkin Dun.”

During the years I fly-fished all the storied rivers of the Catskill Mountains, I never encountered this rather small, brightly colored, somewhat obscure fly. Then one afternoon in early September in the mid 1990s, Joan Wulff called and invited me to join her, Dave Brandt and Tony Entwistle for a day of fishing on the East Branch of the Delaware River. 

Tony was a Kiwi, here from New Zealand, and the guest of the Wulff School; in the Catskills, he could fish some of America’s best trout rivers. It was my understanding that he was a guide and outfitter back home. 

At the time, I had a camper at Peaceful Valley on the banks of the East Branch near Shinhopple. We chose to meet there, because there were some very decent pools with excellent access.

When we arrived in late morning, the river was up, likely because the River Master had called for water from the Pepacton Reservoir to meet the flow requirements at Montague, NJ. I don’t recall what the actual flow was that day, but it was certainly in the 500 cubic feet per second (CFS) range. Normal summer flow at that time year was around 140 CFS. So, not the best flow for fishing.

It was too early in the day for any late season mayfly hatches to begin, so Tony decided to drift some nymphs along the bottom. I got the feeling that the Kiwis did a lot of nymph fishing in New Zealand. 

While Tony set up his tackle, I went over to look at the river. 

One of the things that occurs during higher-than-normal flow, is the character of the river changes dramatically. Familiar pools and holding areas were no longer recognizable. Where there was definition between pools, riffles and runs during normal flow, the river was now a homogenous, one-dimensional water course. 

 Tony appeared to be unaffected by the high flow, despite what Dave and I explained regarding the change in the river’s character, so he went off to try his nymphs. After about an hour, he returned, reporting no strikes. It was time for lunch.

After lunch, Dave and I recommended a pool a short distance down river. At that location, the river slowed and widened considerably. We believed it would easier to wade and fish there; perhaps find a hatch of late-season mayflies. There is a DEC footpath to this pool, which is about 100 feet from the river, so access was not an issue. 

While high the river was wadable, and there were a few small olive mayflies on the water but no trout rising. Then at about 2 p.m. I noticed a few larger duns riding the water. Those flies looked odd to me, so I picked one from the surface. It was about a size 14/16, with very pale lemon-colored wings and a bright orange body. I called out to Dave, “Come take a look at this fly. I’ve never seen one like it before.” 

When Dave waded over, I asked if he knew which mayfly it was. He said no. I suggested that since we did not know the species, and because it had such a bright orange body, how about we called it the pumpkin dun, until we learned otherwise. He agreed, and until recently that’s what we called the fly.

Since that day on the East Branch all those years ago, I have asked friends and checked the various aquatic insect keys and websites to try and determine the actual name and classification of the pumpkin dun. During that period, one friend suggested that the fly was one of the pale evening duns, Epeorus vitrea. He thought the orange body meant the flies we saw were females, full of orange eggs. Review of the hatch time for E. vitrea revealed that the species emerges in the spring, not early fall when we observed the pumpkin duns. Plus both males and females have orange bodies.

A few weeks went by, and since it was September, I began to think about this little fly once again. My research finally determined the fly we call the pumpkin dun was actually the little yellow quill, Leucrocuta hebe. It is in the family Heptageniidae, which has such famous members as March browns and grey foxes. These insects are known as the flat-headed mayflies, in that they are dorsoventrally flattened with three tails. The pale evening dun that I mentioned has two tails, light yellow wings and a greenish-yellow body. Plus, pale evening duns hatch during the late spring, not September.

If I remember correctly, we caught a few trout that day, but more importantly, we found a new species of mayfly—at least it was new for us.

And whenever I fish that pool in early fall I’ll recall that day long ago, when Dave and I found the pumpkin dun. Sadly, Dave passed away in March of 2020, way too soon. So it is in deference to his memory that that fly will always remain the pumpkin dun.