Roscoe Trip: September 20th 2013

It's been four months since I had the privilege of speeding through the construction zones on Route 17. Four months since I've seen the welcoming sign of the Roscoe Dinner. Four months since my waders could feel the cool running waters of the Willowemoc and Beaverkill. Four desperately long months of anxiously waiting to dance my streamer through the pools, run my nymphs through the seams, and delicately place my dry flies above awaiting trout. Four months that felt like a year, but now I have arrived.

I was quick to drop off my bags in the Castaway Cabin, provided by Creekside Ventures Rentals. What an amazing place to stay, being directly on the Willowemoc. What a treat. I quickly kicked off my dress shoes, slacks, and button down shirt. However, the only article of clothing I added was a pair of mesh JETS shorts.  Ran back downstairs to get suited up to get in the water, the fish were waiting.

So now here I am, dress socks, mesh shorts and an under shirt that had held my beating heart inside my chest while I had to do a large presentation earlier that day in Times Square. I really did hit both ends of our societies spectrum in the matter of a few hours. Times Square to fly fishing in Roscoe... But again, that was all behind me now. Focus on the task at hand.

I got in the water, it was lower than last year... Lower than ever!  And it was clear... crystal clear! In fact, is that a fish? "Mike, I can see the fish!"

I struggled to get my fly and line out of my rod, I was too excited. Here I am looking at pockets and pools that I always thought had fish in them, or doubted that they had fish, and now I could tell. I was sight fishing for the first time in my life and it was incredible. Until about 90 minutes later when every fish I saw had examined and refused every dry, nymph or streamer that I had available to throw at them.  It was incredibly frustrating, and exciting all at once.

The Roscoe 6, our consistent group of misfits that make this trip each year were slowly arriving, and discovering the trout aquarium that we were standing in, and laughing at our inability to catch any. And one by one they would enter the water and experience the same results. Hell we were watching these fish feed, and we could NOT figure out what they were eating... Sounds crazy, right?

When Mike would finally have success with a small white dry fly, we were all quick to follow his lead. This would result in my landing my first Roscoe brown on a dry fly, and although it was small, it was a milestone fish for me. I had honestly forgotten how cool it was to watch a fish sip a dry, it's been a while.

Now that the pressure was off, my trip became about rediscovering the beauty of the Willowemoc, and the areas surrounding Hazel bridge.

Once everyone had arrived, we had settled down to eat some dinner and made our plan for night fishing streamers. After Tom Rossenbauer, who we affectionately refer to as "Uncle Tom," had done a podcast about catching fish 1 hour after sunset, and 1 hour before sunrise with streamers, we had tried it to great success. So as darkness fell, and the fly fishermen cleared the river, we went back to our favorite spots and started stripping streamers.

Uncle Tom pulled through again, as I felt my line get super heavy mid strip, and called out to the Roscoe 6, "Fish on!" I love how even the little trout in Roscoe put up a substantially better fight than any size fish back home.

I know... I look like a mad man, but short of adding that hoodie as it got a bit cold at night, I remind you that under that I'm wearing a work undershirt, work socks, and mesh shorts. It was not about looking the part, as much as it was about playing the role.

Many other members of the Roscoe 6 would find success in Uncle Tom's advice that night, and we celebrated around a fire pit with good tunes and some classically funny moments.

It was pitch black when i took this pic, so Mike had no idea where the camera was until the flash!

Mike strikes again! He had a record trip netting 8 or so Roscoe trout!

I believe this is my favorite picture of the weekend. So long buddy, see you next year!

Phil netting his first Rocoe Trout!

Phil didnt really get the concept of putting the fish near his face so I could capture both in the same picture....

There we go. Great fish!

I suppose the flash didnt need to be on for this picture... but you get the point. ::INSERT FIRE THERE::

Tom and Jim feeling the effects of a long day where everyone worked at some point, and then drove to Roscoe to fish before dark.

Teach us trout master... show us the way!

"I want to tell you a secret, that I've never told anyone else, ever."

The night's first victim was Jim. After making fun of him, I was the second. LOL!

 It was 1:30 am, and I had fished successfuly in a moonlight river, had many a "Roscoe Brewing Co. American Amber Ale" and I was due to be awake in 3 hours for morning streamer fishing. I hit the hay.


Chants of "Uncle Tom!" and "Fish ON!" would ring through the crisp morning air, in the pure darkness. Hours before other fly fisherman were even awake, we were hitting the Willow hard, and effectively.

Congrats Jim on your first fly fishing trout ever! AND its a Roscoe Brown!!!!

