Brown-out

     It has been about a month since my last post, which is crazy when you consider that this is prime-time.  Since we've last visited, I've yelled at the Beaverkill.  And, I've yelled at the East Branch of the Delaware.  A couple of trout have come in between, but the glaring theme for the first half of 2015 is that frankly, and obviously, I have burned out on trout.  I never saw it coming and I didn't even know it was possible. I don't expect it to be a lasting condition, but apparently, the last five years of constant efforts to chase silver and brown has left me a hapless mess. 

     I have a lot invested into trout.  The countless hours at the vise, reading books, surfing the trout web, or watching videos on YouTube or DVDs.  Heck, I watch and rewind, watch and rewind, like film study in the locker room.   My shelves in the garage have enough gear to be a small fly shop, and I've been known to practice my blood knots while on conference calls.  Hey, it helps me think.

     Everything about fly fishing for trout has bothered me this year.  I feel like I've seen more anglers than bugs.  There are guys everywhere.  Conditions have been so inconsistent.  Hatches have been more hype than reality, flows have been all over the place, and my vest is still loaded with too much stuff.  Didymo is choking my home river and otherwise, favorite stream. Even a formerly great system lower in the state has completely fallen off my radar during its own slump.  Good grief, the wind. I have never encountered so much wind as I have this year.

     I haven't even been able to tie on a nymph lately. Indicators, split shot, fluorocarbon, special leaders, sighters, tags, tippet rings..... No way, man.  No way.  Not right now.  I just can't do it.

     The warm water fishing actually has gone from a side hobby, to changing my angler DNA.  I have become entirely addicted to the charging attack of a kill, or be-killed predator.  I am not a biologist, but whatever fluids my brain squeezes out as I clamp down on the fly line after the smash--I want more of that.  

     And so, lately, on the trout streams, the guy that named his blog after beadheads has been dry, or die.  I'm after the experience, and the hunt, and the endorphins.  There are more fish, but there isn't enough adrenaline anymore in nymphing.  I think it's safe to say that I'm overtly trying to keep trout fishing on par with the excitement of warm water, via dries.  Of course we all know, that isn't exactly apples to apples!

     I have a feeling that things will right themselves again in the future.  I am continuing to tie for the Catskills and the fall, and I still pay attention to where my Roscoe, NY t-shirt is in the laundry cycle.  I'll let a little time pass, and if I can just get that one solitary, and productive day on the Delaware on dry flies, I think I'll be back on the horse.  I can see the autumn evening by which they are hitting blue winged olives in a pool that was too crowded for me earlier this Spring.  I'll misjudge how early dark is setting in, but it's ok because I'll have four fish to the net within the hour...  I can't force it.  It'll happen when it happens. 

     But I'll tell you, trout or no trout, life has been good on this side of the six weight this year!  I tie on one fly for hours on end, changing it only after it becomes unrecognizable.  Perhaps the answer is right there.  Blue jeans and pliers.  

     Burned out on trout...  The first step, is admitting the problem.