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October 7, 2002 |
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Bushkill Delta
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There are certainly many places of beauty in the Catskill Mountains, from high peaks to pastoral farmland. But one cannot truly say they have experienced all the varied splendor of the region until they've stood on the shores of the NYC reservoirs. The existence of the six large water supply reservoirs in the Catskills may have come at the expense of the human communities that once occupied their valley bottoms, however it cannot be denied that they have become a great economic, scenic, and fishery resource for the region.
Access to the heavily controlled and patrolled reservoir properties is by permit only, which can be obtained free from the NYCDEP, and only for the purpose of fishing. The fantastic beauty of these waterbodies is such that if you are not a fisherperson now, it would be worth taking up the pursuit simply for the purpose of gaining access to these great treasures. There is no development at all on the city properties, except for an occasional intake chamber, bridge, or old fence, and even when looking off in the distance from their shores few signs of human activity can be seen. These places can seemingly transport you to far off lands. Of all the reservoirs, the Ashokan affords the best views of surrounding mountains, and of all the beautiful places along the shores of the Ashokan, the Bushkill delta is among the most spectacular when water is low.
On the night of Friday, September 27th we received a good rainstorm, courtesy of Hurricane Isadore. I thought to myself maybe, just maybe, this heavy soaker would swell the low creeks and perhaps encourage a few big brown trout to move out of the Ashokan into the rivers in preparation for fall spawning. It was still early in the fall, and the chances that fish would be moving already were slim, but I figured I'd give it a shot. So I set my alarm for 4:15am Saturday morning, grabbed coffee, fishing permit, and fly rod, and drove to the Bushkill Creek in West Shokan. My guess at when sunrise began was a bit off, and it was still dark when I arrived at 5:15. Not to be deterred by a little darkness, I strung up my rod and made my way by flashlight through the woods, from Rt 28A downstream. The rain had definitely brought the water level in the stream up just as I'd hoped, and it was running crystal clear. I tied on a muddler minnow and made some casts into the top of a nice looking pool. I've read of fishermen catching big brown trout on large flies in the dark, but it wasn't happening for me this morning.
At 6:00 light began creeping into the eastern sky, and I made my way further down river, past the willows and sycamores, and out onto the exposed flats of the Bushkill delta, dotted with giant mullen plants. It is difficult to describe the exquisite beauty of being in that specific place at that specific time. The reservoir was mostly calm, and the black silhouette of Ticeteneyck and Tonshi Mountains were sharply defined against the dark blue sky. Hints of yellow and orange slowly crept into the horizon and rippled toward me across the water. I wanted to close my eyes to better feel the smooth, warm breeze enveloping me, but I couldn't bear not to witness every moment of this morning unfolding. As far as I knew, I was the only person on earth, and the only sound I heard was the honking of a few Canada geese not far from me on the flats. The magic dim of early dawn quickly became the brighter light of morning, and several high peaks to the north were laid out before me in all their majesty. Many people treasure the view of these mountains from roads along the Ashokan, but witness it from the flats of the Bushkill delta in early morning and you can multiply that beauty by a hundred. This did not seem like the Catskills to me, but rather like remote wilderness in Alaska.
I did fish some more that morning, a few casts in the reservoir and then back up through several inviting pools and runs on the Bushkill. I caught nothing, nor saw any sign of fish, as it must have been too early for any kind of spawning run. But as Roger Menard says in the last chapter of his new book "My Side of the River: Reflections of a Catskill Fly Fisherman", I still had a 'full creel' of great memories.
- Chris and Aaron
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