A Brief Jaunt Through The Catskills

 While driving back home from Maryland, I found myself quite sick of being in the car any longer. I was not far from the New York border in Northeastern Pennsylvania, and a certain Catskills trout stream was only a short distance out of my way. It was still early in the day, so I went. I was sure I wouldn't be that close to it anytime soon and it was a stream I'd wanted to fish for a while. Take opportunities when they come. 

This stream is one known for big wild browns and some exceptional brook trout as well. It is also a bit less trafficked and harder to get to. Automatically it had a pretty big appeal. I like wild fish, I LOVE native fish, and I adore water with less fishing pressure. So I found myself winding down back roads that eventually turned to dirt before I found myself at the access point. Then I had to hike in a bit, but in no time I was standing in a very pretty river. 

The sun was harsh, the water unfamiliar. I sensed I was in with a bit of a challenge, and that did turn out to be the case.  The fish were distributed unevenly throughout the mile and a half I covered, and though I didn't find it surprising where I did find fish, quite a bit of water seemed barren without much reason. 

My fly choice was impeccable... the Ausable Ugly. Why fish anything else in a trout stream? The fish liked it, but the bright sunny hot conditions had them taking and dropping very quickly and getting good hook sets was a tall order. Often I'd see a fish shoot out, presumably eat then spit the fly in a fraction of a second, then dart back to cover just as fast. Sometimes I felt the take, sometimes not. It took me a while to get on the board and the fish wasn't a salmonid at all, but it was something I'd call a trophy: a big ol' fallfish. 

I finally got a trout not long after that gorgeous native fallfish, a smallish brown. I ended up getting quite a few browns of that size class from a relatively small area. It was quite fast fishing, actually. However, I was hoping for something a bit larger. 

Eventually I came to a stretch were the boulders were just a bit bigger, the pockets a bit deeper, and the aquatic vegetation a bit more green and lush. And suddenly it was a hit a cast. I was still struggling to get fish to hand, but I did land some gorgeous wild browns. These fish fought exceptionally hard too, it was fun. 

Unfortunately I then felt the constraints of time tightening and decided to hike out. That was my only venture in the Catskills this spring, though I may go again as the waters cool again in the fall. It is one of my favorite places to fish. 

Until next time, 

Fish for the love of fish.

Fish for the love of places fish live.

Fish for you.

And stay safe and healthy.

Thank you to my Patrons; Erin, David, John, Elizabeth, Brandon, Christopher, Shawn, Mike, Sara, Leo, C, Franky, Geof, Luke, and Noah for making Connecticut Fly Angler possible. If you want to support this blog, look for the Patreon link at the top of the right side-bar in web version. I truly would not be able to keep this going without you wonderful folks!

When it Rains in The Catskills

It had been a few years since the cool waters of the Beaverkill last swirled around my legs. The Catskills call each spring, just as the herring run tapers off at home, but I had failed the heed for a couple seasons. I was here now a little later than I'd like, on June 10th, and at first it was looking rather bleak. The water was low and there weren't many bugs on the water.

At sunset, the switch was flipped and I started to see heads. Lot of heads, and some big ones. As one rose, engulfed my caddis, then turned back down, a big grin came across my face. This was what it was all about. A constant flow of chunky brown trout came to hand until it was too dark to see my flies any more.

 

As dusk faded to darkness and the hatch dissipated, I took a seat on a rock and allowed some time for the fish to adjust to the next feeding pattern. I'd not gotten to properly night fish on any of my previous Catskill's trips. It was with serious anticipation that I tied a new, stout leader on. Two flies, a Muddler and a large Harvey's Pusher, would be the work horses tonight. Finished rigging, I stood slowly and walked to the head of the pool to start my first pass. Slowly and methodically, the Muddler and Pusher were worked twice over through each foot of likely water. It wasn't many casts before there came a bump, and not many after that when a fish took hard and was hooked. It was another chunky holdover brown like those I'd been catching on dries.

