The flat land along the Beaverkill is seldom more than 100 yards wide, but along the way are stout, well tended homes one imagines to be the gathering places of the Fly fishing elite. We were tipped to a loop bike ride which would give us a closer look at some of these beauties and cross the ‘kill at a place where there be giants. We had driven this route and deemed it doable by geriatric cardiac patients, but found once again that “little ups and downs” can take the starch out of a fella.
Below the Craigie Clair Bridge, we watched two trespassing “sports” swinging nymphs across a hole with two GIANT trout and a goodly squadron of smaller guys. From our vantage, we could see each time their white mouths winked open to take a morsel from the water column, but we were unable to assist. In this low water, deep holes (often near the abutments of the bridges) hold fish until the levels rise again.
I wish now that I had purchased that history of Catskill fly fishing. It surely would have told the story of what’s behind this elaborate gate.
Another handsome home. We imagine generations of fishermen lodging here, telling tales on the porches. At a couple, we envision a shiny Airstream parked nearby…its occupants joining in…
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