Two Letters from Margaret

I was up on the Beaverkill in 1981.  I'd gone up for the Conclave of the Federation of Fly Fishermen that was held at the raffishly charming old firetrap called the Campbell Inn.  That was enormous fun to be up there, to meet so many fine people from the flyfishing world, and, of course, to get to fish!  I think I've been lucky with the lovely Beaverkill because she's been very good to me every time I've fished in her water.

In 1984, two years after my husband's death, I went up on the anniversary of his death, which had also been the date of our wedding anniversary (June 15).  I was at the Beaverkill Valley Inn and instead of going out on a beat elected to fish just upstream from the inn itself, below the bridge leading from the road onto the property.  It was getting close to dusk and I was fishing a dry fly to a rising trout that all of a sudden decided it was for him and made off with it.  I soon realized the fish had some size and heft to it but managed to land it when it went into shock and came floating downstream on its side after having swum madly up and down for about 15 minutes.

By then it was almost dark and I had to decide about whether or not to revive and release the fish.  I didn't revive it because my choice for getting out of the stream was to climb an almost perpendicular bank or to wade all the way across the Beaverkill, the bed of which is nothing but round rocks.  I thought it might be very late indeed by the time he was ready to swim away and I chose not to hang around for too much more time that evening.

I killed the trout by smacking it behind the head with the handle of my knife and took him to the kitchen to give to the Inn's cook.  The next morning, the receptionist told me the story of how she'd taken my big heavy-bodied brown (17-1/2" and about 2 pounds) into the card room.  It seems some of the fishermen had been bitching about small fish, low creel limits, etc., and Cathy put my fish on a sheet of newspaper, took him into the room and asked, "Gentlemen, how about this?"  She told me someone asked who'd caught the trout and she said,  "I was so pleased, Margaret, to be able to say, 'It was Mrs. Clarke.'"

One of the men asked me a bit later what I'd caught the trout on and I told him it had been a size 16 Quill-Bodied Variant.  His reaction was, "Huh?" and I then said it wasn't a standard pattern but was one I'd put together at the kitchen table the evening before driving to the Inn.  Talk about insult to injury?

He was the very last trout I killed and, unless something very unforeseen takes place, he'll continue to be the last.  I wouldn't do it now and it was simply ego that led me to take him because I just couldn't let him get away.  Shame on me.

Nov. 17, 2001  The Last Trip

I took things very easy this morning so as to save some energy to go fishing.  I went down to my friends' farm, thru which "Little Creek" flows, to try my luck.  The stream is extremely shallow due to the current drought, and the water is also very clear.  Still, there are some deeper areas where I was sure I could find a trout.

On my second cast I got a strike although I didn't land the fish.  Since I didn't want to keep showing it the same fly I decided to move off downstream and managed to pick up a small brown trout, some 8" long.  A few minutes later another brown hit the fly and I got that one, too.  I was using a size 12 Prince Nymph that's going to require replacement since it's now a wreck.  The trout are in their full spawning regalia, including a set of sharp teeth, and it was the teeth that did for the nymph.  The herl's unraveling and part of the tail is gone, so it's not in the best shape.

I decided to try another area and spotted a rise under the hemlock trees.  I didn't get that fish to take any interest in the nymph and then, since I was getting fairly tired, I went back up to where I'd caught the second brown.  I let the nymph dead drift and felt a tug, and when I responded I had a nice rainbow of about 9" that even jumped out of the water.  Between the brown and the rainbow I managed to catch a sucker that I was glad to release and see the last of.  They're so scaly and slimy I just won't touch them, so I held the leader about an inch from the sucker's mouth and used the forceps to remove the nymph and flip off the sucker.

 After having fished today and started back at the gym for strength training yesterday, I feel as though I'd gotten my life back.  I get tired easily when fishing, mostly because my legs are still weak and unsteady, but I did manage to stay out 3/4 hour.  That's about twice what I was able to manage the last couple of times out.  I probably won't do much tomorrow since between the 58-mile round trip and the fishing I got weary.  I'm rather glad the fish weren't large because I'd likely have had trouble landing and releasing them.  I was using my little Orvis Golden Eagle fiberglass rod, which is 6'6" long and weighs an ounce and 7/8.  Even the small trout feel big on it and I generally reserve it for the small stream.  I won't stay up late this evening and I'll probably be dreaming of lovely trout all night long.

--Margaret B. Clarke--