The first pass of the pool produced a steady pick of typical fish, mid sized hatchery fish and small wild browns. The second pass produced nothing until I was greeted by a violent pull. I raised the rod and was on, but only briefly. "Damn, huge fish." I muttered under my breath. It had taken in less than a foot of water, roughly slow walking pace flow...classic night time big trout water. Two casts later I was on. It was a nice fish, and fighting incredibly hard, but it clearly wasn't what the last one was. A high teens wild brown trout, however, using my favorite methods, was more than enough to satiate my long standing Catskills night fishing need.

It then started to rain. It never stopped until well after sunrise. Knowing what was inevitable, I decided the best course of action was to head to the West Branch. There, however, a thick bank of fog hindered any chance of a good bite.

I wasted too much time there, and back on the Beaverkill I'd have but a brief window for a good streamer bite in the rising water. As the water got muddier and muddier and rose at a blistering pace, I worked the soft pockets and clearer water at tributary mouths. This can produce quality fish... it was not unsuccessful this time around. A gorgeous wild brown slammed my streamer just under the surface in the pocket behind a large boulder.

As the water continued to rise it became increasingly difficult to find willing fish. I sneaked out one more colorful holdover before things became essentially un-fishable. It didn't seem to matter either, I went back to the West Branch, I went to the East Branch... same story. Chocolate milk. 

 The writing was on the wall, so I did what anyone would do when the fishing sucks... I went looking for snakes. Did I say anyone? I'm sorry, I meant "very few people"... I'm not the only one, Tim Borski or Frank Smethurst among others might well do the same thing in the same situation. Unfortunately, it was now the hottest part of the day and even the snakes under slabs of shale in the talus slides I was flipping were charged up and quick to dive into the rocks and out of my reach. The largest milk snake I've ever seen was among a number of snakes I'd have like to have photographed that evaded my capture. A couple garters and ringnecks weren't enough to hold my attention as the sun became too much.

My time in the Catskills was now limited. I'd spent plans A, B, C, and D. I looked at the map and wondered. Maybe the Neversink would be fishable?

Let's just say it was. And let's say I fell in love. And I'll tell you I'll be back to that river. Some rivers and I speak the same language, and the Neversink is one of them.

A lot might happen when it rains in the Catskills. You could catch the biggest brown trout of your life. You could get stuck waiting for the deluge to end under a bridge. Or you could have to change watersheds entirely and discover a new favorite river. I love when it rains in the Catskills.
Until next time,

Fish for the love of fish.

Fish for the love of places fish live.

Fish for you.

And stay safe and healthy.

Thank you to my Patrons; Erin, David, John, Elizabeth, Brandon, Christopher, Shawn, Mike, Sara, Leo, and Franky for supporting this blog on Patreon. 

10 Days in the Catskills (Part 3)

After saying goodbye to the Roscoe Crew on Sunday Rik and I were off to tackle the big wild fish of the Upper East Branch and West Branch of the Delaware River. These waters are famed for being pretty much entirely wild rivers. Also, they hold some damn big trout. Out of any place in the Northeast this river system is the most likely to produce a truly large trout on a dry fly during the spring. It is also exceptional streamer water. A good combo, because, if I'm honest, I just don't enjoy nymphing as much as I do dry fly and streamer fishing. I don't care how much more effective it is.

First we went to a stretch of the Upper East that I had spotted from the road a few days before. It was raining on us, but that doesn't stop R n' R. We came to fish and we were going to fish. Getting wet payed off for me with a big ol' wild brown on the Drunk and Disorderly.

After that we had some food in Hancock and waited out the rain. The forecast had been atrocious, but the rain actually cleared fairly quickly and it was not long at all before we were on the West Branch and I was looking for that next big streamer eat. We fished spots that required a little bit of walking, because good trout fishing isn't usually right off the sidewalk. We ended up finding some magic water. 

The best spot we found on the West branch pretty much started out as good streamer fishing. I caught two really nice browns and missed a few others on a white Heifer Groomer. Oh, and we were on the PA side, so these were my first fly caught fish in the state I was born, so a bit of a landmark moment despite the fact that I was a long long way from my original home town.

