I’m not sure whether it was the summer of 1989 or 1990, when my friend Bill and I began to fish together. I do remember that we purchased an RV at the end of May in 1989. We kept it at Oxbow Campground the first two years along the lower reaches of the East Branch of the Delaware River. After that we moved upriver to Peaceful Valley, mainly because the water was colder and the hatches and fishing much better. Plus it was nine miles closer to home! 

As a matter of routine, Bill would be at my home on Friday afternoon when I returned from work in Albany. Then we would pack up our gear and head to the Peaceful Valley and the East Branch, with the hope of getting an hour of fishing before dark. 

Since the water releases legislation was passed in 1976 and flows were increased, the East Branch’s historic, almost dry riverbed quickly became a terrific tailwater fishery. With an influx of cold bottom water, fly hatches appeared earlier in the day and lasted longer than on neighboring freestone rivers like the Beaverkill and Willowemoc.

Bill’s favorite fly hatch was the little sulphur mayfly, which normally hatched at dusk, but due to the very cold water being released from Pepacton Reservoir, we found the fly the second week in June, at one in the afternoon. So instead of looking for this hatch at dusk, the flies appeared shortly after lunch in the upper reaches of the East Branch not far from the dam. And while a hatch of sulphurs would last about an hour at dusk on a freestone river, hatches on the East Branch often lasted several hours and well into the evening. As a result, anglers were provided several hours of difficult and likely frustrating fishing opportunity, because the trout seemed to prefer the emerging flies, rather than the hapless duns. 

Because sulphur hatches caused so much consternation among anglers—my friend Bill included—a day on the East Branch more often than not resulted in very few trout caught. I think Bill probably carried a dozen different patterns of sulphur imitations in his fly boxes. And during that hatch and even when the fishing season was over, Bill would engage anyone in the fly fishing community who would listen to his angst about sulphur mayfly hatches. 

While we mostly fished during the evening, mainly because of the summer heat in July and early August, on occasion we would take a cooler packed with sandwiches, some provolone, perhaps a soppressatta, and head upriver. We had a favorite pool not too far from the road, where the East Branch narrowed, flowing through a well shaded area, where we could watch the river and have lunch. 

Although we fished in this location several times, I don’t recall ever catching a trout there. But we did see feeding activity in the form of slashing surface disturbances caused by trout taking nymphs. 

As the afternoon progressed and evening approached, we would move downriver about 100 feet, where the river widened and flattened appreciably. By that time, what breeze there was had died. And because of the high humidity and heat, a heavy mist would appear and form a six-foot layer over the river. When this condition occurred, anglers could not see the surface of the river or any feeding activity, whether it was trout taking emergers or, more rarely, duns from the surface. So we would wade in a few feet from shore in order to clear our backcasts; we would wait and listen. When the sulphurs were hatching under these conditions, and while we could not see surface activity, we could hear the trout as they fed. 

Since the water was quiet here, we would listen for a “plop,” an indication of a feeding trout. Sometimes, there would be a lot of “plops.” We would try and pinpoint the trout’s location from the noise, and cast our flies a few feet above the last “plop.” While we could not see our flies, we could see our fly lines on the river and follow along, as the current carried them downstream. If we heard a “plop” anywhere near the fly line, we would set the hook.

I’ve written about fly fishing blind for the River Reporter before, but that was at dusk, during spinner falls. And even then, under low-light conditions, I could still see the water and the end of my fly line. So I always knew where my fly was. If I heard a splash about nine feet from the end of my fly line, I set the hook. 

But fishing when trout are feeding on sulphurs when the mist  is on the river and there is no visibility, creates a whole new set of problems, which are not easily resolved. And while Bill and I found these conditions on more than one occasion, I don’t recall ever catching a trout while sulphurs were hatching and trout were feeding in the mist. Conditions were just too difficult. Yet it was still a treat to be on the river, with a good friend, and to try and hook a trout or two under very difficult conditions.