We've all had our first loves. At first, we're captivated and infatuated by them like a fluttering caddis fly is to the water surface. In both instances, with mating on the mind . We swear that nothing will ever compare to them and we can't imagine living without them. In some cases, we ultimately devote the rest of our lives attempting to learn and grow together by spending an innumerable amount of time with them.

But alas, somewhere through the course of the relationship, things stagnate. The stuff you once found charming about your love, become redundant and outright annoying. The joy of being with them effetely dwindles.

You still love and treasure them for the euphoric moments you shared, while you respect and appreciate their presence through times of struggle, but as Mr. BB King somberly crooned, "the thrill is gone".

In order to cope with such pitfalls, some seek help from outside sources. A few continue on the downward trend until they are as emotionally spent as an imago stage of a mayfly. While a small faction will consider having an affair with something different in an effort to refresh their faded libidos.


Besides Valerie Bertinelli, my first love is and shall always be the Farmington river(didn't think I was going there, huh?). She was there with me when I started fishing her 20 years ago. She gingerly showed me tough love when I made the transition from spin to fly fishing almost 10 years ago, but benevolently rewarded me with a trout on that first day.

In turn, I've come to know every square inch of her winding body. We've been a symbiotic duo throughout the years. By putting out trout, she provides me with countless moments of angling bliss, while I try to maintain her beauty and appeal by picking up trash along her banks and releasing my catch. She even lets me share her with friends without a word of complaint... seemingly we were the perfect couple.

But, there's a new girl that I've been seeing for few years. A fertile, more voluptuous, yet slightly flawed seductress called the Housatonic River. She's had a difficult history and was in some very abusive past relationships, but bounced back nicely. It takes me an extra half hour to get to see her, but witnessing her abundant hatches, and having her share the diverse bounty of fish she possesses with me is well worth paying for the ever increasing price of gas.

It's hard to put into words how it feels to be in such a new relationship. The prospect of re-learning the nuances of a new stream carries with it many exciting challenges. This one's tougher to wade. She has way more junk in the trunk(bottom structure ) than my first, so she requires a specialized approach. Also, her life cycle differs from that which I'm accustomed to, so I had to reconfigure my fly boxes in order to match her contrasting hatches. In all, this is one high maintenance broad! I guess that's just well within the norm for such a grandiose goomar.


So Friday, after waking up from my 3rd shift induced coma at 11:30, I start the task of loading my truck to make the trip to the Housy. The day, to say the least, was gorgeous! Sun, but not too hot. Wind, but not to windy.

As I pull into town, I realize that I had nothing special to give to my affair. You can't call on such a classy lady without getting her something! "What do I bring her, what do I bring her" I said as I pulled into Housatonic River outfitters.

After seeing the look on my face when I entered his store, a look he's familiar with for sure, Torrey took pity on me and helped me pick something nice out for her. I was to start out fishing with a tandem of flashy Hendrickson nymphs that would lead up to the main course of these deer hair sparkle dun emergers which, one of the resident shop hands guaranteed to be a winner.

After a brief lunch, I met up with Flyrodder to fish a section of river that he really likes. Bob was into fish immediately using his patented streamer technique. If you read his report earlier in the week, you'd know how keyed in he is here. I was reaffirmed in the use subsurface flies when I saw how many similar sized nymphs were in the drift. But once I got to up, the canoe hatch started.

Being frustrated, I worked my way downstream further toward some faster water. This is where I struck gold using nymphs under a strike indicator. I quickly landed 6 browns and one nice sized smallmouth that had the rod tip bent almost to the point where it says Winston above the handle. Once the hatch started, I went back upstream where I changed my rig to dry flies. I landed 2 more stockie browns that before their capture, were mayfly sucking rise forms.

Due to a prior commitment, I reluctantly had to leave around 4:30. I knew Bob would have a good night because while leaving the river, thousands of Hendrickson spinners were beginning to fill the air in preparation for their egg laying ritual which would invariably provide us with the same hatch next year. I know Bob probably made a killing.

Does my first love feel betrayed for my angling indiscretions? Probably not. Will she notice the aquatic "lipstick on the collar" on my boots made by the limestone rich waters of the Housatonic, get jealous and slash my tires? Nope. Will I ever change my moniker to mirror that of other members infatuated with the Housy? Absolutely not! The point is that I can indulge myself in the activities provided by both rivers without any negative recourse. I'll continue in the guilty pleasure of double dipping probably until I'm physically incapable of doing so. Meaning I'd probably have to be dead.

Although nothing would be able to replace her in my thoughts, I know without a doubt that if things get rough on the Farmy, there's always the affair.