I fished the East Branch of the Croton yesterday fully aware I wouldn’t see her for a while, maybe a long while. I hit my favorite holes and she willingly guided me to rising trout. I danced in her riffles. She knocked me on my butt at least once–a love tap to remind me that she was never a push-over. I told her I learned from the best.
Together we took a handful of rainbows, gleaming red and chrome, and a few swarthy, thick browns bespectacled in red spots. Somehow she arranged every weather condition in a single outing. The day began overcast and then a pouring thunderstorm made the river drum. In turn, an early mid-morning cahill and caddis hatch caused the trout to enter the tailouts and eagerly take my fly. As the sun came out and the weather warmed, the shadowline across the river became a great place to dead drift a parachute adams downstream which a strapping young brown happily took.
As I tied on a bugger mid-day, I took perch after perch, again a subtle reminder that the East Branch would always play hard to get with me. What a flirt.
Here are some pics from my last two forays to the Croton.