Patrick Cook

2 years ago

We didn't catch any fish that day, but we picnicked from the back of my station wagon under falling yellow and orange leaves drinking over priced hard cider from a local orchard. We watched an older couple, well into their grays swinging flies from two handed rods in tandem through the riffles and runs above and into the pool below the bridge at Kellams crossing. Nothing but hope for the future resided in that scene. At night we had the lodge all to ourselves and were allowed a fire out back. As the flames crept up, the moon and the stars slowly traversed the ocular view created by the ridge line to the west, and the silhouettes of the  knobs to the east framed the pale sky. We listened to the Beatles and Stones mixed in with a few Springsteen ballads and sang along to The Water by Johnny Flynn deep into the dawn, as the East Branch of the Delaware river slowly slumbered past, low and slow. Every so often a slurp would come from the slow waters, or a thrash from the riffles. Those sounds haunt me still, to the bar seat from which I write this.  #flyfishing #flytying #catskills #beaverdel

We didn't catch any fish that day, but we picnicked from the back of my station wagon under falling yellow and orange leaves drinking over priced hard cider from a local orchard. We watched an older couple, well into their grays swinging flies from two handed rods in tandem through the riffles and runs above and into the pool below the bridge at Kellams crossing. Nothing but hope for the future resided in that scene. At night we had the lodge all to ourselves and were allowed a fire out back. As the flames crept up, the moon and the stars slowly traversed the ocular view created by the ridge line to the west, and the silhouettes of the knobs to the east framed the pale sky. We listened to the Beatles and Stones mixed in with a few Springsteen ballads and sang along to The Water by Johnny Flynn deep into the dawn, as the East Branch of the Delaware river slowly slumbered past, low and slow. Every so often a slurp would come from the slow waters, or a thrash from the riffles. Those sounds haunt me still, to the bar seat from which I write this. #flyfishing #flytying #catskills #beaverdel

3 Comments

bradj3rd

bradj3rd

So good ✌️

2 years ago

dardybar

dardybar

πŸ˜€πŸ˜€πŸ˜€πŸ˜€πŸ˜€πŸ˜€

2 years ago

salmotribe

salmotribe

Fishing is my ******* as well!

2 years ago

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