I go to the stream in the morning, the little stream that very few have found, and push through the brambles and overgrowth to where the sound of water begins. This water is perfect for trout, full of deep pools headed by riffles, undercut banks where the fish can lie in wait for the unsuspecting earthworm or cricket, and fallen trees that provide safe hiding places.

This place is cool and shadowy, and so overgrown that the light is dim until midmorning. The sun has not toughened the grass here, and it is velvet thick, the roots having been constantly bathed in the groundwater that emerges into the little stream. In the gloom, it is nearly impossible to attach the tiny fly to the leader, and my fingers feel like monstrous, inept sausages as I squint to find the eye of the hook.

"You have to be patient, girl, or you'll spoil the outing with your frustrated fumbling."

"Don't be so hard on yourself-if you want to use a bigger fly until it gets lighter, then go ahead and tie on a bigger one."

The temptation is there, but I want to start small to avoid a spook, and I explain this to the advocate of the larger fly. I have come in so quietly and carefully, and have spent some precious time just sitting, becoming the grass and the trees and the earthen bank and the bits of sky that peep through the cover, so the trout will not see me as anything other than another part of its world. I do not wish to ruin such an effort by casting a fly that was easy enough to thread but impossible to present with any finesse on a stream this size. I'll take my time and tie on the smaller fly, thanks.

"Soocherself..." I sense a smile and the twinkle of an unseen eye.

Finally the fly is on the leader, and I rollcast under the branches of the trees and around the camouflaging thorn bushes, risking my clothing, skin, eyes and tackle to settle the fly into the water as gently as possible.

"Not bad, but it needed to go a little more upstream. You'll have to cast again sooner than you want to."

"Mind you, don't let that fly drag, or all your trouble will be for naught."

Kibitzing, I think. As if the fish don't make me nervous enough, I have kibitzing.

I have brought a cup of coffee with me, and it steams on the bank, waiting for me to drink it and waken my sleepy fingers, so that I don't foul the line or toss the fly up into the branches; but as long as the fly is in the water, I don't dare take my eyes from it. I have spotted a few cautious eddies as hidden fish pass it, watching it for any hint of falsehood. I hold my breath, waiting for the bump.

"Steady....steady now...."

The voices in the wood hush, waiting with me.

The strike comes, and I feel the thrill of seeing it. All catches are good, but to see a fish strike on top of the water at a dry fly includes an angler in the process.

"Nice brown trout."

It is a nice one-about twelve inches long and deep through the chest and belly, golden with large brown spots ringed in red. This one's a keeper-this one is breakfast.

The leaves shuffle in the breeze over my head, and I know that I have disturbed the soul of a die-hard catch and release angler, but I also know that flesh eaten with awareness and gratitude is never consumed in cruelty. This fish will feed my spirit as well as my body, and I am glad for the opportunity to have it be so. I wash the fish, put it in my creel and set the creel in the water where it will stay fresh and cool.

The catch has caused a disturbance in the water, so I decide to sit back for a while and let it settle. I put up the rod and secure the hook, pick up my coffee and just listen.

"I remember this stretch of this stream from when I was a young man. It's looking poorly now-heck, it's running through an industrial park! This stream used to be deep and cold, full of monster fish. It's silty now, and too wide. This stream is beginning to give in to the ways of man. It's a sorry thing to see."

"I caught my very first trout right here. I was quite a sight-little kid in corduroy knickers with a eight foot fly rod, crashing around in the thorns, cussing under my breath... It's a wonder that I ever wanted to pick up a rod again, I was so cold and miserable. But then I caught that little brookie, and I remember being so excited and ... awestruck. I was hooked right away, and I spent the rest of my life getting out on the stream as often as I could. It sure does get in the blood, doesn't it?"

I smile at this. Who would have guessed that a woman could feel the same things that the spirits of these men feel? I listen to their voices in the trees, and in the sound of the water on the rocks. They speak to me, these fishermen, and tell me stories of when this wood was full of grouse and pheasant and deer, this stream full of brooks and browns. I feel them here, all around, the anglers and the fish, the hunters and the prey. I am a sensible woman, and do not believe in ghosts. Still, I believe that the natural world has a long memory. I do not find it too long a stretch to believe that these former inhabitants come back to teach those who want to pick up the old habits, and dream of the old days. The love for the rod and the stream and the fish is about all kinds of things, not the least of which is the love for the way the earth used to be. People who love to fish love to be in the places that never forget, that are full of ghosts. They grieve for the foolishness of the world when it cannot stop its mad rush long enough to be told by a forgotten man that you might not have cast far enough upstream to suit you, or that you should forgive yourself if you decide to use a bigger fly because you can't see the small one in the dark.

You may have noticed that the sign posted on the slaughterhouse has been moved over to the yellow colored house next to it. Yes, the Green Valleys Association (GVA) has also purchased this property with the intent of demolishing this building. It is in a state of disrepair and the septic system is reported to be leaking into French Creek. GVA is now seeking funds for this demolition also. If you would like to contribute please send your donation to GVA, 1368 Prizer Road, Pottstown, PA 19465.

