A Tangled First Foray to New York in 2026

The last time I tried fishing in the Catskills, in the fall of 2025, I had to stop pretty abruptly when it became apparent my hip was not going to cooperate.

So it was with considerable trepidation that I waded across a stretch of the “Little Esopus” that turned out to be a little bit deeper and a tad more robust than I thought.

This was on Thursday, April 16.

The Esopus is a tailwater, meaning cold water comes out of a dam and supplies the river with regular infusions of cold water that is good for trout.

But it is an unusual tailwater, in that the added flow comes out of the Schoharie Reservoir in Greene County and travels 18 miles through a pipe running under a considerable chunk of mountains and empties into the Esopus in the hamlet of Allaben.

This is officially known as “Diversion from Schoharie Reservoir” or the “Shandaken Tunnel.” In practice it is called “the Portal.”

Between the Portal and the Ashokan Reservoir about 13 miles downstream the Esopus is a big brawling trout river, roughly the same size as the Housatonic. Upstream of the Portal the Esopus is a medium-sized to small freestone stream. Hence “Little Esopus.”

My compatriot Gary Dodson and I were messing around on the “Little” section a couple weeks ago.

The weather was summery. The water temperature was 58 degrees F, about ideal.

The forsythia was blooming everywhere, and that usually means the first significant mayfly hatch of the year, the one imitated by the Hendrickson fly, is going on.

And I did see some Hendricksons floating around here and there.

But mostly I saw zip, except for when I spooked a couple of suckers.

Old joke: Suckers are often mistaken for brown trout. They tend to dive and tug like browns when hooked, adding to the illusion.

It’s only when one comes to the net that the angler feels like a sucker for being taken in. Again.

The day before, with high winds complementing the summer feel, we tried the Batavia Kill impoundment in Windham, where I attempted to crack the code on the two-handed rod cast.

I failed there and blamed it on the wind. So we went to the Schoharie, where legions of recently-stocked trout should have been eager to eat anything, and the wind wasn’t quite as bad.

I failed there too. This is going to take a while.

Meanwhile the usual Harry Homeowner opening up experience included a highly satisfactory lack of mice and their droppings, and a leaky hot water heater.

We’ve had the thing for about 50 years, so it’s hard to complain too much. Phil the Plumber installed a new one and we’re good for another 50 years.

The wading adventure described above felt a little hairy but I managed, and I found an easier place to cross on the return trip.

The new hip didn’t bother me at all. My thigh muscles were pretty sore the next day, though. Too much couch time over the bleak winter.

And while our rabbit population seems to have moved on, the resident deer were messing around on the lawn in the evenings. I like to sit outside reading and occasionally chirrup to them. They like to ignore me until they take fright for a mysterious deer reason and go bounding off into the woods.