There was a time when the spirit of adventure and excitement would call and we would be off to fish all over the Northeast. We fished for flounder in Quincy Bay, MA; for weakfish in Narragansett Bay, RI; for walleye in Lake Champlain; and for bluefish out of Montauk, NY.

For us anglers who spend our time fishing the fabled rivers of the western Catskills, a trip to the Battenkill River in eastern NY was long overdue. So one June day, some years ago, Ed VanPut and I decided to head to the river and do a little fishing. We had heard a lot about the river and wanted to check it out.

Somehow, we found our way to Middle Falls, along the river, and that’s where we decided to fish. After we located a parking area, strung rods, and donned our waders, we headed to the river. The section we chose did not have a lot of definition in the form of pools, riffles or runs. Instead, it appeared to be a long glide about 30 to 40 feet wide, without much velocity. That last observation turned out to be a completely wrong read, because when I waded in, I found a very strong current pushing against my waders. The river had a decent volume of water for June, with a very strong, misleading flow. 

Whenever I fish a new river, and after selecting a pool, it’s essential to watch the water, look around, and see if there are any flies hatching or in the air. Are there any birds flying around looking for an easy meal?

Since there was no surface activity, I chose a pair of wet flies: a size 14 gold-ribbed Hare’s Ear and the same size Lead-Winged Coachman, patterns that had worked well for me over the years.  One fly is attached to the end of the tippet, the other about 18 inches up, off a dropper loop. 

Traditionally, wet flies are cast across the water and allowed to swing with the current. Strikes almost always occur when the flies speed up at the end of the float, and can be vicious, especially if a large trout hits. So anglers need to be ready.

Although I didn’t have any strikes on the first several casts, I knew there were both wild brook and brown trout in the Battenkill, and in this section of river. After about a dozen casts, my line stopped smartly and I was fast to a nice brown of about 10 inches in length. The trout was fat and beautifully colored—a fine Battenkill wild brown.

As it is with wet fly fishing, anglers make several casts to an area. If there are no strikes, they move a few feet downstream and repeat the sequence. I had covered about 75 feet and picked up two more medium-sized browns and a small brook trout, when I spotted an older man below me, several feet out in the river, also fishing wet flies. I watched for a while before heading downriver where he was fishing. When I reached him, he stopped fishing and waded ashore. After we introduced ourselves, he asked: “Where are you from, young fella, and what brings you to the Battenkill?” When I told him I was from the Catskills, he seemed surprised and immediately asked how the fishing was in the Beaverkill, Willowemoc, Esopus and the Delaware, and how those rivers compared to the Battenkill. 

I explained right off that today was my first trip to the Battenkill, so was not able to provide an assessment or comparison to those rivers. Instead, I went on to explain that freestone rivers like the Beaverkill and Willowemoc were essentially spring and early summer fisheries, dependent on rainfall and air temperature to maintain flow and acceptable water temperature. And that by late June and certainly by July, low flow and high water temperature caused the state to close sections of the lower Beaverkill. But the flows in the East and West Branches of the Delaware and the Esopus were supplemented by bottom-release water and remained cool all summer. 

We chatted for a few more minutes before the man pulled out one of his fly boxes and searched for a few minutes before handing me two size 12 flies, tied with dyed deer hair, in the same style as deer bass bugs, just much smaller versions. I had never seen anything like them in all my years of fishing, and explained that to my new friend while thanking him for his generosity. One was a Bumble Bee, the other perhaps a Beetle, both beautifully tied. 

After he went on his way, I put those flies in a fly box in which I store flies received from other anglers. They remained in that box, in obscurity, until I happened to check it a few weeks before thinking about this story.

Ed and I fished the Battenkill for a few more hours. I found a pool under a falls that was full of wild brook trout, none over 10 inches long. I caught several on tiny dry flies before returning to the car, met Ed and headed home. 

On the drive, we agreed that the Battenkill was a beautiful river, certainly one worth its reputation and another trip—if it were only a little closer.