Changing Seasons

Hope everyone had a good Thanksgiving weekend.  On Thursday, my friend Paul sent me a photo taken from the deck of his house in Roscoe overlooking the Beaverkill River,  When I saw it, I recalled that I had taken a photo when I was at the house in early October when fishing with Douglas. The photos are taken from slightly different angles through the same gap in the trees that frame the river below.  You can see there is a lot more water in the river now then there was two months ago. Of course, the view is wonderful any time of the year.

  

Despite the chill, there is something magical about being along a river this time of the year.  The cold air is often so still the only sounds you hear are winter songbirds, a squirrel gnawing on a hickory nut in the trees above, and the soft gurgle of the low, clear river passing by.  Looking down the river corridor, a layer of blue-gray smoke blankets the tree tops as it wafts from chimneys below; the last remnant of the fires warming homes that line the valley floor. Even the fishing is unhurried - the lack of insects and the need to know which one, or ones, the trout are feeding on frees the mind from the burden of choosing the right fly for the situation. One simply ties a subsurface fly they have the utmost confidence in and fishes it accordingly, typically deep and slow to bring the offering right to the fish's nose.  The takes are gentle, often belied only by subtle vibrations of the angler's line where it pierces the surface of the water.   The fishing is easy. The catching? Well, sometimes that happens, too.

Sharpen your hooks.