Then, suddenly, what had been a fast and furious streamer bite shut off like the flip of a switch. In half an hour the reason manifested on the surface. Sulfurs. They were sz. 16 to 14, a tiny bit bigger than the sulfurs I'm used to in CT. And the trout really started to chew on them! Rik had​ left his dry fly stuff in the car, so he left me to get that. I was one my own. It did not take me long to drop the 8wt and pick up the 5 and tie a parachute sulfur onto my 13 ft leader. I hooked the first fish I put that fly over, a huge rainbow. It was not on for long. It jumped and broke off before I could even think. No matter, on went a new fly. The next fish took just as quickly. It was just a gentle sip, but the fish very quickly revealed itself to be a very large brown. I steered it away from the other rising fish, some of which were plainly humongous. I got it into the lee of an island and did my thing. After a tedious battle I was able to tail the fish and grab the leader. My thumb could not touch my other fingers around that thick fish's caudal peduncle. I was a bit stunned, this was a 24-25 inch wild brown on a little dry fly on a river I had never fished until this day. The kicker? It wasn't a polite fish, the fly pulled out and it took less then a second for him to get out of my grasp. I didn't have time to be bummed that I couldn't get a photo of my biggest ever wild trout, There were more and bigger ones rising. At that point, however, the hatch had literally become so thick it was nearly impossible to get my fly in the fish's mouth. It wasn't until the bugs started to taper off that I caught another. And that fish could have been eaten by the one before. 

We saw dear walking into the West Branch spot, and we saw another on the way out. It was surprising how close we got. The next morning we had a turkey bust out of the brush not a rod's length from us. Wildlife abounds in the Catskills.

Our last stop of the day was somewhat bigger water. Rik took first blood, first with some little fallfish and then with a wild brownie. It took me some time to get on the board there, and I did so in a very unorthodox manor. When I fish a big river I like to carry two rods, and it is sometimes it is a little inconvenient to leave one on the bank. As I made my way down this juicy looking riffle, I was ripping the big white Groomer with the 8wt and had the 5 tucked under my arm. When I hooked up it didn't at first seem like a big fish. I still quickly made my way to the bank. When I was close enough, I turned and tossed the rod onto the island, trusting the knot weed would break the fall. I had the fish on the reel at that point, and it began jumping. Yup, it was another nice one. Another wild brown trout over 20 inches, probably just 21.

Rik caught one more just a short time later. That pretty much ended things for the day. We went to build camp. We drove in to the site in some of the thickest fog I have ever seen. It was a cool night. I slept in a hammock for the first time. A little black bear came into camp not much after midnight, just strolled up nonchalantly. I heard him brush along the back of the car, not 12 feet away. I had my light in one pocket and my bear spray in the other. Quietly as I could I slipped both out. All at once I hit him with the light, slapped my tarp, and said "hey bear". He turned and looked at me with just a hint of surprise on his face and just politely walked away. That was a highlight, I'd never been so close to a bear before or seen one so clearly in the wild. I could actually smell the little guy, he smelled just like a wet dog. It was awesome. 

In the morning we went back to our money spot on the West Branch. Before we walked down I took a couple casts in a pool by the parking area and caught a lovely little brookie. I wasn't even in waders yet. 

 When we got down to the river we found sporadic risers, not much of a streamer bite, and all around tricky fishing. I hooked one, a hefty female brown well over 20 inches, and she broke me on the jump. I gotta fish for these big trout more... I mean come on what a fight. After that we went down river and found fish rising to sulfurs in slower water. Rik missed a couple and I landed a beauty on an emerger I have had great success with. That was my last trout of the trip, though I came close with two others. 

I was getting cramps about then that plagued me to some extent for the rest of the trip, until well after I fell asleep in my own bed. That made it hard to focus on fishing. But we were on a magical stretch of the Upper East for a while, and that was an incredible experience. We fished one of the spring creek like sections. Super clear, slow water, spooky trout. I was lucky to fool two, though I botched the hooksets on both. It made me feel pretty comfortable with my trout fishing skills, to fool large wild trout in some of the most difficult conditions I have ever seen. I'm ready to go to New Zealand!

At the very last spot of the trip Rik caught a nice chunky brown. It was a fitting end to an awesome week. I couldn't wait to get home, but at the same time I can't wait to get back to the Catskills. Thanks for joining me out there Rik, those were two of the most unbelievable days of fishing I've ever had. Thanks to everyone who made this trip possible and made it fun. You all know who you are.

