A dish served cold

     It was this week, last year, where I stood in the West Branch of the Delaware picking rainbows out of a relaxed chop, that I knew the conditions were better than I deserved. November doesn't normally produce a 55-degree day around here.  It was this weekend, this year, that nature sought to exact revenge.  Earlier in the month, Typhoon Nuri limped up to Alaska's Aleutian chain and moved east, pushing some of Canada's coldest air down into the midwest, and ultimately the Catskills.  To boot, the water was not particularly kind either, with the Beaverkill trickling at a hundred, and the West Branch racing at over eight hundred, with water temps plummeting in both systems.  If I were playing an equivalent round of seven card stud, I'd be giving ante with a pair of fours.

   Nevertheless, Man Camp 2014 was upon us.  Family went out in search of venison.  I went out in search of catch & release. 

     I've been at this annual tradition since 2011, and I keenly remember the success, or lack thereof, of this particular week.  Each year, I produced better results than the prior year as a result of more experience, and, improved conditions.  This year, I had to acknowledge early in the process that the steady progression would be reduced to just finding a couple of fish over the course of three days.

 

Day One

     The default river for this annual trip has become the West.  It typically runs eight to 10 degrees warmer than any other river in the system in November and of course, the closer you can be to optimal temps trumps most other factors- if the flow is workable.  On this first day, the air temps peaked at 36F and the winds gusted to 16mph.  It wasn't a bad day for tight line nymphing- the only form of fishing that I can accomplish with fingerless gloves.  The only problem was that the flow was 870CFS, though I showed up anyway.  Wading was limited only to my knees and close to the banks.  Thus, I simply walked and walked and looked for any type of current seam where I could negotiate a drift.  To my surprise, I finished the day with three browns, having lost a fourth, with a simple duo of a heavy stonefly and frenchie pheasant tail nymph.  The water was 45F during the afternoon, and man, I wish I could have covered more water; of course I'll take what I can get.  Nothing big, but believe me, it was a win. 

Day Two

   Overnight, it was cold to the tune of roughly 24-degrees. I took advantage of it, and froze my gear outside after a day on the tailwater.  The weather forecast for the second day was fairly similar, that it would get up to about 38F.  Flows were unchanged, for the most part.  I did not feel that a return to the West Branch was in the cards, mostly because I really had to search for places to fish and I didn't want to fish behind the same dozen rocks all day again.  So, I decided to roll the dice and hit the more unpredictable Beaverkill.  I owed the river a visit, anyway.  I hardly fished it this year, and honestly, sort of missed it.  

     As I was falling asleep the night before, I racked my brain on how or where to fish it at 120CFS with water temps about 35F.  The last time I fished it at this level was October 2013- when I was blanked during the Troutoberfest event.  Blanked.  However, I did learn a little bit during the event, and sometimes details make the difference.  There was one deep slot in ankle busting pocket water that I saw a contestant step into that day.  It was a fraction of a second, but the gentleman was 6' 2" and I saw him slip up to his waist.  I took a note that day, and returned on this day.  Ever so glad that I did.

      Once the euphoria of this trout subsided, I had a minor out of body experience by which I uncontrollably stuffed my nymphing crap back into the vehicle and rigged up the Sage with a tiny olive dry fly.  Yes, playing with house money and knowing that 2014 is coming to a close, I really wanted one on top.  I rolled into the heart of the Catskills.  Yes, the famous pool, where finally, no one was there.  As the clock struck noon, I strolled down to the bank and saw a fish boil.  

     There was no visible adult insect activity and I had several refusals to my #20 olive.  Honesty soon took over when I revisited the term "boil".  The fish weren't breaking the surface and so they were feeding just under it.  I re-rigged to a 16 caddis dry in order to support an unweighted zebra midge just a foot below it.  No sooner did I tie this rig, an adult midge landed on my arm.  Yes, sir, this zebra midge was going to be the ticket.  On my first cast, a fish promptly took ...the caddis dry!

      Eventually, the plan kicked it.  It took a 12 foot leader to the dry fly and a one foot dropper.  I think the timing of what I did trumped a lot of other factors.  I hooked another eight fish- landed four- by drifting the zebra midge just under the surface; it must have been exactly what the fish were on.  I have read Internet articles and flipped through magazines that preached this technique and it had never paid off quite like it did here.  Credit the timing, more than the angler.  

     But it was awesome. And, it was cold.

Day Three

     Then the rain came.  The high of 41 and minimal wind was unfortunately mitigated by waves of downpours.  However, around mid day, the precipitation was lighter than it had been in the morning and much lighter than it would be later in the day.  I picked RIGHT back up where I left off, actually landing five trout on my first 10 casts on the zebra midge.  And then, after that, nothing.  Circle back to the "timing" reference and I think you'll find perhaps the most important ingredient in cold weather fly fishing. 

In closing

     Since I've been doing this fishing-during-hunting outing, I've always identified this week to be the most important of the year.  Fresh tippets are tied on, lines are wiped down, the vest is organized, and it's all-systems-go.  I was quite concerned that this would be the year I take a step back in progress but in my opinion, that was not the case.  I actually think, given the conditions this year, the results were more impressive than in years past.  Certainly, the number of hookups were greater than any other.  I could not beat the quality of fish from last year, but that's to be expected if I can't put the time in on the West Branch.  And honestly, given how cold it was, all I wanted was the hookups and to stay engaged.  And by the way, I saw a bald eagle during the outing, and it was stunning. It was up in a tree and we made eye contact.  I shouldn't forget that.

     But we always try to learn something when we fish.  I hope you learn things here.  This outing was all about the timing.  Most days, I didn't venture out until 11AM, forcing myself to eat two breakfasts and stay put until the productive hours.  This was the most important factor in the success- not the reach casts, not the size of the zebra midge, not the 6X.  When I was a younger pup, I swore fishing was about imposing your will onto the quarry.  More experienced and often humbled, it is my conclusion that fly fishing is little more than simple harmony with the river, and less about you.

Shout out

     Finally, just a quick thank you to the family for making the time to hang out and enjoy the outdoors, the food and the company.  When you combine Ed, Tim, and Chris with a couple of growlers from the Roscoe Beer Co. and some good dinners (throw in Duke's for good measure), you have the formula for awesomeness.  And of course, the hosts of the house whom I appreciate immensely.