I have a friend, an older gentleman, like me, who fishes several times a week. He even goes forth late into the fall, now that the new fishing regulations are in effect. The new rules allow year-round trout fishing on most of the state’s rivers. 

In contrast, my escapades to the river are generally limited to one trip a week, perhaps two. They certainly don’t extend into November. 

Upon occasion—and this happens to me on a fairly regular basis—when I compare the number of fishing trips I make during the season with those of my friend, I see a large discrepancy. So I ask myself why. 

Looking back to the early years, when I was a mere lad, and then a bit later as a young man, when I fished during the season and hunted in the fall, those were passions—perhaps obsessions. 

In the spring it was off to the local brook trout streams. As the season progressed, we were fortunate enough, thanks to my friend’s father, to fish all the famous rivers of the Catskills, including the Esopus, Beaver Kill, Willowemoc and the Delaware. 

We started fishing those rivers once the flows went down and the mayfly hatches began, usually sometime in mid-May. 

When the Catskill rivers warmed and the flows declined—long before the implementation of the water releases legislation—it was off to the New York City reservoirs east of the Hudson to fish for bass. Sometimes after a good rain, when the local streams rose to spring levels, we would go back and find a good catch of brook trout. 

Once the fishing season ended, it was off to the grouse and woodcock coverts of Dutchess and Delaware counties. The side hills near Bovina Center had terrific grouse habitat, with good populations of birds. At that time it was possible to hunt for a few hours, and expend half a box of shotgun shells. Not that we hit many grouse. 

When deer season opened, we left the grouse woods and hunted deer with our archery equipment. As deer season ended and the ice formed, it was off to the local lakes and ponds to fish for pickerel, yellow perch and assorted pan fish. And upon occasion, if the weather permitted, it was back to the grouse woods, because the season ran well into January. In mid-March, fishing season began, and the cycle started all over again. We certainly had a routine that was dependent upon the time of year.

So it’s obvious that my friends and I spent most of our free time on weekends and holidays fishing or hunting. Other than playing sports, that’s all we really did. We literally ate, drank and slept fishing and hunting. Now I’m asking myself, these many years later, why has my desire to fish waned so? (I stopped hunting many years ago when my Brittany spaniel, Ginger, died, and the grouse populations plummeted.) 

What has changed as I’ve aged? Keep in mind that when I was young, I had to literally be dragged off the river. In those days, I dreaded Sunday afternoons, because that meant no more fishing until the following Saturday. On Monday, it was back to school.  

The friend I alluded to at the onset of this piece, as well as my old and dear friend William (Bill) Dorato, still had the fire, the desire and passion, to fish as often as possible, well into their 80s. So what happened to me? 

Granted I had a lot of interests besides fishing, including tennis, which I played a great deal in the early 1980s. I played so much that I stopped fishing for about five years. That was until my friend Frank Mele woke me from a self-imposed stupor. 

Since fishing and hunting were major parts of my life, I ask, “What changed?” Was it because I fished so much early in life, or the fact that I worked as a fisheries biologist for over a quarter of a century? Did I get burned out? Or was it in part because catching large trout became fairly easy when I fished at dusk, especially during a spinner fall? 

Perhaps it’s all of these things?

Lee Wulff made the following statement during a lecture at the Wulff School, and I paraphrase here: most serious anglers go through an evolution, a progression, the longer they fly fish. At first, they want to catch the most fish, then later the biggest fish, and as they mature, the most difficult fish. 

I went through all those phases, and sit here wondering—is there a next phase?

For me, it’s the joy I find writing these stories, which allows me to share the knowledge I’ve gained as a biologist and fisherman over a lot of years. Writing is more difficult than fishing, but I seem to enjoy it more.

Other than that I don’t have an answer, except to say that I fish a lot less than I used to.

When I saw the beautiful picture my friend sent along, while he fished on that lovely early November day, I had to write about the dedication and passion he still has. I also had to write, with more than a little envy, about why folks like my friend are still out casting their flies several times a week, when I’m not. Bravo to them!