10 Days in the Catskills (Part 2)

Before the Perrellis came to pick me up on Tuesday morning I got out for one last morning in that beautiful stretch of water below Cook's Falls. I caught a few nice browns, on dries of course, as a fair well to my home for the last four nights.

After I sat and chatted with another camp regular for a while, I started to pack my gear up. It was about time for the fun part of the trip to begin. The convoy rolled in about 15 minutes early. We were on the road to the cabin and my favorite stretch of the Beaverkill in no time at all. 

After we figured out where we would all sleep and got our stuff inside, food in the fridge and cupboards, and explored a little bit of our sweet temporary digs, Paul and I quickly turned our thoughts to the water. We fished the riffled pocket water downstream from camp without much luck. I pulled up a little rainbow and got some misses, but after a while decided the sun was putting the fish on alert. I gave up first. Paul stayed and eventually worked his way up to the slow water behind the cabin. From inside a few of us watched him hook what we at first though was bottom. That turned out not to be the case, it was a big brown! 

Now I couldn't wait until that magic evening Beaverkill rise. But first, dinner Perrelli style. These guys know how to eat. This night was sausage, onion and pepper grinders. 

After eating about half my body weight it was time to go fishing again.  The drakes had begun to trickle off at a modest pace. I worked my way upstream to some pocket water that held big fish last year. After missing a few big fish and catching one small one I came back down to the slow water, where chaos was about to unfold. 

After I got out of the egg laying caddis blizzard and got down to the slow water I found a bunch of rising trout and the best drake hatch I have ever experienced. It was just a mayfly blizzard. It took some work, these fish were not easy, but I eventually fooled one. It was sitting in less than a foot of slow calm water. The take was magnificent. From the hookset on until I could get it into the edge water it was a tooth and nail battle. There is a lot that can go wrong when you combine shallow rocky water with a big wild brown and light tippet. But, as I like to say, I eventually won. This was the 2nd fish over 20 inches for the trip. It made going to sleep that night a little bit harder.

The next day dawned cold and clear. We went into Roscoe for breakfast at Casey's. They make a mean bacon egg and cheese sandwich. My waders had developed a toe leak two days before, so I ran up the street to see if the Beaverkill Angler had a patch kit. They did. I then waited for the adhesive to dry in mid afternoon to do the first fishing of the day. While Paul and Paul Michael were out floating with Ken (Baxter House) on the main stem we stayed at the cabin. I hiked upstream, carrying both my 8wt streamer rod and my 5wt dry fly rod. I almost immediately broke off a big fish on a green drake I had just bought that morning. 

After thoroughly working a short section of water an not seeing the kind of fish I knew were there I dropped the dry rod and picked up the full sink and the gnarly articulated fly. One little wild brown was not enough. I was looking for big fish.

It took three casts for a 23 inch brown to go ape on my fly. I wasn't in a very good position to set the hook and so failed entirely. But it's all about the eat in streamer fishing, and that was a good eat! I continued my way upstream without so much as a look, when finally I got a grab and a solid hookset. I landed an 18 inch brown and was pretty stoked. Two casts later a bigger fish came out and just wrecked my fly. This time I was completely ready. The front hook got good purchase and the fight was on. The fish actually reacted to the hookset by tail-walking across the run, twice. That's not something I see browns of this size do a lot of. Even with an 8wt rod this fish was not a push over. It took line from the reel, which was locked down pretty tight since I fish streamers with 20lb tippet. When I did land him I was literally jumping up and down on the bank and cursing like a sailor. What an incredible fish from the Beaverkill! 

After I released the biggest wild brown trout I'd ever caught, I went back to the cabin for burgers and dogs. I fished that evening but it was not impressive enough to overshadow the afternoon streamer bite. 

The next day was our last full day at the cabin. I fished on and off throughout the day but it wasn't particularly productive until the evening. I caught 6 or 7 nice browns on dries again, this time all but one were wild fish and fought incredibly well. Mostly we just chatted, enjoyed an excellent steak dinner, and played cards. On a long fishing trip good company is a necessity, and I was with a good crowd here. 

In the morning, after fishing a bit an cleaning up the place, Rik showed up. We all said our goodbyes and I was off on the next leg of the trip. Thanks everybody, I had a great time. See y'all next year!