A day on the Delaware

Saturday afternoon, June 26, found the Tangler fishing the Delaware where it flows past the property of Ado Poblete, some miles below Narrowsburg, NY.

While Ado would never claim to be an expert fly fisher, no one can top his boundless enthusiasm for the sport. He has the proper attitude to be a successful fisherman.

As we were walking down a steep hill on the way to the river, he asked me, “Did you bring your camera so that you can take a picture of my fish?”

Alas, on this trip, no fish ate one of Ado’s presentations.

The Tangler was not paying sharp enough attention when the first smallmouth hit my fly. The fish was on for the briefest of moments. Then it was gone.

Great, I had blown the first chance of the day. The fly I was using is known as a Harry Murray hellgrammite pattern. It has 20 or so black ostrich fibers for the tail, one-and-a-half times the length of the hook shank; a black chenille body palmered with a black hackle; two black rubber feelers splayed at the head; and one-quarter inch black lead eyes mounted Clouser style on top of the hook, just behind the hook eye. In the past, smallmouth bass have looked upon this fly as being edible.

After missing my first chance, I edged out a bit further into the fast current of the riffle, casting repeatedly. I would pitch the fly a bit upstream of my position and then make a quick mend in the line in order to let the fly sink deep in the swift flow.

Just as the fly began to swing across the current, I felt a solid thump. Fish on!

After a short but sharp struggle, a 10-and-a-half-inch smallmouth came to my hand. The de-barbed hook was easily removed and back into the Delaware went mister fish. Some minutes later, his twin brother attempted to eat the fly with identical results.

I then hollered down to Ado that he should come up and fish where I was. I was ready to go ashore and put my butt on a convenient rock. An old man’s legs tire quickly from resisting the push of the Delaware’s currents.

From this position I was able to watch closely as Ado cast his fly. No question about it, Ado is getting to be a pretty good fly flinger. Unfortunately, no bass attacked his fly.

Shortly, we returned to the house, where his wife, Vilma, and Barbara Ann awaited us. Barb was quite taken with their baby son, Mak Poblete. His bright eyes, tiny fingers and bright smile were more than she could resist. As for the after-fishing dinner that we enjoyed, just two words: simply delicious.

I am often reminded of how the sport of fly fishing draws disparate people together. It’s hard to imagine that when the paths of an eminently successful Filipino businessman and an elderly, retired, former cleaner of commercial office spaces crossed, they would become friends.

This was only because of the pleasure they find in casting a tiny bit of fur, feather and steel over bright waters. Barb and I have forged numerous friendships with people we would never have met were it not for the sport of fly fishing. We have found very few fly fishers, who will not be named here, who fell in the class of what the restauranteur Toots Shor used to call “crumb bums.”

Over the years, I have been fortunate to fish with a great many wonderful fellows, all of who made great partners to be with on a river or brook.

However, I would never put any of them ahead of the little lady in the baggy waders and tiny wading boots that has always been my best fishing partner, even before we were married. It just seems that when you are very young and head over heels in love, all of your interests merge into one. It was my lucky day when she decided to let me think I had caught her. Shucks, I didn’t even feel the sting of the hook.