The Hudson is found among the classic wet flies pictured
in Ray Bergman's Trout. It also finds its
way into Flies by J. Edson Leonard later on in 1950,
but I think that is because he seems to have included
all of Bergman's flies therein. I can find no history
on this fly, but the fly reminds me of a hike I took
years ago with the Adirondack Mountain Club to Lake Tear
In The Clouds, the source of the mighty Hudson River.
As we sweated along on an unusually warm June day, I had
visions of the crystal clear lake, with its clean, cold
water, ready to slake my thirst and purify my soul. This
lake, named so beautifully by the Indians, would be the
tonic I needed. Ah yes, Lake Tear In The Clouds, we would
be there shortly, and yet, the hike, steadily uphill the
whole way, seemed to drag on and on, hour after miserably
hot hour. Only the vision of beautiful Lake Tear In The
Clouds kept me going, and I couldn't wait to drink of its
pristine waters. And then, we were there! Yes, we were there,
at a frog pond not big enough to skip a stone in, choked
with algae and smelling of yesterday's socks. It ranks high
among the most disappointing moments of my life. But, we
were now nestled high in the Adirondacks, poised to scale
Mt. Marcy the next day, so there was great anticipation
still. We saw two deer that night, an unusual occurrence
in those days, a huge buck and gorgeous doe. Some of the
club members had never seen a deer in the Adirondacks,
if you can believe that.
My friend Bill and I arose early and bushwhacked two of
the Adirondack peaks in the neighborhood before the pokey
members of the club had even had breakfast. They were
Allen and Skylight as I recall. We did another one after
breakfast, Gray, or something along those lines. My memory
is hazy. Since we were so high up to begin with, this was
a good opportunity to knock off several peaks, and Bill and
I intended to make the most of it. While the clubbers were
on the way up Marcy, Bill had figured out another route,
SLIGHTLY longer, which we could take and ascend two more
peaks on the way up, Haystack and one other who's name I
forget. Away we went, with the energy of the 16 year olds
that we were.
I still remember the man we met on top of Haystack. He
had topographical maps of the entire Adirondack region
with him, and after a bit, the talk turned to fishing.
He got a faraway look in his eyes, and then swore us to
secrecy. You see, he knew of a spot, accessible only by
canoe or a five-day hike, which was teeming with 15"
brook trout. It was called the Cold River, and had been
home to Noah Rondeau, the famed Adirondack Hermit. If we
could get there, we would be assured of the greatest brook
trout fishing we had ever experienced. Bill and I vowed
to go there, and later that year, we did. But that's a
story for another time.
Bill and I began to tire as we came off Haystack, and
we still had Marcy to go, and then a long trek out after
that. I mean a LONG trek out. We started leaving things
beside the trail. Our food went first, then our pots and
pans, then our packs in their entirety. Yes, it was mostly
downhill, but we had already climbed six peaks, and we were
dieing. Somewhere between Marcy Dam and Heart Lake, our exit
point, it began to rain. I sat down beside the trail and
just started to cry. If it hadn't been for Bill, I'd still
be there, but he got me up and going again and we made it
out, a full 6 hours behind the rest of the club and Bill's
Dad, our ride. He was worried sick. And so two wonderful
days of hiking came to an end, with two sixteen year olds
asleep in the car on the way home. I'll never forget Lake
Tear In The Clouds, the source of the mighty Hudson River,
but not for the reasons you might think.
Here is the recipe:
The Hudson
Tail: Green
Tag: Orange floss
Rib: Gold tinsel
Body: Dark brown wool
Hackle: Orange
Wing: Light brown turkey
Credits: Trout by Ray Bergman; Flies
by J. Edson Leonard. ~ Eric
About Eric:
I started fly fishing as a teen in and around my hometown
of Plattsburgh, New York, primarily on the Saranac River.
I started tying flies almost immediately and spent hours
with library books written by Ray Bergman, Art Lee, and
A. J. McClane. Almost from the beginning I liked tying
just as much as I liked fishing and spent considerable
time at the vise creating hideous monstrosities that
somehow caught fish anyway. Then one day I came upon a
group of flies that had been put out at a local drug store
that had been tied by Francis Betters of Wilmington, N.Y.
My life changed that day and so did my flies, dramatically.
Even though I never met Fran back then, I've always
considered him to be one of my biggest influences.
I had a career in music for twenty years or so and didn't
fish much, though I did fish at times. The band I was with
had its fifteen seconds of fame when we were asked to be in
John Mellencamp's movie "Falling From Grace." I am the
keyboard player on the right in the country club scene in
the middle of the movie. Don't blink. It's on HBO all the
time. We got to meet big Hollywood stars and record in John's
studio. It was a blast.
So how did I wind up contributing to the Just Old Flies
column on FAOL? I'm not sure, it was something that I simply
wanted very badly to do, and they let me. Many of the old flies
take me back to the Adirondacs and my youth, and I guess I get
to relive some of it through the column. I've spent many happy
hours fishing and tying over the years, and tying these flies
brings back memories of great days on the water, and intense
hours spent looking at the flies in the fly plates in the old
books and trying to get my flies to look like them. And now,
here I am, still doing that to this day. ~ EA
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