Itch

Last week after work one evening I had the chance to fish a local stream for the first time and it did not disappoint.  I had stopped at this particular section of the Croton River back in early April to take a look and what I found was just a simply gorgeous stream.  I was happy to be able to wet a line there so I met up with a young angler who shared some great nymphing techniques and we fished together for an action packed couple of hours.  Brown after brown came to net.  Nothing too large but these were spirited trout.  A surprise rainbow even came to hand as we worked our way downstream.  I had hoped to find some fish on dries but there were very few rises and we were having so much fun fishing subsurface that I thought it best to stick to this method.  It was nice to fish with this kid and I silently appreciated his youth, knowing that he has his whole life ahead of him and he's got one of the keys to happiness all figured out.

With the itch of the dry fly not scratched and sparse time over the past several days, I hit a local stream for the last hour of daylight this evening.  I thought for sure that with the warm temps there would be bugs about and plenty of them but this just wasn't the case.  When I arrived at the stream I debated going with nymphs again but ultimately decided against it.  After all, I specifically came out here without dinner, straight from my son's soccer practice, to fish dry flies.  A commitment being what it is, I stuck to it.  I tied on a Hendrickson because this is the hatch that I keep hearing about to match the season.  Soon enough, a fish came to net.  It was a hell of a good feeling coaxing a fish to the top.  It wasn't large and it was only one, but it rose to the fly.  Scratch, scratch, scratch, ahhhhhh.  After a couple more misses, it turned off.  I reeled up the line and clipped off the fly.  I looked to the sky and gave thanks.

Hope to get out again soon.  It's already starting to itch again.

Tight lines.