Sharing Memories With Fellow Fishermen Is Always Time Well Spent.

Spent an hour this morning cutting down the cling peach tree that succumbed from a combination of the harsh winter and the ravages of brown rot. My lack of knowledge about the need to prune full sized peach trees didn't help either. Came in hot and sweaty and made the decision that it would be better to soak my groin pull in an ice cold trout stream than risk a setback picking up the cut up tree.

Associate Editor Ed Smith said he would be fishing at the Red Barn today. At about 1:30 I made the drive up route 8 and then down River Road to the Red Barn. His car was in the lot, but I would have had trouble picking him out, (fishermen don't wear jerseys with numbers on 'em), from among the dozen or so fishermen had it not been for the fact that he had spotted my Mercedes GLC with the custom Angler119 plate and called my cell. Of course I was also trying to call him. Took a minute or two but we finally got connected and agreed to meet at the Troutfitter at four.

That settled,  I drove down along the river where anglers were reasonably spaced but not in short supply. The Cedar Waxwings were doing their best to exterminate any sulfur that got airborne, but at least I knew there were bugs hatching. When I got to the Men's Club and looked down river there was not a fisherman or boat in sight. Parked in a sunny spot, (all the shaded spots were long gone), suited up and walked down stream to the riff above Danagher's. There were a few bugs on the water but I didn't see any risers. Finally I saw a fish eat just under the surface, then another, and then a third, all close but upstream from me and close to shore.. Hooked the knotweed behind me, my landing net, the cane again and waded across the river and down to Danagher's. Which proved to be a good move as five boats came down the river and did their best to concuss the trout with oars and anchors. Meanwhile at Danagher's I saw a rise, made a cast and presto an eleven inch two year old brown got me off the bench.

When the armada passed I waded back up, found my fish still feeding,  got a look, (from six inches below the fly), from one, not a glance from the second, and a take from fish number three, an 18 inch brown. At three thirty it was over, (it never really started), and I headed for the Troutfitter.

Ed showed up at 4:00 as promised, and we sat at the picnic table under the pavilion, ate sandwiches, and caught fish from every trout stream west of the Mississippi. It's amazing to me how small the fly-fishing fraternity is. We've both been at it a few years, but we've fished the same rivers, met the same people and walked the same paths along countless streams. The fishing today left a lot to be desired, but the hours spent reminiscing about rivers we have fished and the people we have met - was priceless.

Ed and I also both learned why the Red Barn and other up river pools are devoid of anglers after the afternoon sulfurs.