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The Schoharie is the poor stepsister of Catskill Rivers. Even
though it flows through some of the loveliest country in the region, it has only
marginal habitat for precious trout. Although Flick composed his streamside guide
there, the times I've fished it has produced few memorable hatches and many
disappointments. Where the stream meets the Westkill, very few wild fish can survive
the sun's unforgiving rays penetrating the featureless banks where shading is
desperately needed, warming the water and denying trout the kind of protective
overhead needed on Eastern freestone streams.
During annual reunions to the Catskills each Spring, I usually
manage to make at least one trip over to the Schoharie. It's not so much of a
fishing outing as a pilgrimage, a chance to embrace the contributions Art Flick gave
to our sport and the stream itself. His is truly a 'bloom where your planted' story
and the sense I feel when I'm on this stream is a reverence not felt in other places
in the Catskills, even the Beaverkill or Willowemoc. Those streams are steeped in
tradition and have much better fishing, but the Schoharie to me represents one man's
pursuit of trout and flyfishing shaped by the flow of the river and the character of
the man. It becomes more defined for me from the distant ridges, as I gaze down to
the dairy valleys while the river winds its fated course. I envision a man who
fished each pocket, pool and riffle, carefully noting every emergence during the
whims and vagaries of a brief but cherished Spring, imagining a man who loved a
stream that was ignored by most and probably scorned by a few.
There is a small group of fly fisherman who plant willow trees
along the banks of the Schoharie to continue an undertaking first started by Art
Flick to improve his beloved water. Their doing so not only heals the stream, but
more importantly, keeps his spirit alive. I've never fished with Art Flick, though
I've stood under his trees many times, staring across the sun splashed riffles,
mingling the past with the present, reflecting on a river's influence on a fishing
passion. Somehow I get the feeling that a man's essence lives on beyond his mortal
time, casting nebulous shadows on the boulder strewn edges, sifting treasured
moments from the thin, crisp air. In a distinctly peculiar way, I suppose that
means that I've fished with Art Flick. ~ Louis J. Wentz
Louis Wentz is our reader/contributor for this installment of Reader's
Casts. Lou is an avid fly fisherman whose home waters are the smooth glides
and gentle riffles of limestone streams in southeastern Pennsylvania.
Combining his passion with writing skill, Lou can be found in the January-March 1998
edition of The Storyteller with his article, "Opening Day Blues". He also
has a completed work, "Stream of Memories" awaiting publication in a future issue of
The Pennsylvania Angler.
A fisherman for fourty-three years, and fly fisherman for twenty-two of those, Lou
is an active angler; a past president and current conservation coordinator or the
Perkiomen Valley Chapter of TU.
Copyright ©1998, Louis J. Wentz
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