Post-partum
May 27, 2001 • (0) Comments
My friend Kenton is eager to fish together again soon and, regretting lost opportunities that might have been saved if we’d fished just one hour more, has sworn a vow of depression until we return to the Catskills.
Following our trip earlier this month to the West Branch of the Delaware, my friend Kenton Wiens engaged me in an exchange of email under the title “Post-partum Depression.” Kenton is eager to fish together again soon and, regretting lost opportunities that might have been saved if we’d fished just one hour more, has sworn a vow of depression until we return to the Catskills. I ended my own post-partum depression this afternoon on our local stream, the North Branch of the Raritan River. Water is high this weekend because of all the rain, but not as clear as usual and I couldn’t see the bottom.
Before I waded in, I thought I might just hang out a wooly-booger, but the zen got me again and I found a spot where I could float dry flies under an overhanging branch. I tried various ants and terrestrials without seeing a rise, then on my last cast (or so I thought) I spotted a sulphur-colored mayfly spinner, fresh on the water, and resolved to hang out until I could confirm more bugs. Within moments, there was a rise form right where I’d been fishing. I switched over to something I tied last year that looks like a cross between an Adams and a march brown and floated him over the spot four or five times. The current was so strong that I had fewer than three feet of decent drift before line-drag ruined the presentation, but I had a clear back-cast alley and kept flicking that bug. On the sixth offer, I was suddenly fast to a brownie. He turned out to be an eleven-incher and, as I brought my hand under his belly, I could swear he smiled at me.
Releasing him into the current, I knew immediately that one fish was enough today.