Doug Galloway seeks a trout

“There is no catching trout with dry breeches.”

— Cervantes

The Mr. Galloway mentioned above is the gentleman who prints the newsletter of the Upper Delaware Chapter of Trout Unlimited at no charge. He has recently developed a burning desire to become a proficient fly fisher. Unfortunately for Doug, he has chosen the Complete Tangler as his tutor. To date, Mr. Galloway has learned that casting your fly into tree limbs is not good. Trout simply do not swim in trees. He has found that starting the forward cast before the back cast is well behind him is a serious error. This will produce the most unbelievable artistic macramé work into his leader. Some of this macramé was so intricate it became necessary to perform severe surgery on part of his leader. Despite these occasional set backs, Doug is slowly progressing in his quest to become a fly fisher. On Sunday, August 17, I took Doug to the upper Neversink River. I absolutely guaranteed him that he would catch a trout on a fly today. Oh foolish Tangler.

On the way to the river, I stopped to visit with the two ladies who own the fishing rights just below the property recently purchased by the Department of Environmental Conservation (DEC). Ostensibly, I wished to clarify where the DEC fishing rights ended and their ownership began. This is important to know in order to avoid trespassing. Of course, as any fly fisher would instantly discern, this was not the real reason for my approaching them. I was hoping that finding a handsome, suave, debonair gentleman asking the location of their property line, they just might grant permission to fish their water.

Alas and alack, while the ladies were most polite and charming, they saw through my ploy as easily as light shines through tree leaves. They smilingly told me they would see to it that proper posting signs would appear along the river denoting where their property begins. They also mentioned that they sometimes swim in the river and would not wish to embarrass a trespassing fisher who might happen upon them. As graciously as possible, I thanked them for their time and retreated to my car. I was reminded of a song “Send In The Clowns” sung by Judy Collins in which she laments about “losing my touch so late in my career.” Rather than gaining entry into the hen house, the fox was sent scurrying away with his tail between his legs. Deviousness had received its just reward.

My frustration deepened as the day progressed. Where two days before every brook trout in the river sought to devour my flies, none now rose. I had promised Doug to have my camera ready to record his great moment. The Red Gods of the Neversink were apparently offended by my arrogance. They had instructed every trout to slide beneath undercut banks or slip into river hidey-holes and stay put until dark.

By lunch break, my confidence was slipping away. At two o’clock, I was telling Doug that a particular pool was paved with brook trout. Sadly, our fishing failed to produce any evidence to back up my claim. Not one trout rose to sample Doug’s presentations. There would be no picture of a triumphant angler holding his first trout taken on a fly. My final indignity of the day occurred when I stepped into a hole that sent water surging over the top of my waist waders. I think I had better get down on one knee and pray the Red Gods will forgive my arrogant statements and finally allow Doug the prize he so covets.

Of course, I would also like to see my reputation as an “expert” fly fisher and guide somewhat restored. En avant! The quest continues.