Oh you got another trout there, did ya?

The rest of the day would prove to produce fish, just not for me. However the experience was amazing, as it always is.  I don't know if there is a heaven, but if there is, I imagine that it stongly resembles Roscoe, NY and its magnificent water ways.

April 2013 - Roscoe, NY - Beaverkill, Willowemoc, East Branch of the Deleware River

136.  That is the number of e-mails sent back and forth between my Brother-in-Law and I, in preparation for our Late April Catskills trip.  Sure... most e-mails weren't exactly about "preparation."  It was an even sprinkle of, "97 Days to go" "I wish it was April" "64 Days to go!" "Work sucks, wish I was fishing" "Are we close enough to get an estimate on conditions yet?" etc. etc.  136 E-mails, which are a mere addition to the plethora of phone calls, conversations, and text messages all surrounding the same subject matter.

90. The number of minutes that it took, once Mike was in the Jeep with me, to get to the Catskill Fly Shop.  Now, you'd think that this 90 minutes would feel like 3 hours, but honestly, with good company, a solid playlist, 70 degree weather and child-like excitement, it felt like 20.

80. The average MPH on route 17 heading to Roscoe. (for reference sake, 70 was the average on the way home)

25. The obscene number of flies I bought upon arriving in Roscoe. Would I need them? No. Did I already have some of them, yes.  Does it matter? Not in the slightest bit.

5:30pm. Let the fishing, and this report of a trip of a lifetime begin.

I was lucky enough to hook up with my first fish on Friday evening.  It was special because of how I was able to examine the seams I was fishing, make a plan for hitting one very specific seam that ran behind a large boulder, and be paid off with a nice Willowemoc Brown Trout for my efforts.







That night I would find these tracks, stream-side.  Any hunters out there want to chime in?





The setting on the Willowemoc is truly beautiful. A mountain side running into a stream, wildlife and all.



After months of hyping up this trip, attempting to round out our abilities, endless discussions on fly selection. leader length, knot debates, and all the other wonderful elements that make fly fishing just as exciting off the water, we were here, and the pressure was off on catching that first fish.

The next morning and afternoon would bring a sense of validation to the two of us, as every fisherman we spoke to over the next 24 hours, would be cursing the trout, for not being on the bite.  That was not the case for us.

The Willowemoc would open up it's precious purse for me again on Saturday morning, granting me 2 netted fish out of 4 bites in about 90 minutes.

Olive Wooly Bugger, break of dawn:








See you in the fall my friend.


Once the light hit the water, I switched back to my nymphing setup.
6:15am - Size 14 Pheasant Tail




Whole lotta Rosie:


To say I was riding high at this point, would be an understatement.  I had 3 fish on, it was only 7am on Saturday, and the pressure was off of both parties involved. With a spring in my step, we ventured off to breakfast at the famous Roscoe Diner. It was at the Diner we discussed hitting up the Beaverkill.  Sounds great, right?  Well, not so much for me.  That River has my number.  It's skunked me 3x in the past 2 years prior to this trip, and I wore that goose egg like a wreath of failure around my neck as I would wade into, and through 3 or 4 famous Beaverkill pools.

It pains me to tell you that I've now been skunked 4x in 2 years on this historic river.

Even with 3 wonderful brown trout checked off the list, you would have thought someone poked a hole in my waders.  I had a puss on my face, my head was hung, and it was second guessing everything I had learned.  I had gone from trout sniper, to a babbling idiot in the matter of 3 hours.  Got to love this sport!

Somewhere in our travels of the weekend, we had learned of a decent access point for the East Branch of the Delaware River. We would substitute a lunch for a can of pringles, bag of beef jerky, and a bag of doritos and make that trip.

The stretch of river that we came across was breathtaking.  It was complicated, and intimidating, but it just didnt poses that factor that makes me cringe every time we fish the Beaverkill.  I would go right in, and on my third cast in a very fast, tight seam that sits over a huge drop-off, I would hook the largest trout I've ever netted.

2:00pm
Flashback Hares Ear dropper




I would ride the rush that this fish gave me for the next 8 hours.

While calming down from the sidelines, i snapped these pix:










The "Willow" would welcome us back with open arms.  And even though this trout had a real angry look on his face, I was all Smiles.



Willowemoc:


When I say this was a trip of a lifetime, I mean that.  And you may scoff, thinking that one big Bow shouldn't equate to a trip of a lifetime, but it's not the size or the quantity of the fish that made the trip so wonderful.  It was the perfect get-a-way, in the perfect setting, with perfect company with successful results.

Oh yea... and the beer was good too!