On a more disappointing note, you may have noticed that two of our steadfast sponsors, Brandywine Outfitters and Fly Fishing Forever are no longer. Both closed their doors within the last four months. Apparently, the high-end fly fishing retail business has run its course, at least for the time being. We thank Pete Cooper and Jon Greaser for their past support and wish them well in their new endeavors, whatever they may be.

The Mid-Atlantic Council of the Federation of Fly Fishers is holding their annual banquet on November 4 at the Pikesville, MD Hilton. The Council’s banquet raises money for Conservation and Education programs. This year, the League received $500 from the Council for the stream bank restoration associated with the slaughterhouse demolition. If you are interested in attending please call me. The cost is $35 per person and well worth it. I am hoping that we can fill a table of ten with our members.

On a related note, I have been appointed as a National Director to FFF, representing the Council and our club. League member Todd Palmer and his company, Virtual Farm Creative, have also taken on the daunting task of managing the web page for the Council. Although we still need to make some major updates to the page, check out its new look at www.macfff.org. Thanks Todd for all your great work!

Lastly, I would like to thank the stream improvement crews who did a great job earlier this summer in putting in the brush and rock wing deflectors on French Creek. They are doing the job!

Four of my fly-fishing buddies, two from Kansas City, MO and two from Batavia, NY, and I joined up in New Mexico on March 25, 2000 to fish the San Juan for the first time. I felt prepared since I had tied a dozen each of about 20 different midge patterns, received some excellent information off an internet site (mike@ifly4trout.com), and got a debriefing from Bob Molzahn who had fished the San Juan in November, 1999. Bob also shared with me a pattern that worked well for him on his trip, a Brooks Sprout, which is a parachute style midge with a small white foam post.

Upon arriving at Abe's Motel I had a chance to speak to another DJL member, Bob Stein who was just finishing up his fishing trip at the San Juan with his two brothers. They had done well and assured us we were in for a good time.

The week brought a wide range of weather conditions starting with hot, need sunscreen, no-clouds-in-the-sky days, to cool 40 degree F rain-all-day weather and finished with silver-dollar sized snowflake weather on Friday. The river flow was excellent for wade fishing. The first day was used to get to know the river and the access points and after that, the San Juan proved to be what we expected, big fish on small flies. We ended up have the best luck up near the dam where each of us seemed to take turns at having an outstanding day. My best day was when it rained all day and my best fly was a # 24 Brooks Sprout (thanks Bob!), but a number of different patterns took fish throughout the week. We caught a lot of fish, all rainbows, in the 18-22 inch range and saw a few larger fish taken by other anglers. I am glad I brought a larger net with a longer handle. It came in handy! It was an outstanding fly-fishing trip enjoyed by the five of us. If you have a chance I would highly recommend trying the San Juan.

After fishing the San Juan, I flew from Durango, CO to Denver and then on to Bozeman, MT to visit friends and to slip in one day of fishing at on the O'Hair's Ranch portion of Armstrong's Spring Creek, one of the 3 famous spring creek accesses in Montana's Paradise Valley south of Livingston.

So much for being totally prepared for this trip, while at the San Juan I realized that I'd left one of my nymph boxes at home, the one containing Baetis nymphs and emergers that I might need at O'Hair's. I stopped at George Anderson's Yellowstone Angler Fly Shop on the way to buy a few patterns in the event of the Baetis hatch. The fellow who waited on me was very helpful and suggested I take some pheasant tails, Baetis nymphs, and two Baetis emerger patterns tied by Rene Harrop. I checked in with Mrs. O'Hair and paid her the $40 fee to fish on the ranch.

I was casting my brace of nymphs under the snow-capped peaks of the Absaroka Mountains at a somewhat late 10 AM. It wasn't long before I landed my first brown on a red midge larvae, then another on a midge emerger, then a couple on an egg pattern. At about 11:30 AM I noticed that some Baetis were hatching so I walked down to nice long pool that I had all to myself, in fact most of the fisherman on the ranch that day left by noon. Fish were working all over the entire pool and this is a long, wide pool of about mid-thigh depth with a nice even flow. I tied on the two Rene Harrop Baetis emerger patterns, and began to make casts upstream. After a few casts, I had a fish break off my fly on a downstream swing, a good sign I had a least one pattern that was going to work. I then began to catch rainbows and browns in the 15-17 inch class. A slight mishap slowed me down for a few minutes. After landing a fish with my net, one of the hooks got embedded in the tip of my left middle finger. The fishing was so good, I was ready to continue on with a fly in my finger if I had to, but I was able to back it out with my pliers. Thank goodness for the mini-barb on that hook. The Baetis hatch stopped and the fish stopped taking the emergers. I switched to a shrimp pattern and egg fly combination. Both of these flies took nice fish from the same pool until I had to leave at 4 PM.

What a nice Montana treat! While I lived in Montana from 1982-89, I had the opportunity to fish several times at O'Hair's, DePuy's and Nelson's Spring Creeks. I had my best day ever fly fishing DePuy's in March. They are wonderful streams and if you are traveling to southwest Montana, give them a try.