/ 
m 
if 
Erratic 
Trouting 
Conditions 
A ROVE_IN A WEEK'S TIME THE STREAM HAS FALLEN 
S() LOW THAT ROCKS SHOW. THERE ARE NO INSECTS, 
AND ONLY AN OCCASIONAL CHUB WILL TAKE THE 
ANGLER’S FLY. CONDITIONS ARE IMPOSSIBLE FOR 
THE FLY CASTER, THE TROUT FEEDING IRREGULARLY 
THROUGHOUT THE NIGHT, DEPENDENT UPON IN¬ 
FREQUENT AND SMALL HATCHES OF INSECTS THESE 
PHOTOS WERE TAKEN ON THE LITTLE BEAVER KILL 
nTTDiTvTP. THE TRIP DESCRIBED IN THIS ARTICLE. 
Bv LOUIS RHEAD 
BELOW — THE WATER IS 
NORMAL; THERE IS A 
HEAVY CURRENT, AND THE 
INSECT HATCH IS AT ITS 
HEIGHT. TROUT RISE 
THROUGHOUT THE DAY. 
CONDITIONS ARE IDEAL. 
E XTREMELY forunate indeed is 
angler who gets on a good trout 
stream when “conditions” are 
just right. Absolutely perfect condi¬ 
tions are utterly beyond our wildest 
dreams only to be enjoyed in our next 
_more perfect life. The auto car has 
made a wonderful change to the angler, 
for better or worse. The advantages 
we now have is we start just when we 
like, and get to trout regions in quick 
time. Then from the hotel we cover 
and fish properly a far greater number 
of pools with reserved strength of foot 
for wading. Our car provides better 
facilities in packing and transporting 
tackle and fish captured. I know many 
ardent anglers who run up to the heart 
of the Catskill trout region every week 
end of the entire season, starting after 
business on Fridays, fish all day Satur¬ 
day and Sunday, then return to town 
early on Monday. These are not the 
men who suffer. The greatest sufferer 
who needs our fullest sympathy is the 
ardent angler with only a week or so 
to spare each fishing season and then 
finds conditions unfavorable. 
A friend writes to you who lives 
near the rivers. “Come now, for big 
catches are on, trout are rising to beat 
the band.” Well, then, how hurriedly 
we prepare, pack up, and get off. How 
anxiously we notice the streams in 
passing on our uphill journey, for by 
them we tell exactly what are present 
conditions—that may be dry or swollen 
to a torrent. The higher we climb to¬ 
wards our destination the lower our 
spirits sink, and Mr. Harding’s nor¬ 
malcy” is a sort of tantalizing, vision¬ 
ary myth. Past memories of innumer¬ 
able “bad” conditions stir up a most 
uncomfortable feeling, especially if our 
non-angling wifey seated on the back 
seat archly asks (with a twinkle in her 
eyes) that hoary old question, “do the 
conditions suit?” Of course they don’t 
suit—they never do—well hardly ever. 
Dear brother angler, I’m not cranky 
enough to ask for the round globe, 01 
even the full moon, nevertheless, I 
would like, and I believe most anglers 
will agree likewise, that good, or even 
fair conditions might be kind enough 
to greet us once in fifty or a bundled 
trips. 
A N hour after our friend has no¬ 
tified us, up comes a roaring flood 
from a torrential downpour with fly 
fishing out of gear and two days spent 
in impatient idleness. Perchance we 
may find the streams low and glassy, 
with hot winds, and no insects, of 
course, no rising or feeding trout. Even 
though we should find the streams at 
normal height, it’s either too cold, or 
hot, or windy, or rainy. The uniniated 
will exclaim, “What the devil do you 
want.” Brother, I’ve no answer to 
that. Suppose we do get fairly favor¬ 
able conditions the hotel is sure to be 
chock full of good anglers burning with 
a desire to do wonders — which they 
surely do, for don’t we find them scat¬ 
tered all along the river at every one 
of our favorite pools beating them un¬ 
mercifully from the very spots we 
would like to beat ourselves. Is it any 
wonder our anger rises, nay our very 
spleen is discolored. Wifey says with 
some truth, “Anglers are for everlast¬ 
ing in a pack of trouble.” The inspi¬ 
ration for this article came from the 
experience now closing of a ten-day 
trip, June 18 to 28, of the worst con¬ 
ditions I have known in this region 
for thirty years, on the Premier Stream 
of New York State, the lower Beaver 
Kill after its junction with the Wil- 
lowemoc. 
On arrival we found the hotel 
crowded, some were famous anglers 
who tied their own flies remarkably 
well. The ice cooler contained a splen¬ 
did lot of trout, many of them quite 
large in size — but, caught when the 
water was low and the weather cool, 
with trout feeding on the fatness of 
June flies. 
Then came a sudden hot spell, night 
as well as day, which put a complete 
stop to insect hatches, as well as ris¬ 
ing and feeding trout. Conditions grew 
worse from day to day, till fish were 
only seen a short spell before dark. 
After the fifth day fish refused flies 
both evening and night. A few were 
taken just before and after dawn. At 
that time I tried to coax a large fish 
of five pounds lying in a chosen lair 
well-known to everybody, and to whose 
honor the native anglers has erected a 
sort of riverside platform from which 
they could sit to easily fling big night 
walkers, minnows and other dainties to 
his chosen lair which had been occu¬ 
pied for the last four years—so I was 
told. This trout had been hounded by 
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