Recollections of 2007

Well, here we are back in Texas. Our fishing experiences from April to October were uneven, to say the least. Prior to leaving Texas, I had the pleasure of playing the part of a fishing guide. My “sport” was a ten-year-old, enthusiastic, neophyte fly fisher named Catherine Leffert. By day’s end, she had managed to hook two Rainbow trout and land one. Both Catherine and her “guide” were pleased by her success. The fishing year was off to a good start.

Our trip to Mountain Home, AR was a bit of a disappointment. We had not realized that in June, the dams on the White and Norfork rivers would be releasing large amounts of water every day for long periods due to electricity demands. Since Barb and I both prefer to wade rather than fish from a boat, our fishing time on the rivers was very limited. As usual, Barbara Ann caught the largest trout, a 14-inch Rainbow. This fellow was a mere tiddler by Arkansas standards. I was impressed by her fish as it fought all out of proportion to its size. When I held the fish in my hands prior to returning it to the water, it felt as hard as a brick. Swimming in the tremendous flows of the releases, the trout become so muscular they feel as if they have been on steroids. We would both like to try these rivers again when the dams are releasing lower flows.

Upon returning home, our world was turned upside down when Barb was diagnosed as having Chronic Myeloid Leukemia. She fished only once during the rest of the season. This was partly due to the mental stress of knowing she suffered from leukemia. In addition, the side effects of the treatments left her physically unable to wade in running water. She took vicarious pleasure in hearing the fishing reports from me and our friends. At one point she chided us, remarking that most of the tales indicated that the fishing was pleasant, but the catching was nonexistent. She sure had that right. In checking my fishing reports, I was dismayed that I caught a total of only four trout in the last half of the season. The only bright moment was a 16-inch Brown taken using one of my brand new bamboo fly rods. I would have been really upset with such sparse results except that my fishing companions fared no better. Even Per Brandin, the builder of very superior bamboo fly rods, captured just two trout during five trips with me. Mark Rando, an excellent fly fisher, was mostly targeting smallmouth bass for most of the late season. Only Tom Brown was able to take trout frequently as fishing time waned.

In my January 11 column, I mentioned the Peekskill Hollow Brook. This is the little stream where I caught my first trout, a pretty little Brookie taken on a worm. I had a strong desire to see that brook again. I had not visited it in over 60 years. One day, after visiting Barb at the Westchester County Medical Center, I detoured off the Taconic Parkway and drove up Peekskill Hollow Road to revisit my memories. Big mistake. I found the brook completely changed by innumerable floods. Nothing was as I remembered it. I could not find a single familiar pool. As I walked back to the car, I deeply regretted having sought out the brook. It had been so much prettier long ago than it is today. I drove off suffering a severe case of the darkest blues. Like my little brook, the ravages of time have certainly left me somewhat worse for wear.

A line from a Jim Croce song kept rolling around in my head all the way home, “…steady depressin’, low down mind messin’, working at the car wash blues.”

e of smell which helps them locate food. Their appetite for these unsavory treats aids the environment as there is less decaying carrion lying around. Vultures are protected by the Migratory Bird Treaty Act, so it is illegal to kill or otherwise

harass them.