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.
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