Amawalk River, August 2008

The reason I fish the Amawalk is not entirely for the fishing opportunities it allows, it's the memories. I grew up there. I spent my teenage summer evenings there, when I should have been drinking cold beer with other high school aged kids. I knew every inch of this stream by the time I reached the ripe age of fifteen. I knew where the fish would go when it was hot out, and I pretty much knew that the Cahills would start hatching on - well, June, in the evening- air warm, water cold. And letting off a foggy steam for dramatic effect. 

I knew back then what I know now, that wading slowly and carefully up the heel of the first bend pool you can find a sixteen inch wild brown, if you toss a grasshopper under the long grass at the bend's elbow, at about seven fifteen in the evening.

Or a nine inch wild brown. Either way, if you're carrying a very small fly rod with a 3 weight line (no more), you can get a real nice fight out of any Amawalk trout, if you're lucky enough to fool one in the first place.

I have a special rod that I use for this stream only. It's a home made job, six feet in length, weights about two ounces, and it casts a whopping 12 feet, max. All you'll ever need for the Amawalk. Especially if your leader is fifteen feet long. When I spool up and change locations I have to wrap the leader all over the reel just to keep it away from hanging up in branches. I like to sneak around in the woods up there.

There are trees everywhere, and weeds grow shoulder high. Especially in August. Care must be taken with each cast, and with each motion you make, or trees, twigs and various unknown gravitational forces will grab hold of your line, your leader and/or your fly and not let go under any circumstances. The quarters are tight.

I've fished the Amawalk in the rain, the snow (one time it snowed two feet on opening day), the hot July afternoons, mornings, evenings, dusk and absolute dark. I've even fished the Amawalk in the middle of winter when parts of it are frozen over. Even though trout season on the Amawalk ends on September 30th.

The biggest fish of the day took a 50/50 nymph, fished just along the far bank above the Wood Street Bridge. And don't think I'm giving away any secrets here, the Amawalk protects itself from amateurs with it's overhanging branches and finicky, reclusive trout. Go ahead, fish the Amawalk, I dare ya. Watch out for the deer ticks.

The Amawalk is a tailwater. The entire flow is made up of the cold, clear water from the bottom of a reservoir, released gently through the wooded hollows that are a small part of the Croton Watershed, and this, without accident, makes up a healthy, thriving habitat of aquatic insects, deer, squirrels, and foxes, mice, owls, hawks, and trout- then supplies drinking water to New York City.

The Amawalk is true fly fishing stream. If you do visit, please practice catch and release.

Ah, the Esopus

Ah, the Esopus. A roller coaster ride of a river from beginning to end. Spring creek, water supply for New York City, temperamental at times- since you are deep in some spots and shallow in others.

Your trout are small and difficult to seek out. You are hard to wade. You are a big river, Esopus, almost in a Western sense, yet no lunker rainbows ever seem to find your rocky strides. What happened?

Coincidentally it rains every time I visit you. It is my calling, it seems, to bring a fresh dousing to the region every time I visit. Thunderstorms and sideways bolts of lightning are not uncommon. Often I've had to flee your banks in dreadful fear of being stuck dead while fishing. And I can think of many fates less glorious!

So like a fool I go back to your mysterious swirling eddies, to try out memories of you against the real thing, and maybe, just maybe catch a nine inch stocked rainbow out of your deeper pools while the sky erupts in a circus above our heads.

Ah, the Esopus.

Smallmouth!

If pork is the other white meat, then Smallmouth Bass are the other trout.

They live in streams, eat aquatic insects, baitfish, bees and crayfish. In other words, they readily take flies and smallmouth bass can be just as much fun to fish for with a fly rod as a trout. And they are powerful swimmers, so they turn out to be ferocious fighters. Even the small ones.

The Wallkill River in Ulster County, NY is full of Smallmouth Bass. The region also suffers from incessant thunderstorms, especially in August. So on this particular outing I had the misfortune to take part in a nature competition, and I was in a distant third place.

The Wallkill is a long, muddy river that sleepily flows throught upstate towns like Walden, Wallkill, Gardiner, and New Paltz. Lots of easy access near old steel bridges that cross as the river zigzags north through a valley cut by a glacier a million years ago, and not a lot of angler competition if you don't mind hiking in a bit. The vegetation along its banks is thick and lush. I have seen river otters, egrets, and great blue herons amongst the Wallkill's overhanging branches and protruding boulders.

And since it was August and I was in upstate New York, there was a bit of rain to contend with. Every time I suited up to go fishing, the sky would fill up with dark clouds, the wind would howl and blow the leaves on trees straight up in the air, lightning would scream sideways throughout the sky and the rain would mercilessly drench anything and everything that was uncovered. Like me. I had no raincoat or hat and I was standing in the middle of a 150 yard wide river waving a stick. Not a good place to be when lightning bolts are present.

In the end I lost out, taking only a few small fish. Like trout fishing, small-mouth fishing is an exercise in patience, and one needs time to seek out the bigger fish. I have a feeling they didn't like the look of the dark clouds either, and we both went running for cover. There is, however, a Native American legend that says once you set eyes on the Wallkill River you will always return to its banks. Even if it rains. I know it's true, too, because I return to Wallkill as often as I can.